Page 7 of Welcome to the Friendzone

“You should enjoy this shower as long as you can,” he said between shallow breaths.

“Oh, I will. I didn’t even have a real shower at home. We had one of those bathtubs that could also be used as a shower. It fit into our house because it was more of a vintage style, but I missed a real shower every damn time,” she sighed.

“So it’s the perfect time to enjoy the luxury of this amazing walk-in shower. It might even have one of those fancy rainfall showerheads.”

He sounded like a real estate agent who was trying to sell this apartment to her.

“Sounds amazing, although it takes double the time to get the shampoo out of my hair with those shower heads. They just don’t have the same power as the others.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have that problem. The advantage of being a short-haired man,” he laughed, rubbing his hand through the blond hair that looked even messier afterwards.

“How long do you plan to stay?” He added.

“Ehm…” Marta avoided his gaze, suddenly being reminded that this was not a temporary home.

“Oh, don’t worry. A lot of Agents don’t know straight away. The operations are exhausting and Director Burns usually lets them rest before talking about details.”

He tried to assure her, realizing that her shoulders had dropped and she looked like she was feeling uncomfortable.

“No, that’s not it. I… This is more of a permanent stay,” she whispered, barely hearable.

“Oh,” Oliver responded, unsure what would be appropriate to say now.

“Sorry to hear that,” he added, knowing that only people with immense trauma would live in the headquarters forever.

She’d already told him that she was hurt, making Oliver wonder what had happened to her that made her have to move in permanently, but of course he wouldn’t ask. That wouldn’t be polite and his parents raised him to be as gentlemanly as possible.

“Yeah.”

She had her face turned away from him, probably hiding some tears.

“So…” Oliver started again with a happier tone “… let’s make this place your new home then. Do you have a new color in mind?”

Marta turned towards him, the stains of her tears still visible on her face but she’d managed to stop crying. It was a short outburst of sadness but she didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable around her and a crying woman was never very comfortable.

“I was thinking about a berry shade behind the bed. Maybe raspberry? That could look amazing with some green plants and gold decor.”

Her mind had shifted to an image of the room in its future state and what she wanted to change so that she felt comfortable. She wouldn’t go so far as to call it home soon but it would be the first step in the right direction.

“Raspberry sounds amazing. The whole room or only one wall?”

“Only one wall. The whole room would be too much, wouldn’t it?” Marta laughed a little, her sadness blowing away when she distracted herself with her renovation plans.

“It could be too much. If you want to, I can drive you around and we can buy some paint, plants, and decorations? Helping you settle.” He smiled at her.

Marta was thankful for his offer as she wouldn’t be able to do this herself.

“That'd be nice, thank you. I’m still recovering from being shot and I can’t carry anything with this shoulder. A helping hand sounds amazing.”

“Tomorrow?” he asked, surprising her once more.

“Yeah. Yeah, why not? Let’s make this room comfy.”

Marta’s night was uncomfortable. Sleep didn’t come to her easily and when the physical exhaustion let her fall asleep dreams of Frank screaming at her to save him haunted her and forced her back to consciousness. Everything smelled weird and everything felt weird. Every time she woke in the middle of the night she was confused, not knowing where she was or how she had come here. Thankfully Director Burns had already shown her where the community kitchen was, so she shuffled along the hallway in a desperate attempt to get a coffee into her tired system. She hadn’t slept that badly in weeks. The rehab hospital had felt like home for her after a while, mostly because the pills she got every evening blocked the nightmares and made her sleep carefree like a baby. She missed those pills.

With one button she kicked the coffee machine back to life and watched the brown liquid fill the mug underneath it. She licked her lips in anticipation, eager to swallow it down and feel her body come back to life. At least, as alive as it could get after a sleepless night, three months of rehab, and a still-more-than-fragile body.

“Good morning.”

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