Millie
After Viktor leaves, I immediately rush to find a bathroom to clean myself up in, feeling the sticky token after-effects of a spontaneous hookup. I only have to try a few doors before I find the guest bathroom, and it’s so white and immaculate that I almost feel too dirty to wash up inside it.
I start the shower, slipping out of my dress and leaving it in a pile on the floor. The water falls so evenly and softly compared to the sputtering of my shower at home. I want to let the water run all over me, soaking my hair and raining down on my skin, but I don’t want to get too comfortable. I’m just in here to wash up.
It’s too tempting not to just be for a little bit, and I end up lying down along the inside of the bathtub. This is the first time I’ve ever been inside of a bathtub that I actually fit in as an adult, and I’m not even using it properly. The novelty of it all is enough for me.
Once I’m clean, I wrap myself up in an impossibly fluffy towel, examining all my features in the bathroom mirror as it begins to clear of fog.
I stare at my body, wondering what Viktor would think if he were able to see every inch of me instead of being limited to just my vagina. He seems to enjoy that quite enough, but when I look at the delicate pink flesh of my nipples against the creamy white of my skin, I feel like he would go absolutely crazy for me if given the chance.
Usually, when I start to hook up with someone, I become self-conscious about the kind of women they usually like and how they relate to me. What if I have the smallest tits or the flattest ass? What if I become the new owner of an epithet like “the girl with the weird skin smell”? As much as I want to believe that all experiences are sacred and individual on their own, I know better.
I slip back into my dress, balling up my panties and shoving them into my coat pocket when I enter the living room.
Now that I’m not being viciously annihilated on the back of the couch, I’m able to truly appreciate the space that this strange new person gets to live in every day.
The first thing I really notice is how silent it is all the way at the top of this building. In my apartment, the road noise is so loud that I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to get used to it when I moved in. With time, I was able to adjust my selective hearing, and now I doubt I’d be able to sleep without some kind of white noise. I can’t imagine being in a place like this all the time, having nothing to hear but your own thoughts bouncing around your head all day.
The next thing I discover is how soft the carpet is compared to the standardissue low pile garbage in every place I’ve ever lived. I could sleep happily on the floor with nothing but a blanket. I never realized how much something so simple could impact a space, but I can’t help but feel more human in a place that’s clearly made for the comfort of humans.
I examine a bookshelf on the far wall, undoubtedly filled with books that Viktor has likely never read all the way through. To be honest, I can understand the appeal of having books, but since I started a bakery, the idea of trying to parse something that isn’t a romance novel or young adult fiction feels more like a chore than a relaxing pastime.
As I begin to explore the rest of the penthouse, I notice how much more intentional everything seems compared to the homes I typically find myself in. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he likely hired somebody to design every square foot of this place to make sure it looks absolutely perfect at every angle.
Most places I see in my neighborhood are a haphazard fusion of used furniture from relatives, maybe some family photos, and rarely any artwork. They serve purely as a dwelling for working-class people who don’t have time to truly enjoy being in their own homes.
When I find the master bedroom, I’m shocked at how well-maintained it is. Most men I’ve met, even at Viktor’s age, tend to be sloppier than the women I know. It’s a huge point of contention in nearly every relationship I’ve encountered, both mine and those of people I care about. I never thought I’d meet a man who was capable of keeping a house well.
It kind of makes me feel like he might be a serial killer.
The view from his bedroom is what I admire the most; being able to see the setting sun over the city from nearly every angle is something I never thought I’d be able to enjoy this intimately. In a way, I feel as though the entire city is watching me, but there’s a freedom to knowing that despite how exposed I am, there’s likely not a single person who sees me here or would care enough in the first place.
The fact that I’m not wearing any panties makes this feeling even more intense, even though the logical part of me knows that nobody would notice in the first place.
I sit on his bed, gazing wistfully out the window and taking in the beauty of a city I’ve spent my entire life in without having ever seen its true magnificence.