Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 14- Callie

Great. Now there's nothing to do but stand here idly. Everyone here moves with purpose like a well-oiled machine. My presence is a redundancy, an appendix that at any moment could rupture and get them caught. Yeah, with that kind of thinking it made sense that Rave was less than enthusiastic about me joining them in their bunker.

         "Thanks," I say, the words just a hint above a whisper. Honestly a shower sounds great. I feel dirty and from what I can tell, my muddy state is likely to drive Pretty Boy insane sooner rather than later.

         The sounds of dinner dishes clink in the kitchen. On autopilot, I gather the stray bottles and follow the sound toward the kitchen. It's not large, barely space for both Pretty Boy and I to move comfortably. Faded orange walls attempt to liven up a purely functional space. Yellow rubber gloves cover his arms up to his elbows where he's rolled up his sleeves. Spots of black and grey peek through. Tattoos. I thought I hadn't been obvious, but the slow pass of his eyes as it follows my gaze gives me away. Nerves have me biting my lip as I hastily throw away the bottles.

         "Need any help?"

         He merely glanced at the muddy trail my feet had made into the kitchen and arched an eyebrow at me. Dopey, Happy, and Doc would be taller than I feel right now.

         "I'll just go take that shower. Sorry," I bid hastily as my cheeks began to burn with the telltale flush of embarrassment.

         Stupid. I should've known from his earlier behavior that he was a bit of a neat freak. At least he hadn't yelled. But with his steely eyes, it was hard to tell if that was worse. I was used to yelling, knew exactly how to react, make myself smaller. Quiet ones were scarier. Never can tell how long they'll sit on their anger until it erupts and you're swallowed by the ashes.

         I don't know what I expected from an underground shower. If I'm being honest, everything about this bunker has blown my expectations away. I already know it'll be spotless. I can't imagine Pretty Boy allowing it to be anything less than pristine.

         Baby blue tile coats almost every surface. It wouldn't be filling anyone's mood board anytime soon, but it was functional. Toothbrushes lined the holder on the sink along with bar of soap. Sparse, but it was organized unlike my counter at home.

         Welp, time to get to business. At least there was a towel waiting for me. Hunting Cupid down for a change of clothes in just a towel wasn't exactly ideal, but if I was lucky, he'd leave them outside for me to grab.

         The shower curtain was a nice break from all the blue. Not anything fancy, just a plain white that gave my eyes a chance to rest. One of them believed shampoo and body wash were separate products and for that I was grateful. A body needed moisture and there was no way a three in one was getting it done, through evidence otherwise suggested I was trapped with outliers.

         Standing under the thankfully warm water, I pray that the surprisingly firm water pressure is enough to erase some of the tension trapped in my body. Between the emotional and awkward car nap, I'm wrecked. Despite the relatively early hour, I'm in desperate need of sleep. True, honest to God, rest. Even if only to give me time to think.

         A quick wash of my hair leaves it tangled, but clean and somewhat soft despite the tangles. My fingers can only do so much combing. It's the best I can hope for. I'll just throw it up into a messy bun anyway.

Taking a deep inhale of my choice in body wash makes me close my eyes and smile. Sage. It's impossible not to relax and I can't stop my mind from drifting. Can't be Pretty Boy. He seems the type to want a specific brand of soap made by nuns in some remote village in Switzerland, what with his obsession with keeping everything clean. The plain bar soap in the corner also leaves me guessing. Cupid seems like the type to smell like whatever was the first thing he grabbed at the store with a generic name like arctic fresh or something equally silly.

Either way, I wash quickly. There's no way this warm water will last forever and no one is happy taking a cold shower when they expected heat. Waiting for me on the counter is a towel, green t-shirt, and a pair of basketball shorts that I pray have a tight enough drawstring. I didn't even hear the door open.

I dart my hand inside the shower and wave it around; can't see anything but an outline. Hope I didn't give whoever it was too much of a show. After changing into my new clothes, I wrap my dirty ones in my towel and carry them out.

The guitar has stopped playing and the sounds of dishes are absent. Making my way down the hall to the only open door, I find Cupid finishing up making the full-sized bed. Bouncing from one foot to the other, I wait for him to finish up.