The Midnight Train

5: A Shower

Lydia stood still, her anger simmering just beneath the surface, but now that the adrenaline was fading, she became acutely aware of her surroundings. The interior of the hideout was a stark contrast to the wild outdoors she had been in minutes ago.

It wasn’t much—just a single room with plain wooden floors and bare walls. The light filtering through the narrow window cast a soft, golden hue over the sparse furniture. A small, worn-out couch sat in the corner, along with a rough-hewn table littered with a few papers, a coffee mug, and a half-eaten sandwich. The air was thick with the scent of wood and something else she couldn’t place—something masculine and familiar.

There was a small kitchenette on the other side, the sink stacked with unwashed dishes. It wasn’t cozy, but it had the sense of a place someone had stayed in for too long without bothering to make it a home. A single door, slightly ajar, led to what she assumed was the bathroom. It was a place meant for function, not comfort.

Her eyes traveled over everything, absorbing the details with a kind of numb detachment. She wasn’t here by choice, after all. She was *trapped*. But even as the anger roiled within her, a strange calm settled over her, like she was too tired to fight anymore.

The sound of footsteps brought her out of her thoughts. She turned and saw Nolan coming toward her, holding a small bundle of clothes in his hands. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his eyes had lessened, as if he’d calmed down during those brief moments of separation.

He stopped in front of her and handed over the clothes—an oversized gray t-shirt and a pair of joggers, both clearly his, along with a neatly folded white towel. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, watching her as though weighing whether to speak.

“Here,” he finally said, his voice low but firm. “You need to change out of that gown.”

Lydia’s eyes flickered from his face to the clothes, her throat tightening. The hospital gown, now dirty and torn, clung uncomfortably to her skin, a harsh reminder of how vulnerable she’d been just moments ago.

Without waiting for her response, Nolan nodded toward the door that led to the bathroom. “The bathroom’s over there. You can clean up and get changed.”

Lydia stared at him for a beat longer, debating whether or not to argue again, but the truth was, she *did* need to clean up. Her body was grimy, her skin sticky with dried sweat and dirt, and the thought of slipping into clean clothes—*his* clothes, though she tried not to dwell on that—was more tempting than she wanted to admit.

She gave him a curt nod, swallowing her pride. “Fine.”

Nolan stepped back, making room for her to move past him, but he didn’t say anything else. There was no softening in his gaze, but something about the moment felt like a quiet truce. Maybe it was because neither of them had the energy to keep fighting.

Lydia walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Inside, the space was as functional as the rest of the hideout—a small shower, a toilet, and a cracked mirror above the sink. The tiles were old, some of them chipped, and the light overhead flickered slightly, but it was private. It was a sanctuary, however temporary.

She unfolded the towel and clothes, laying them neatly on the edge of the sink before turning on the water.

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Lydia stood in front of the small shower, her fingers trembling slightly as she twisted the knob. The water sputtered at first, then came rushing down in a steady stream, a cool cascade that sent goosebumps across her skin. She reached out a hand, letting the water run over her fingers, watching the dirt and grime swirl down the drain. It felt like she was washing away the weight of the last few hours—the terror, the anger, the helplessness.

Stepping into the shower, Lydia allowed the water to hit her full force. It was cold at first, shocking against her skin, but she didn’t move. Instead, she tilted her head back and let the spray rain down over her face, soaking her hair and trickling down her body in soothing rivulets. The cold sharpness slowly turned lukewarm, the temperature fluctuating slightly, but she didn’t care. The sensation was enough to pull her from the haze of her thoughts, grounding her in the present.

Her hands moved mechanically, running over her arms and shoulders, scrubbing away the remnants of the day. The hospital gown clung to her wet skin for a moment before she peeled it off and tossed it aside. With it went the last vestiges of that vulnerability, the raw fear she’d felt when those men had cornered her.

Now, beneath the steady rhythm of the water, she could breathe again. She leaned against the tiled wall, closing her eyes as the water streamed over her, turning her long dark hair into a tangled curtain against her back. The sensation of it washing over her scalp, her neck, and down her spine was strangely hypnotic. It was as though each droplet of water was slowly loosening the tension she hadn’t even realized she was carrying in her muscles.

Her breaths became slower, deeper, as the cold that had coiled inside her chest began to melt away. She ran her fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, and let out a quiet sigh. The sound of the water was her only companion, a soft and steady rhythm that drowned out the chaos of her thoughts.

For the first time in hours, she felt in control, like she had a moment of peace that no one could take from her. She let her mind drift, focusing on the water sliding down her skin, cleansing her not just physically but emotionally. The tension in her shoulders ebbed, and her heartbeat, which had been pounding so violently in her chest earlier, began to slow into a steady, calm rhythm.

As the minutes passed, she felt lighter, her body no longer weighed down by the day's events. The exhaustion was still there, but it no longer felt like an anchor pulling her under. Instead, it felt manageable, like she could face whatever came next without breaking.

Eventually, Lydia turned off the water, the sound of the shower cutting off abruptly. She stood there for a moment longer, eyes closed, letting the last droplets fall from her skin, feeling the cool air wrap around her damp body. She wrapped herself in the towel Nolan had given her, the soft fabric absorbing the moisture and bringing with it a small sense of comfort.

She wasn’t ready to face him again, not just yet, but for the first time, she felt like she could—like she had enough of herself back to stand her ground.