Not really.

And you're grateful for it. You look down at all of the scars on your body. They can be hidden easily enough with properly modest clothing, but a tiny part of you always knows they're there. You remember the morning you woke up in your dorm, smeared in your own blood. You shiver and scrub harder, as if you can wash away the memory of the sensation of hundreds of cold razors pressing past your skin as you cleaned them the first time. You lather on more soap, as if some foam will cover up the fact that most of your skin is hairless, maybe permanently so. You turn up the heat, hoping that the sheer noise and steam will drown out everything that's overtaking your mind right now.

For a blessed moment, it works.

And then, the moment you relax a little, it all comes crashing back, and suddnly the heat and the foam and the noise is too much, and you very quickly rinse off and shut off the shower.

You lean against the wall, panting and feeling slightly faint. Your inner hell is interrupted by a knock at the door. You respond, "Yes?"

A voice identifiable as Ashley's responds, tired though it is. "Are you okay in there, Chris?"

"I'm fine!" A brief pause. "Thanks for asking!"

"Okay. Sorry about earlier."

It's not really her fault, and you know that. Does she know that you know that? "It's fine, really! Don't worry about it!"

A long pause. After a moment, you start towelling off. You hear footsteps depart from the bathroom door, and you feel a surge of relief. You finish dressing and head out, careful to put your dirty laundry out of sight, as usual. You look at the time and realize that the library is about to open. You hurriedly pack up your latest homework and leave to be there. You love the library.

It's your safe space, after all.