Page 108 of The Deceptions
"Right, the men's bathroom." I clear my throat, handing him my beer for safekeeping.
I can do this. Just like I put these baggy pants over the uncomfortable briefs this morning. They keep riding up and giving me wedgies, but I'm suffering through. So I can suffer through the men's bathroom without looking suspicious. Of course, if there's anyone in there, they'll see me having to pop a squat and ugh. I'm so fucked.
Jonathan, I hate you for this.
"I've got my eyes on this one." Jordy gestures to Simon, whowoohoosa few more times, watching as the fight continues. "Hope it all comes out smooth!" Jordy chuckles at my pain when I flip him the bird and walk away with my heart in my throat.
I'm a guy. I have to go into the men's bathroom. I'm undercover. I can't destroy my disguise and slip into the girls'bathroom. It could be an oops. Like, sorry, ladies! I thought this was the guy's bathroom! I'd be labeled a creep, then. Shit. And my cover would be under more scrutiny than it already is. I suck in a breath when I'm standing outside the bathroom labeled for men.
My stomach turns. Either that's dirt on the damn sign, or someone shit and touched it. Why is this my life right now? I just need to pee.
I got this. Totally got this. Yup. That's what I tell myself over and over until I'm standing in the middle of the disgusting, piss-smelling men's bathroom. Only to see two men standing at the urinals with their dicks in their hands and a steady flow streaming from them. Holy dicks, they're peeing. Out in the open without anything shielding their junk from peeping eyes. Shit. My cheeks heat when one guy I don't recognize clears his throat and twists his expression like I'm the Peeping Tom. Shit! I am! I cover my eyes as he mutters something under his breath, but I don't stick around to hear what he says. I find the only stall available and hide inside, locking the door behind me.
That was close.
I lean against it for several breaths, hoping the other two scram before I have to sit down to pee. Fuck. Maybe I should invest in one of those tools for girls so they can stand up while they're doing their business. If they weren't suspicious of me getting startled by them at the urinals, they'll be suspicious when I sit down on the....
I wrinkle my nose. Does no one clean this place? The toilet rim looks like someone tried to paint it. With pee. And probably shit. I want to bang my head against the wall and leave. Maybe watering a few bushes outside isn't such a bad idea after all.
Nope.
Knowing my luck, I'll get caught out in the open with my vagina on display. Or get poison ivy in places that would be veryuncomfortable. Reminds me of the time Mack got it on his dick. Idiot. We had to sneak to the doctor to get the medication to stop it from itching and spreading. I crack a smile at the memory. He evidently got it on his hands first, then his wang, and then his buttcheeks. He was thirteen and couldn't stop scratching. Thus, he spread it everywhere. Dumbass.
My shoulders slump with the realization of my predicament. Hover City, here I come. Because there's no way, I'm putting my bare buttcheeks on that seat.
Whatever.
As soon as footsteps bound out of the bathroom, I sit—hover, thank you very much—on the toilet and do my business as quickly as possible. It's only when I'm staring at my thighs that I notice the blood smeared there. It's not from the fight. Nope. That'd be too damn convenient. Wonderful. The world is against me right now.
My period has shown its ugly face. Is it too much to ask for a simple one? A period that isn't too painful or messy? Probably not. My periods take me down for at least five days of rolling around in bed and begging for death. Even birth control doesn't touch what my uterus reigns down. All my doctors have dismissed my concerns, tossing me birth control and painkillers like that'll solve the problems I'm having.
I roll my head back until I'm staring up at the equally disgusting ceiling. How am I going to navigate being a guy while I'm in my painful cycle and not get caught? I'll figure it out. I guess. I mean, I have to, right? Fuck me.
I put some toilet paper in my briefs, praying to the stars that they don't ride up again. But I know they will. I pull up my pants and turn to flush the toilet behind me. I peek through the crack of the door and sigh. No one seems to be in here. Thank God. I don't think I can handle seeing another dick right now.
I emerge from the stall, heading straight to the sink and washing my hands with soap. As my gaze meets mine in the mirror, I confirm the massive bruise decorating my jaw and encroaching on my cheek. Yay. A battle wound. I'll have to check the one under my bindings tomorrow, which I know will hurt like a bitch. Even now, as I move, it aches under the pressure of the binding on my ribs.
I move to dry my hands as the door swings open and stiffen when a familiar face comes into view in the dim lights. His curly, dark brown hair almost covers his eyes until he swoops it away and takes me in with those golden-brown assessing eyes. A pair of eyes I fell into so many times years before.
But not anymore.
JJ is a stranger to me. Maybe he always was.
"You fought pretty good out there, man." The low timbre of his voice sends goosebumps down my arms and back. It's been so long since I've heard the tone of his voice and how it used to soothe me when I was frightened by the storms.
I raise my hands instinctively to sign my words, but abruptly stop, dropping them back to my sides. That was once the way we communicated. Through ASL. I’m sure the guys still use it to keep their conversations private.
But I can’t do that right now.
"Thanks," I rasp, clearing my throat, drying my hands again, and tossing the paper towel into the garbage can. I move to leave the bathroom, but JJ stands in my way, crossing his arms.
"Where'd you learn to fight like that?" There's a slight suspicion in his tone, like he doesn't believe I could pull it off again.
Believe me, I don't want to. This will be the last time they catch me at this fight. Well, as Oliver, anyway. I'm hoping that if I can sneak in here as Olivia—or Claire, as I like to use—I can watch people without interruption. Or getting called out to fight.
I shrug. "I grew up with three older brothers." It's a lie. I only had a sister. Well, until my father picked up a straggler and turned him into a son. "We wrestled a lot, and they taught me everything I know."
He doesn't believe me. I can see it in his eyes as they look me over again until he stops at my shoes and frowns. "Are you bleeding?"
