NIKKI & JOE, CASUALLY | updates every monday

47: warning: domestic illusion

            Once I've wrung all the water I can from my locs, I grab the slightly bloody condom from the shampoo caddy and step out of the shower. I throw the condom in the rubbish and wash my hands before I grab my towel; after the cold water I rinsed my hair with, even the air outside the shower is comfortingly warm.

Joe seems to disagree; she dances some sort of jig as she brushes her teeth in her underwear. Her towel is a puddle at her feet where it fell but she brushes with too much focus to pause and pick it up. I think she's counting the seconds the electric brush buzzes on each tooth.

I pick it up for her, wrapping it back around her.

'I got ya these pads,' I say, opening the cabinet to show the packets, the night ones and regular ones. 'So you won't have to worry about bringing them with you next time. I saw that these are the ones you have at home so...' I glance at her for confirmation and she smiles around the brush. 'I can get some tampons too.'

Joe shakes her head. When the brush whirrs the two-minute timer, she spits out the toothpaste and says, 'I heard about toxic shock syndrome once and got so terrified I had an anxiety attack the next time I tried to use a tampon.'

'Right.'

'It's scary!'

'I'm pretty sure you'd be more likely to get electrocuted by that toothbrush.'

Smiling, I move behind her so I can see myself in the mirror as I oil my scalp. Our height difference is perfect for us both to fit in the reflection.

Every time I catch a glance of the dish where her rings and eyelash extensions are, my insides flutter. I forget my tooth brushing as I watch her massage moisturiser into her plump cheeks and her eyes meet mine in the mirror with a knowing glint.

I duck around her to spit the froth out so I can brush my tongue but Joe blocks me. 'That was not two minutes.'

I can't get out more than a gargled "wha?" before she grabs the handle and continues to brush my teeth for me, explaining all the while about the importance of using the right angles and motions—gum disease is not a joke.

It don't stop there. She sits me onto the toilet so she can floss for me, her knee pressed between my thighs. 'Always remember that you don't floss one gap, you floss two teeth. You have to go on both sides of the gum.'

The way Joe smiles down at me after makes the humiliation of her brushing my teeth worth it.

Joe shivers the moment I open the toilet door and the actually cold air swarms in, annihilating the remnants of our shower-sex humidity. She races past me and by the time I get to my room, she's already dressed in her Jorja Smith tee and pyjama trousers. Joe owns a lot of tour merch, I've discovered.

She watches as I wrap my locs in an old t-shirt rather than my usual bonnet since it will soak up any leftover water better. With my arms raised, Joe is happy to take the opportunity to admire the view.

'You know, you're well fit.'

I chuckle at the directness. It's not the same kind of bumbling lack of filter I've got used to over the past few months but a confident bluntness. 'I don't go to the gym four days a week for no reason.'

She snorts. 'I thought you wanted to be healthy.'

'No, I wanna be fit. Call me superficial if you want, but I am honest.' I hook my grin up though it fades as I pull on underwear and pyjama trousers.

When I were seventeen, coming out of painfully awkward puberty, just learning to style and accessorise within the limited budget I had, being desired for my looks put me on cloud nine. By twenty-four, though, it's starting to hurt.