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columbus ohio

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Wichita can't remember the last time she had a shower.

In Zombieland, showers are like bathrooms - they leave you defenseless, exposed, unable to reach for a gun or any means of defending yourself - and unless you have a lookout, you're not exactly going to be following every single rule of basic hygiene when you're on the run twenty-four seven. She'd even forbidden her sister from saying the word, afraid that even hearing it would shatter her resolve.

But here, on the island, a place where zombies are non-existent as far as she can tell, she doesn't have any excuse not to allow herself this one luxury. The only problem is that the fear is still there, the irritating worry creeping in that maybe, the one time she actually lets her guard down might be the time she ends up dead. It's ridiculous to feel this way, and she recognizes the stupidity of her fears, but they run too deep for her to simply shrug them off for twenty minutes or so.

Which is why she's seeking out Columbus, knocking on the door of the room where he's staying, trying to figure out exactly how she needs to phrase her request before he appears.

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Napping is a luxury that I've only just started taking advantage of again. I've been dozing on my bed but I snap awake when someone knocks on the door. I take a moment to check myself in the mirror.

Okay, so I'm kind of hoping that it's her.

"Hey," I say, clearing my throat. "Hey."

"Hi."

He's got that bleary-eyed look like she's woken him up from sleep, which she feels partly guilty about, but he doesn't seem too grumpy about it, so the feeling passes. She's got a towel folded in half and over one arm, some clean clothes tucked underneath that she'd managed to rifle out of the clothes box.

"Um, this is going to sound mildly ridiculous, I'm almost positive - but, if you're not doing anything, you think you could - " She pauses, concentrating on her choice of words, head tilting slightly. " - keep an eye out while I, um, use the - ?"

She jabs a thumb over her shoulder, down the hall, in the direction of the showers.

I am never going to get used to look at her. I'm...you know, I'm pretty sure of that. I catch myself staring at her for a moment before I snap out of it.

"...Please don't say bathroom," I say, staring at her. "Because I am not sure I'm ready for that."

"Oh. No. No," she promises, shaking her head. She knows Columbus isn't exactly the guy of the strong constitution, but that's not exactly something she wants to think about if the brief wrinkling of her nose is any indication.

"I was gonna say, um - shower? While I use the shower," she quickly adds.

I might think she's beautiful. LIke, pretty much the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world, even if she's no longer the last beautiful girl in the world.

But I still don't want to hear her pee.

"Oh," I say, and that comes with images of her...you know...wet. And naked. I'm pretty sure I'm blushing. "Yeah," I say, clearing my throat. "I could do that."

For a minute, she's half-convinced he's going to back out, either from nerves or just the fucking weirdness of her request - and then what will she do? She's not about to ask a complete stranger, and barring Columbus, there's only one or two people she might be able to ask without it looking like some perverted thing. Maybe Kate?

But then he agrees, and relief floods her features, and she nods once, sucking her lower lip in, trying to hide the full wattage of her smile. "Okay," she says, her voice much calmer than her stomach feels. "Okay, um. Are you busy right now?"

I shake my head. Dimly, I wonder if there's anything that I wouldn't do for her. I'm...pretty sure there's not.

Short of bathroom watch.

"I was napping," I say and I step out of the room. "I'm all yours."

"Good."

She feels bad for waking him, especially if it was a good nap, but the feeling passes when he joins her outside of the room and she steps back to allow him to close the door, setting off down towards the communal showers at the end of the hallway.

"I have to admit, I'm probably way more excited about this than anyone else would be."

"I can understand."

I can probably understand better than anyone on the island. We gave up so many things to survive in Zombieland. The least I can do is stand guard while she gets to feel like herself again.

He gets it. She likes that he gets it. She doesn't have to bother with anything in the way of explanation, a longwinded and detailed fumbling for words so he can get at least a semblance of an idea. No, with Columbus all she has to do is share a look and she knows when he knows.

It's a nice feeling.

She leans against the wall when they get inside, resting towel and clothes just outside the showers themselves before she sheds her leather jacket first, folding it up gently. She'll have to find a way to get that cleaned. No way is she parting with it. She starts working on her boots, flashing him a grin.

"I still can't believe you've been here for so long already."

I lean against the wall and, like, try and look cool, because...you know. Because.

It's kind of a losing battle.

"I know," I say, nodding. "One minute, I'm fighting off a zombie clown to get to you and Little Rock, next minute..."

"Oh, so that's where you came in from," she muses out loud, smiling slowly. Her socks join her boots, and she glances over at him, fingers curling beneath the hem of her white tee - well, it had been white. Now it's white with stains from past ass-kicking sessions.

"I'm not going to ask you to turn around," she adds softly. "Not unless you want to."

"That's where I came in," I tell her and, you know, maybe there was a kiss in my future. I try not to dwell on it.

I swallow.

"Do you...Uh." I blink. "Do you think I should?"

"Probably," she murmurs, smiling slowly. Unless he wants a glimpse of a whole lot of skin - and she doesn't think he does, at least not right now.

She'll turn her back first before she starts pulling her shirt up, leaving it on the pile by her feet and working on her stained denims.

She might be right but i find that I...I seriously don't want to. Me. The one who almost swallowed my own tongue that time that a girl kissed my cheek.

"Okay," I say, and then I turn my back.

She undresses quickly now, only checking once over her shoulder to see if his back is turned (it is) before stripping off the last remaining article of clothing and darting into the shower area.

The sound she makes as the water starts up, splashing over her skin, could only be described as a gasp.

"Oh, my God!"

That noise. That noise means that I almost stop breathing. I clear my throat and let my head hang down. I close my eyes.

"Good?"

She's too busy laughing at first, sheer delight at the sensation of being clean, of getting clean, sticking her face directly under the spray and hardly caring about it being cold at first. Cold feels good, surprisingly enough.

"So good," she eventually manages, scrubbing a hand over her face to get the water out of her eyes as she turns, dipping her head back to get her hair wet.

I try really, really hard not to think about what she's doing. I feel like...I guess that's just going to complicate things.

I swallow.

And I try really, really hard not to think about her naked.
It's easier said than done.

"You can't tell me this isn't the best thing ever," she replies, reaching out to grab the small bottle of shampoo she's snagged for herself from the closet of toiletries earlier.

It feels like she's washing out a lifetime of grit from her hair - frankly, it was the dirt that made her skin look darker than it actually is, and as she washes off she can see her real color again, pale skin lightly dusted with freckles.

"I think sleeping in a clean bed is pretty much the best thing ever," I say, not paying attention to anything that reminds me that she's naked (I am not thinking about that).

"But, yeah. It's a pretty close second.

"Okay, agree to disagree," Wichita murmurs, giving herself a little longer to savor the whole experience before she rinses soap and shampoo off completely and then steps out, reaching for the towel she's hung up nearby so she can dry herself off without leaving puddles all over the floor.

It's strange, being sans makeup, without any kind of cover on her face - but it just feels so clean, so nice, that she can forego any kind of concealers right now. The outfit she'd found in the clothes box was a pair of denim shorts with a white, summery tank top, and she squeezed her hair dry before knotting it up into a low bun against the back of her neck, stray pieces falling loose over freckled shoulders.

"You can look now," she replied, approaching him with a tap on the shoulder. "I promise I'm clothed."

I'll admit to being kind of disappointed as I look up at her and, yes, she's dressed, but she also looks beautiful, clean and fresh like that and I feel my breath catch in my chest.

"Feel better?"

"Seriously better."

She's putting her dirty clothes together, making a mental note to find the laundry room at the next available moment, and tosses her towel over her shoulder, looking up to find his gaze with her own and smiling slowly.

"Thank you."

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