Identity - Rewritten

Chapter Twenty-Five

May 2014

When Asha wakes in the morning, it happens slowly, one sense at a time. Her tongue is dry and thick in her mouth in that way that indicates she slept hard and uninterrupted; the world is silent, except for the inhale and exhale of her breath. Last night's coffee is still faint on her lips, with no mercy of the minty scent of the toothpaste she'd finger-brushed her teeth with. She opens her eyes and blinks heavily, watching the rays of sun that have streamed through the blinds and painted the ceiling golden with the morning, her bare legs sliding against the sheets.

It's then that her memories of the previous night finally return– of the hours she spent thinking herself in circles, until they finally got somewhere, and she collapsed into her designated bed in the Bunker shortly after.

Asha's phone starts screaming.

Close to screaming herself, Asha grapples blindly for it before finally curling her hand around the plastic case and pulling it back toward herself. The display is too bright for this early in the morning, and she swipes off her alarm and groans, letting the phone drop to her chest. According to the screen, the world had slipped quietly from April into May overnight, and it's just a reminder that they're running low on time.

Asha pulls her heavy body from the bed, and pads out into the main room of the bunker. Mel left last night, before she went to bed, but the snoring coming from the far bedroom tells her that Ian had had the same idea she did.

As soon as she gets to the tiny bathroom, Asha locks the door and roots around until she finds a fresh towel, in the cabinet, and hands it over the shower rod. She reaches past the curtain and flips the shower on, and then strips off the sweaty layers that are plastered to her skin.

The shower is too hot, but Asha ignores that, and sticks her head under the spray. She braces her hands against the shower wall, and the scalding water drips past her ears and down her nose, and she watches the drops fall to the tile at the bottom, joining the rest of the water before cycling down the drain. The spray is fire on her taut shoulders and one by one she actively relaxes her muscles, forcing her body and her mind to calm with the simple task.

She shouldn't have put whiskey in her coffee, too, but they hadn't made progress in hours and she'd just felt so useless. She hadn't put out a single good idea, a single helpful thought.

Asha's fingers curl around the shower's edge.

"Asha?" There's a knock on the door, a sleepy voice fighting to be heard over the shower's spray. "I'm going out to get breakfast. What do you want?"

She pokes her head around the curtain, eyes on the door and water still dropping in rivulets from her chin.

"I'm okay, thanks," she calls out, voice raspy with a dehydration she either hadn't noticed or hadn't payed attention to.

There's a pause. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm not hungry. Thanks though."

Ian says nothing else, so Asha assumes he's gone and retreats back under the spray, spinning to assess the contents of the shower. She decides on an innocent-looking shampoo and begins to massage it through her hair, arms and neck stiff. She tugs at her hair a little too hard as she works, scrubbing until she's gotten every inch. Her scalp burns.

Her stomach growls.

.....

Breakfast with Camille is an interesting affair.

They're at a little cafe only about a black from school, waiting on Blair and Stacy's arrival. While Mel had gone straight to the counter and ordered a breakfast sandwich and a yogurt, Camille just got a latte, content to sip on it and scroll through her phone as Mel ate.