I stand still, not shifting my feet until I hear the front door shut.

Then I let out the high-pitched whine that’s been caught in my chest since I got splashed in the face with toilet water.

“What the fuck, World?” I snap at the room.

I tug at my shirt, pulling the wet fabric out and away from my face as I drag it over my head.

Not that it matters, because I already got toilet water on my fucking face.

I grit my teeth and let out another sound of frustration.

“Why?” I ask the toilet as I throw the shirt down on the floor, leaving me in a tank top.

I glare down at the gray material clinging to my tits because that’s wet too.

“Not cool. Not fucking cool.”

I spin around in the small bathroom and turn the faucet on to hot, leaning my face over the sink.

Thankfully there’s a hand soap dispenser on the counter.

After filling my palm with the mountain rain scented liquid, I slap my hands together and lather roughly.

“Why?” I can hear my fragile mental state when I ask it this time. “Why did that have to happen in front of him?”

I fill my lungs, then hold my breath and scrub my soapy palms all over my face.

When my chest starts to burn, I cup my hands under the running water and scoop it up over my mouth.

Suds clear, my lips part, and I suck in a big breath.

Once all the soap is washed off, I pump more into my hand and start the process all over again.

Toilet water.

On my face.

Fuck. Me.

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