3. Shower Scare

I grabbed my towel, shampoo, and soap and braced myself for what lay ahead. The inevitability weighed heavily on me. Avoiding showers for an entire year was simply not an option. 

A montage of movie scenes played relentlessly in my mind. Stark, open shower rooms from every communal shower scene I'd ever seen. Rows upon rows of showerheads, with absolutely no barriers, where vulnerable figures stood exposed under the relentless cascade of water. The images were vivid, sending involuntary shivers down my spine.

 "Just be fast, lightning fast," I muttered, trying to suppress the rising dread overtaking my senses.

I braced myself as I reached the bathroom door, ready for the worst. But to my surprise, it wasn't the nightmarish scene I'd anticipated.

Instead, frosted glass stalls lined the room, offering some semblance of privacy. A wave of relief washed over me. I eyed the last stall, noticing it had an additional partial wall. A small but significant barrier that would provide more of the kind of privacy I needed here. 

Perfect.

As I made my way to it, I heard the water before I made it to its source. I hesitated near the fourth stall, only two down from the one I aimed for. Noises from inside made me freeze. I wasn't alone, and something intense was happening in that stall. 

The stall door was not closed all the way, and I could see a younger, curly-haired boy crouched helplessly on the floor. Blood and water matted his hair, his tear-streaked face looking up in sheer desperation as his eyes met mine.

Two burly, dark-haired boys were tormenting him. One was holding him mercilessly by his hair and chin, the other cruelly using the showerhead to force water into his mouth as he gagged and choked.

The leader watched the disturbing scene from a distance, his detachment alarming. His dark hair, immaculately styled, stood out against his olive skin. His features might have been considered attractive in another light, but they were overshadowed by a clear-cut aura of brutality and coldness here. Standing apart, his dry and impeccably maintained clothes contrasted with the wet, disordered brutality he was overseeing with a smug confidence.

"Keep it up!" he barked at his associates. "This curly-haired freak needs to learn. He ain't had enough yet! Wash his fucking mouth out," His voice was harsh, dripping with cruelty. He was clearly relishing the control he wielded.

I remained frozen, horror-struck at the door. His sinister gaze cut through the mist, landing on me. "What's this? An audience? Beat it, pissant, or you'll get a taste, too!" he sneered.

I stumbled to the farthest stall, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest, the terror from the scene I had just witnessed consuming me. Each step felt heavier as I moved away from the horrifying spectacle, my mind still echoing with the sounds of the bullying I couldn't intervene in.

Reaching the sanctuary of the stall, I quickly undressed. The binder, which had been constricting my chest all day, finally came off. I inhaled deeply, expecting relief, but it was short-lived. The ability to breathe freely did little to ease the tight knot of anxiety in my stomach.

 The sounds from outside the stall – the ringleader's mocking voice, the cruel, harsh laughter, the distressing sounds of choking and struggle – permeated the thin walls, invading my moment of supposed solitude. Each cruel taunt, each stifled sob from the victim, etched itself deeper into my consciousness.

As the shower water cascaded over me, it couldn't wash away the feeling of helplessness that clung to me. The warmth of the water did nothing to soothe the cold grip of fear and guilt that tightened around my heart. I stood there, the water streaming down my face, mingling with the tears of frustration and empathy for the boy being tormented just a few feet away.

I tried to focus on the shower, to let the water wash the moment away, but it was in vain. The sounds, the scene, and the sheer terror of it all lingered, leaving me trembling and overwhelmed under the shower's spray. This was not just water washing over me. It was the stark realization of the cruelty and pain that existed beyond the fragile barrier of my shower stall.

The bullies' twisted game was interrupted by the sound of the door opening and a flurry of voices. Seizing the moment, I quickly turned off the shower, dressed hastily, and made a beeline for the exit.

Emerging from the bathroom, I collided with the imposing figure of an enormous guy making his way into the shower. His dark hair, slightly sweaty and tousled, framed his stern, chiseled face. His arms, adorned with intricate tribal tattoos, were dominated by the striking image of a bear, each muscle rippling beneath his skin with each movement. He was wearing nothing but a bath towel, wrapped casually around his waist, emphasizing every muscle lining his lower stomach. My own stomach clenched at the sight. 

His arms, thick and powerful, dwarfed my own limbs. He exuded an aura of confidence and a hint of disdain for the world around him.

"Sorry," I muttered.

He looked down at me with a frown. His indifference only seemed to be amplified by his towering height. He was intimidating. 

He simply huffed in response and stepped around me. 

Bolting back to my dorm, the echo of my frantic heartbeat drowned out the world around me. The encounter in the bathroom had left me breathless, a cocktail of fear and adrenaline coursing through my veins.

 A fleeting sense of relief washed over me as I burst through the door. Alec was nowhere in sight, the room finally a haven of privacy, at least at that moment. I dropped my belongings in a scattered heap by the door, my mind still reeling from the scene I just left.

I turned my back to the door, hastily trying to change out of my clothes, my movements frantic and uncoordinated. The urgency to rid myself of the day's remnants was overwhelming.

But then, the door opened without warning, and Alec walked in. Trembling turned into full-fledged shaking as I desperately tried to finish getting dressed.   

His voice cut through the silence, "What's this?" 

My fingers fumbled with the buttons of my shirt, shaking uncontrollably. "Damn, man, sorry, I don't usually leave my clothes on the floor. I'll clean this up right away," I rushed out the words, each syllable laced with a desperate attempt to conceal my discomfort and keep my voice deep.

Alec's asked again, his voice filled with... amusement this time? "No, what's this?" 

I turned, my fingers halting almost involuntarily, to see him holding a pair of my sweaty pink underwear.

The very ones I had just taken off. 

In my rush to cover the binder that clung to my chest, my hands betrayed me, shaking so fiercely that buttoning my shirt became impossible. I quickly pulled the top of the shirt together, hoping that if he caught sight of the top of the binder, he would just think it was an undershirt or something. 

"Why do you have girls' underwear?" Alec's question was more of an inquiry than an accusation, but that did little to stop my rising terror. 

My heart thudded against my ribcage, a relentless drumming that seemed to fill the room. My mind was a whirlwind of panic and confusion, thoughts colliding in a chaotic dance. 

Before I could rein in the cataclysmic bombardment in my head, the words tumbled out, unfiltered and raw.

 "That's my girlfriend's."