Maeve

I button up the mens shirt I found in the closet. It brushes my thighs as I turn to inspect my reflection in the foggy mirror, sighing heavily but immensely relieved to be totally clean.

Soren’s friend keeps his upstairs bathroom, which isn’t fancy by any means, fully stocked with not only soap but shampoo and conditioner.

I found a comb in one of the drawers and ran it through my hair, which is now starting to dry in soft, hydrated waves… not the frizz I’d experienced yesterday or the day before. I’m not sure how much time has passed, honestly, and the memory of waking up in the...