Sweaty from moving so many boxes, I take off my top and sweatpants and hop quickly into the shower. The floor of the shower is cold against my feet and I grit my teeth and hide in a corner of the shower wall while the water heater slowly turns the freezing jet spray into something livable. 

I'd been so freaked by the eyes in the mirror that I forgot to wait until the shower spray turned warm before jumping in. Present me pays now for past me's mistakes. 

I put my hands around myself and pray the water heater would work a bit faster as icy spray hits my butt and spine. 

I check the light switch once. Twice. Three times. Nervously glancing over just to ensure I hadn't lodged the switch halfway. My heart still pounding from the intruder eyes I thought I saw in the dark. 

No. No they're still good. The lights are on. 

You're safe, Kai. You're safe. 

Finally, thankfully, the shower fairies hear my plea for help and the water warms to something passable. I borrow the bar of soap from the sink, mentally sorting through my boxes and already missing my basic skincare and moisturizing items I'd probably left wedged beneath that precarious pile. 

Like a dummy, the bar of soap would have to do just fine. It smelled earthy and kinda blank as most generic brands do. The soap suds evaporate instantly beneath the spray. 

Stepping from the shower, I nearly wipe out again from the buckets of water pooling beneath my feet. Kneeling carefully, I see an opening in the base of the shower door. 

Some tape might slow that leak down for now-- but I should probably look into an online store delivery for a more permanent solution. 

I shudder to think of having to invite a proper mechanic over. Of letting a stranger into my safe space. The social niceties and the anguish over how much small talk to make. Of having someone enter my space when it was so messy. Of getting judged. Of having to--

Calm down, Kai. It's not the end of the world. 

It's a stupid shower leak. 

Stop catastrophizing. 

I take a deep breath and cast one last glance at the mirror. Only my own eyes meet me. 

When I towel dry and get into my clothes, I feel a featherlight touch on my shoulder. Hear something move behind me. 

But when I turn around, there's nothing. 

Just me and my overactive imagination.