Finally, after washing out the shampoo and putting in a bit of conditioner, I rinsed off one last time and turned the water off. After five minutes of hearing the constant hiss of the showerhead, the room was eerily still and quiet. I grabbed the towel and hastily dried off, squeezing any excess water out of my hair. I changed back into the clothes I had come in, ignoring the blood that was stained on them, and looked for a brush. I found a small one in the very back of one of the drawers, and I could tell it hadn't been used in a while. I dusted it off, and, glancing in the mirror, began to brush through my wet hair with long strokes. It was a dark brownish-bronze when it was wet, and it stuck to my skin as I brushed. Steam swirled around me in rivers, and with my foot I kicked the door open so the bathroom could air out.
