Her choices were limited: She could try to crawl back to the beach and suffocate long before she made it, or find some way to use the sink. Which meant she had no choice, really.
As quickly as she could, under the circumstances, she pulled herself towards the kitchen area and the chair that was there. Jenny pushed the chair towards the sink, and then used her arms to pull herself up. Then she tried to balance on her mermaid tail, using what remained of her knees so she could turn on the faucet.
She cupped her hands under the water and brought them to her mouth and nose, inhaling the life giving water. After a few refreshing breaths, she scooped up some water and poured some on her poor, dry tail. With the water still running, she closed the plunger so the basin would fill, still scooping as much water over her tail as she could and taking breaths whenever her gills protested the dry air.
As soon as the basin was nearly full she turned off the faucet, and used her newly restored strength to pull herself onto the counter, where she promptly dunked her face into the liquid and took huge, heaving breaths of the life-giving fluid. Except for the occasional need to splash her scales, she could stay like this until sunrise and she regained her legs and lungs.
But what to do if the creepy fisherman returned? Jenny doubted that he'd leave her there all along for long, and this little kitchen oasis was the only place she could survive, at least for very long.
Hmm, how long can I go without water? If the worst comes, I may have to crawl out and save myself. I'll need to know my exact limits so I can make to most of any escape attempts, she thought to herself.
She didn't see any clocks around, but there was an egg timer. Taking a few more deep breaths, she cranked up the timer as long as it could go, then sat up, trying to breathe normally. Well, as normal as she could with gills in the dry air.
She lasted...