It wouldn’t have been so bad, but that fucker was belting it out like he was some overweight superstar. The worst part about it, was that fucking song had wormed its way into my skull.
‘I wanna taste your… something-something… yeah, yeah, baby…’
Argh, kill me now.
I wanted to slam my head in the washing machine to drown it out. When he eventually called time, I headed straight formycell. Malik was perched at the doorway, his towel gripped in hand.
“Took your sweet ass time,” he said, clicking his tongue. “Shower call’s been on for, what—five minutes? You wanna be fusty for the rest of the week?”
I snorted, brushing past him into the cell to drop my laundry badge onto my bunk.
“They kept me late. Again. Prick wouldn’t shut the fuck up to notice the time.”
“Nah,” Malik drawled, following me in. “You're just slow.”
“Oh, totally,” I said, grabbing my towel. “I enjoy spending quality time with crusty cum socks and broken dryers.”
He smacked the back of my head lightly. “Hurry up. Before all the hot water’s gone.”
“Hot water?” I scoffed. “Since when do we have hot water?”
“Exactly why you should move your ass.”
I rolled my eyes and stepped out into the corridor with him. The noise from the showers already echoed down the hall—slamming metal, shouts, laughter, pipes clanging. The usual chaos.
And underneath it all…
Yeah, yeah, baby, wanna taste your—I grimaced. Malik caught the look.
“You good?”
“Song stuck in my fucking head,” I muttered.
By the time we hit the showers, half the guys were already done, wrapped in towels, slapping each other, yelling insults. The cubicles were mostly full. I hesitated, scanning for an open one, but every time I moved toward a corner, someone beat me to it.
Great. I was gonna be one of the last ones in. Again.
Sitting my ass down on the bench, I waited, drifting off into my own thoughts, not noticing when the crowd had started to dwindle down.
“Ey, daydreamer, cubicles free,” Malik called, pulling me back as I stood to my feet. It wasn’t long before I found myself in there alone. Repeating that fucking song over and over again.
Cutting the water, I stepped out into the steam-filled room, ruffling the towel over my wet hair.
“Nice voice.”
A voice chimed in the silence, a female voice, causing me to jolt backwards wide-eyed, before swiftly shifting my towel down to cover myself. Through the haze, her outline on the bench was unmistakable.
“Jesus Misfit. I’m getting you a fucking bell,” chuckling to herself as her gaze returned to me. My grip on the towel stiffened in my naked state. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
“Hiding.”
“Hiding, or trying to sneak a peek? You could’ve just asked,” A smirk breaking free on my face.
She scoffed, “Don’t fucking flatter yourself, Screech. I’m not interested in—”
“Mia?” Our eyes snapped towards the door in unison.
“Fuck,” she hissed, scuffling up onto the bench out of view of the door.
