Number 18

She just had a shower after a long walk. Scrubbing off the nuisances of the day, flushing them with Tea Tree body wash. She opened that door, to look for a bottle of grapefruit juice. There was none. But there was a mirror. A long mirror. Warm light disclosed the sharp right half of her face. She paused, stared. She sat on the floor, reaching her reflection with the tip of the index. She entertained herself in conversations that would never have took place.
Dating herself; a discovery; a necessary soliloquy.

Evanescent – tending to vanish like a vapor

It was one of the moments she enjoyed the most after the shower – when she could see herself as a blurred pink silhouette in the fogged mirror, pondering over the chemical reactions present in the room – the water turning from liquid to gas, to be liquid again over the surface. 

Lavatio – the act or instance of washing or cleansing

Lower clothes first – she suffered cold on the shoulders the most. Velvet skirt, tights, socks. Slowly stretching upwards then, blue jumper off, elastic t-shirt, her hands encircling her breast to reach the latch of her brasserie, opening the shower door, avoiding to look herself at the mirror, focusing on being within the limits of her skin, merging herself with the hot steam expanding into the room.