Aria stared down into the porcelain bowl.
Resting at the very bottom, submerged in the pristine water, was her left AirPod. It looked like a tiny, tragically expensive pearl that had met a watery grave.
"I hate it here," Aria whispered to herself.
She ripped off a massive wad of two-ply toilet paper, wrapping it around her hand like a makeshift biohazard glove. Pinching her eyes shut, she plunged her hand into the cold water, snatched the little white pod, and immediately dropped it into the small metal trash bin next to the toilet.
She let out a long sigh, inspecting the tear down the back of her black glittery gown.
Calling Zoe was out of the question. If Aria called her now, Zoe might panic, break character, or blow the cover entirely.
Calling Damien was also a definite no. She had mentally committed to giving him the silent treatment for his behavior. She couldn't come crawling back to him five minutes later asking for a wardrobe replacement. She had pride.
