It was ironic, really, that the shower lent the only real peace that the girl could get in this apartment. It was the only place where she could be alone, the only place she could quietly think. And even though she was relaxed, and in a good mood, Storm payed careful attention not to sing, as she had that first night. Singing was something she reserved for when she was absolutely sure that Damien wasn\'t around. Which was a rarity, and that used to bother her so much.
What a night. While Pierre was something unattainably attractive to her, it was difficult for Storm to relax enough around him to really be herself. At least, not without thinking of Damien. Really, she almost ached to be away from him, feeling too suffocated in the apartment and her "call for duty". But the whole Isabella thing didn\'t hold as much dread as it once did, just a dull sense of obligation. The slap on the wrist. The reminder not to get too comfortable. But this silent reprimand seemed to fade, for whatever reason, over time. It could be worse, but it could be better too. For now it was alright, regardless of how many questions tonight brought about. Why was he so angry? There was something flowing from Damien when she hugged Pierre, she could feel it. At least, she thought she did. Then again, she could have been imagining things. Yes, that\'s what it must have been.
What was once something of a luxury was now more routine, and the Akari was beginning to take hot water for granted. The only ill effects of this was her slowly declining ability to truly unwind. Hot water used to have drug-like effects on her, but not so much anymore. But that wasn\'t to say that she couldn\'t enjoy it. Twenty minutes of meditation was better then none. Sweet smelling soap--her own soap--mingled with the thick steam that filled the bathroom. Inhale. Exhale. Lather. Inhale. Exhale. Rinse.
Twenty minutes was up before she realized it, and Storm stepped from the shower with her pale skin glistening with water. She had taken extreme care, this time, in remembering to bring a towel, as she always had since that first night. The less awkward situations, the better. As she wiped the moisture from her body, the girl examined her face in the mirror. The dark circles that had adorned her face a few months ago had faded enough to make her look like she had actually slept. And all of the smiling had done her good, lightened up the darkness that typically hung around her like a wary shadow.
Mechanically, she pulled on her clothing, dark shorts and a baggy t-shirt. And of course, she couldn\'t leave the bathroom without drawing on the mirror (it was a habit by now, that one-winged heart). With her dirty clothes balled up and in one arm, Storm opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom, shaking her hand through her hair to dry it out a little. Everything seemed so routine, but she couldn\'t possibly feel more out of place sometimes. Maybe it was how temporary the \'living\' arrangement was. Did he really expect to keep her here, with him? Living between the couch and the kitchen? When was she going back? Back to where? Did she even want to go back anymore?
All of this plagued her mildly as she walked slowly to the kitchen, picking up a notebook that was only half-full with her sketches before sitting down at the table. Really, Storm wasn\'t in much of a mood to draw.
