Page 34 of Make Me Mean It

Theo blows out a breath and raises one hand.

“I don’t care.”

I look at him, finding no smirk this time.

“Whatever’s got your brain tied in knots is none of my business, and I don’t want it to be,” he says bluntly, “but you’re clearly fucking miserable, so just take a damn shower.”

He doesn’t ask.

That’s the part that gets me.

No why are you freaking out? No demand for an explanation I don’t know how to give without sounding ridiculous. He sees me standing here barely able to tolerate my own shirt and, for once, doesn’t turn it into another joke.

My eyes drift towards the shower cubicles.

They’re empty.

Clean enough from here. White tile, silver fixtures, doors between each one. Water drips steadily somewhere further down the row, the quiet sound repeating through the room.

I could wash it off.

The thought hits with enough force that my entire body seems to react to it.

Get the shirt off. Get the coffee off my skin. Stand beneath the water until I don’t feel sticky anymore.

I catch my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down until the sting gives me something else to focus on.

When I look back at Theo, he’s stopped watching me.

He reaches for the hockey stick propped beside the locker, turning it between his hands with his attention fixed on the tape around the blade, his posture loose again.

My lips part around a thank you that never quite makes it out.

I don’t know why it feels so difficult to say.

Instead, I lower my eyes to the clothes gathered in my hands, my thumb pressing into the soft fabric. They’re clean and dry, still carrying the faint smell of Theo beneath the detergent.

I swallow, holding them a little closer before finally turning towards the showers.