Page 16 of Dating After the End of the World
“Gladly.” He takes a step back, pinching his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. “Ya know, just because the world ended doesn’t mean your hygiene routine needed to end too.”
I glance down at my bloodstained, grimy pants and T-shirt and slyly sniff myself, gagging from the stench of decay and sweat.
“There’s a shower down the hall if you wanna ...”
“Don’t,” I say, snapping my head up to look at him. “I built this place with my dad, so I don’t need you telling me where things are.”
“That may be true, but you’ve been gone a long time and things have changed around here. Shampoo and bodywash are in the shower, and I’ll even let you use my loofah, roomie.” He smiles and walks back to his bed, sitting on the edge of it.
“Gross, I’m not using your loofah.” I unzip my bag and pull out an oversized T-shirt.
“Suit yourself.” Blake lies down and props his hands behind his head, elbows pointed out. “Now, be a doll and kill the lights on your way out,” he adds, staring up at the ceiling with a shit-eating grin on his face.
Ugh, I want to strangle him. Grumbling, I leave the room with the lights on and tiptoe down the hall to the bathroom, where I close the door behind me. I start the shower. It sputters at first, but then comes to life, blasting a steady stream of hot water. I peel off my grimy clothes, dropping them into a pile, and inspect myself in the mirror, taking note of the fresh bruises around my neck and on my chest and shoulders.
Without notice, the bathroom door starts to creak open, and I frantically grab my dirty shirt from the floor, attempting to cover myself, and thrust my foot out to stop the door from opening all the way.
“I’m in here. What the hell!?”
Blake pops his head in through the gap. “Sorry, I knocked but you didn’t answer.”
“That doesn’t mean you can just come in.” I narrow my eyes. “What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing, but I thought you’d want this,” he says with a cocky smile, extending a towel through the partially open door.
I don’t want to accept it, but I need it, so I begrudgingly take it from him, using it to help cover my naked body. “Get out,” I say.
“Most people say thank you.”
“I’m not most people.”
His eyes travel the length of my body like he’s examining me. “You all right?” Blake gestures to the discolored skin on my neck, shoulders, and chest.
I readjust the towel, holding it up a little higher. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Just get out,” I say, pushing the door into him.
He presses his lips together and meets my gaze before giving me a single nod. As he steps back, I slam the door closed, and this time, I lock it. Blake lingers on the other side, silently standing there. It’s another moment or two before I hear his feet pad down the hall.
I let out a heavy sigh and turn to face the mirror again, but this time it’s the gangly fifteen-year-old girl with dull brown hair and a mouth full of metal, dressed in overalls one size too big, staring back at me.
“Oh my God! What is stuck in my hair!?”
A chorus of boys laughing was the first answer I received.
“There ya go, Doomsday. I got you something you can snack on when the world ends.” Blake balled up the gum wrapper and threw it at my face.
“Yeah! Easy access,” another boy yelled. Tears poured from my eyes as I raced toward the bathroom, holding my head in my hands to cover up the wad of pink clumped in my hair.
All I wanted to do was fit in. But Blake Morrison wouldn’t allow it. I was the weirdo with the crazy dad, an easy target. Picking on me made him cool, and I wish he would have continued to just be my bully. I was used to that. I could deal with it, tolerate it, live with it. But no, he had to become something far worse. Blake fooled me once, but he won’t ever fool me again.
Chapter 9
My eyes snap open, and I jolt up in bed, panting, my body drenched in a cold sweat as I try to ground myself in reality.Where am I?I scan my surroundings, my heart hammering in my chest. There’s my bedroom door. My dresser. My desk.Home.I’m home. I inhale and stop short of exhaling when I remember I’m here because the world ended, and if that wasn’t bad enough, I somehow got bunked up with my archnemesis ... Blake Morrison.
My gaze goes to his bed, pushed up against the far wall under the large window. It’s empty and perfectly made, military-style, with the corners tucked in, not a wrinkle to be seen.
