The door shut behind her and I found myself alone.
For the first time in three days, that had been indescribably overwhelming, I felt free.
For whatever period time that I was to stay in that room, I would have the freedom to act as I liked without having to worry about how other people would react, or who I needed to delegate myself to spending time with.  These things may seem trivial and ridiculously selfish, especially given the preceding circumstances, however they are things that caused me daily struggle.
Deciding to spend time with one friend, group of friends or family members over another, caused so much stress, that I could rarely stand it.  If I chose one, would I be neglecting the other?  If I chose to do both, I would spend the time looking at my watch so that I would not be late for the other, which was rude to the first and a waste of my attention.  If I were tired and did not feel like seeing anyone, would they take it personally?
It is not like I did not enjoy being with my friends and family, it was usually the opposite, yet sometimes I just needed to be by myself, which was usually taken as me not wanting to see them.
I was not antisocial by choice, it was just a part of who I was.
A fair few of my closest friends and family understood this about me, however, as much as I knew this to be true, my brain insisted that they would hate and resent me for it.
I knew the truth, but parts of me would not allow me to believe myself.
It could get very frustrating.
However, having been shut in a small room, by myself, the pressure of social obligations, both wanted and unwanted, dispersed.
There was the obvious paranoia that, the whole “good guy, saviour” side of our hosts was just a front, we were actually being transported to some slave colony and I had allowed myself (the only potential threat to them) to be isolated.
My mind liked to think of the worst possible outcome, at least then I would be less disappointed or surprised when it happened or pleasantly surprised when things actually worked out well.
Rolling myself off of the soft central floor, I addressed the console.
One of the options on the list said simply “Hygiene Facilities”.
I stood, slowly and with great concentration upon my insides, and went over to where my bag had fallen, most of its contents sprawled around it.  I gathered it all together, shoved it back in and put it down to the left of where the door was so that I did not loose my bearings.  When it was closed, the door was basically invisible.
I tossed the blanket and cushion to one side, walked as far to the edge of the room as possible and tapped three times on the wall.  Surely enough the control panel appeared at my fingertips.
I selected the words “Hygiene Facilities” and was not disappointed.
From the ceiling, a tube began to lower.  It was the same width as the cushioned floor.  The cylinder seemed to be made of the same frosted glass as the toilet stall back in the hall.
It came all of the way down to cover the flat portion of the ground.
A glass door slid sideways to allow entry.
Inside, there was a toilet and a small tap to one side.
On the ceiling above the empty side were two faucets.  The console indicated that one was the water for a shower and the other was an air dryer.
In the floor was a drain.
Two poles ran from behind the toilet up into the ceiling.
Kicking off my shoes and socks I stepped inside.
I did not realize how much I had needed the toilet, I relaxed so much that I was on the verge of forgetting to keep the energy moving.
There was no toilet paper, instead a raised dish with a damp sponge was made available.
The console had indicated that it could be called onto the glass, so I tapped thrice.  This time the controls were automatically set up for the flows of water; the toilet bowl, the tap and the shower.
I set the toilet to flush and washed my hand under the tap.  As soon as I tapped to stop the water, the dryer came on in one thin jet of warm air at the centre of the room.
Considering the glazed nature of the glass, I realized that the room likely had some sort of visual surveillance somewhere.  I removed my clothes and, keeping my body behind the glass, tossed them out into the room.  Quickly realizing my mistake, I reached out and, keeping my legs crossed and one arm over Bill and Ben (law of teenagers, whoever names them, owns them, mine are owned by Jennifer), I reached out for my top that was the closet item.  Hastily putting it back on, I scurried out with it pulled down as far as humanly possible and grabbed the other essential bits.  Into the tube I brought them and piled them on the floor. 
They were not particularly fresh and it was plain that the air dryer would make quick work of them.
I tossed my glasses and necklace onto my rusty green, big-knit jumper just out side of the sliding door.
On the floor, there were two glass bottles, one labeled with ‘body’ and the other hair’.
Straight forwards enough.
Tapping on the glass, I brought the console to beside the shower section and with another tap, turned the stream on.  The water that fell from above was perfect, the exactly right temperature and pressure.  There was no temperature gauge that I could spot on the console, in the end I surmised that my body temperature was being monitored by the floor or the translator (which I barely remembered to take off before I turned the water on) or even by the areas where I had tapped with my fingers, and had altered the heat accordingly.
I eased myself under the jet, skin tingling pleasantly from the sensation.
For several minutes I simply stood, letting the water rush over me, gently massaging my tension away.
Crouching down, I picked up the bottle marked ‘hair’.  On the back there were a few sentences;
Use thumb nail sized amount.
Rub into hair.
Leave for three lals.
Comb through.
Wash out.
I remembered what Deia had mentioned before, lals are a measurement of time, I have since learned, half a second slower than what we knew as minutes.  For reference; there are one hundred and eleven lals in one auxe, twenty auxe in one unit (day) and five hundred units in one cycle (year).  This is how intergalactic time is measured.
The tops on the bottles appeared to be some sort of flexible plastic.  It admittedly took me several lals to figure out that, to open it, I needed to slide the plastic aside with my thumb, hold it there and release it once I had dispensed the sweet yet fresh smelling gel into my hand.
I say gel, yet it was an odd texture, in the bottle it had the consistency of water, as it came out of the bottle, it became thick like shower gel or shampoo and then when it hit my hand, it became more like putty.  As I played with it in my hands, it began foam.  I smooshed it onto the top of my head and began to work it through my hair.  It dissolved into foam as I mixed it around and around.
Satisfied that my hair was sufficiently coated in the substance, I turned my attention to the bottle labeled ‘body’.  On the back of this bottle, was written;
Suitable for all areas.
Use thumb nail sized amount.
Use sponge to clean body.
Wash off.
As no sponge was forthcoming, I resigned to using my hands to scrub my entire body with the similarly textured and scented body gel.  Before washing it off, I could not help but notice that there appeared to be, what I can only describe as a pulse in the foam.  Or rather it felt as though it were breathing.  Gaining and receding space on a microscopic level.  All that I can really say is that once I washed it off, I felt incredibly cleansed.  I had several scratches and a couple of rather large scabs that now felt clean, whereas, before, I could feel the tingling burn of an infection.
My skin has a rather drastic reaction to being punctured in any way.  From paper cut to cat scratch, the slightest opening would be rendered septic by the end of the day.  Using antiseptic creams would work up to a point, however my lovely skin is very quick at building up a tolerance to such things, so I would have to use them in rotation.
Naturally it did not help that one of the symptoms of my anxiety was to play or attempt to remove against all logical judgement, anything that feels wrong.  For example; a hang nail, the hardness of a scab, the flakes of sunburn…
I shall try to describe the frustration of it.
I had a scab.  It was raised or itchy and my instinct was to dig it out.  I knew that, in the long run, such an action would only make matters worse, that it would cause pain or bleeding in the moment, that it was, quite frankly, disgusting.  However my active brain and urges overrode all of my knowledge and self-control, it never ended well and has left me with many unpleasant scars over the years.
Of the time that I could remember over the preceding few days, I had not had any such urges.  The few nasty wounds that I had, had started to heal over, leaving very little to ‘play’ with.  With the added cleanliness that I could feel permeating them as the body gel soaked over them, it felt like a potential turning point.
Without revealing too much ahead of time, I can say that I have not even scratched at any of the scratches or wounds that I have gotten since Earth.
However, I digress.
The body gel slid from my skin as the water rinsed it away, it felt as though I was shedding the skin of the person that I used to be.
My transformation into the new me had begun the moment that beam of light hit me.
On the whole, it was probably the most intense, thought provoking shower that I had ever had.
All I had wanted to do was feel a little fresher.
Once the last of the foam had disappeared, I began to comb my fingers through my hair, only mildly irritated that my hair brush was out of reach in my bag.  As I dragged them through, the foam became slick and smooth.  Once I had worked out as many of the tangles as possible, I returned my full body to beneath the shower.  Running my fingers through my hair, I gently eased the gel out of my hair.
Feeling more clean and refreshed than I can really ever remember feeling before, I moved on to the more practical process of washing my clothes.
Despite the fact that the body gel seemed to be designed for cleansing bodies, I deemed it a necessary risk.  I needed clean clothes.
I left out my trousers, jumper, just in case, and commenced applying the body gel to the rest.
The clothes that I had been wearing were as follows;
My top was a thick, wide-strapped vest which had a flimsy, black, see-through gauze long selves and chest covering, with buttons up to the collar and two chords of the same material with beads at the ends that tied to draw the collar together.
Underneath that I had been wearing a dark green, thin, strappy top to add a bit more warmth whilst I was at work on the badly heated shop floor.
The leggings that I had been wearing beneath my black, work trousers had many holes in awkward places, and the elastic around the ankles had begun to pull where they had constantly caught on the buckles of my smart, black work boots.
My socks were in similar condition, worn around the big toe areas and at the heels.
My bra was a halfway point between comfort and fancy, I had found it in M&S last year, forest green with a vague floral pattern.  It was without a doubt my most comfortable yet flattering bra and I am genuinely relieved that it happened to be the one that I was wearing that day.
As nice as my bra may have been, my knickers were one of a multi-pack of plain, black, high-waist underwear.
I went through them, one piece at a time, lathering them up with the foamy, putty gel and rinsing them out then hanging them over the tap until I was done.
Once done, I recalled the control panel and stopped the shower.
As soon as the water disappeared, the dryer started up.
A powerful jet of warmly heated air blasted the half of the space that had been the shower.
I started drying my clothes before myself; underwear first, followed by my strappy top, then the other top and finally the leggings.
It took a lot longer than I was hoping.  By the time that the clothes had dried, so had I, as had the tube, come to mention it.  I pulled on my leggings and strappy top.  I wasn’t particularly in need of more to sleep in.
Stepping out of the tube, I brought the room’s console up using my toe, much to my own amusement.
As the bathroom cylinder rose back up into the ceiling, I grabbed my bag and made myself comfortable on the soft floor.
I picked up the plate of food that I had almost forgotten about and tentatively picked at one of the cubes.
They each looked identical, having the consistency of thick cookie dough and did not smell of anything.
I nibbled at the corner of it.
To my relief, it was not bad.  Although I cannot liken it to any food that I had ever eaten before.  It gave off the taste of carbohydrates; like potatoes, pasta or bread.  Not that it tasted like any of those, it just felt the same, not quite tasteless, created in a way that it would be eaten without accompaniment.
It was about half way through my third cube that it occurred to me that I had no way of brushing my teeth.  Neither had I had my inhaler or antihistamine since my last night at home.  However, I had not needed them.  My sinuses felt clear, as did my chest.  My teeth, up until having eating, had not felt the fuzz of not having been washed.  I was told that I was eating, more or less, whilst in that trance, yet no one mentioned anything about teeth brushing.  My teeth have a rather atrocious track record, so not being able to brush them was a bit of a worry.  
Exhaustion was beginning to seduce me, my desire for sleep beginning to win over worry.
The worry did try to resurrect itself through the thought of my stream of energy not being able to keep itself flowing whilst I slept.  I reassured myself that Delia had not seemed concerned, so there was no reason to get too worked up about it.
I could ask when I woke up about the teeth hygiene issue, however I was in need of a drink.
Not wanting to bother the guard, I opened up the console and, finding a search bar, typed in ‘drink’.
‘Drink dispenser’ appeared and was selected.
Over by where the door was, a small panel opened.
I heaved myself out of my comfy spot and made my way over.
There was a plastic cup with a wide base and a tap with a large button which glowed light blue.
I pushed it.
The liquid filled the glass about an inch shy of the brim.  I picked it up and raised it to my lips.
It was water.
I cannot say that I was not a little disappointed that it was so normal in comparison to everything else, however, I was tired and there was no one there to moan about it to.
I took it back to my comfy spot, taking sips as I went.
Placing it on the hard surface with the least slope, I wiggled myself down into a cosy position, the cushion under my head and the blanket over me at the perfect angle that covered every inch of me, with enough extra to tuck under my toes if I needed it.
Stretching out, I tapped at the console until I found the light control and dimmed the lights until there was just barely enough to see by.
As I lay there, my head began to quiet and the world began to play my mind.
Faces.
Places.
Animals.
Food.
Work.
Children.
As I closed my eyes, I could feel the tears gathering.