Bore

Prologue

Leah watched the men hurriedly leave the room, laughing and making lewd comments as if to hide their shame at their less-than-meager fucking. She felt the urge to laugh herself but stifled it as she stood up slowly on her hands and knees, her sweatpants and underwear hiked down to just below her ass.

She needed a cool drink.

Coming to her feet, she grimaced slightly when distinctive wetness slithered from between her bottom cheeks and reached for the plastic bag lying at the foot of the bed. Retrieving her bottled water, she untwisted the cap and upended the contents into her stomach, sighing at the coolness that traveled down.

She drank swiftly, too swiftly because her head began to pound with brain-freeze. Hissing, she lowered the bottle and raised it to the little light that streamed from the cracked window. She had just drunk half the contents in a matter of seconds.

She must have been thirsty.

Rubbing her eyes, a childish attempt to ward off the sleep that threatened to overtake her, she stumbled her way after pulling up her sweatpants to the nearest switch and flicked it. Harsh light bloomed from some sort of lighting fixture hanging from the ceiling, bouncing off grey walls, worn and stained flooring, and the cheap garage-sold bed. It honestly combated the moon for brightness.

She looked around. No tv. No radio. No comfort in this room except the ones brought in by the patrons. It was essentially a place meant just for fucking and clean-up, which she seriously needed to do. The latter not the former. She stunk to high heavens — the musky stench of the adrenaline-lace sweat that leached from the pores during sex — and the sweats from the idiots from before that clung to her skin certainly didn't help matters.

Doing her best to ignore the scent of the air inside the bathroom, still and fetid with the smell of stale cigarettes, and the darkness that clung to the corners where the lighting fixture couldn't pierce, she reached in for the light switch. Light bloomed in the bathroom, illuminating stained-white tiles, a tarnished shelf with a plastic toothbrush holder, a cracked tub, and a chipped mirror.

There was a toilet (with the seat thankfully down), a sink, and a bath that doubled as a shower. It was not a modern bathroom — the utilitarian fixtures looked as though they hadn't been changed since the late 20th century. The bottom of the shower curtain was grimy, the grouting around the taps and shower head dark with mold.

Her mouth twisted downwards at the corners. It was... would have to be enough to take care of her hygienic needs.

She walked to the tub, not for the first time wishing she had a friend or group of friends to go out and have a drink or two with, and twisted a knob. As the water gushed from a tap, she stripped off her clothes, peeling out of her hoodie and sports-bra that stuck to her skin from the sweat. Her sweatpants and underwear thankfully proved to be less of a hassle, easily sliding down her thighs and calves. Gathering them all in a ball, she threw them to the far corner of the bedroom.

The water was a bit colder than she normally liked, but beggars were not choosers and after the day she'd had, she was willing to enjoy the extra chill. If nothing else, it would succeed in keeping her awake.

There was a soft splash as she slipped inside the tub. Luckily, it was the perfect size for her. She sighed, wiggling her toes as the freezing water slipped across her skin and the chill soaked into her tired muscles. Her black hair fanned out in the water, covering part of her shoulders and breasts.

For a while, she closed her eyes and floated, finding herself enjoying the momen. She shivered slightly as a light breeze fluttered across what little skin was exposed above the surface of the water.

Leah brought herself up after pulling up the plug, the bathtub emptying rather quickly. Standing on shaky legs, she twisted the knob for the shower and reached for the soap dish holder embedded in the wall to her left.

Carefully, she rubbed soap on her shoulders, forearms, and bust without paying much attention as firm jets of water cascaded down her back. Her hands slid smoothly over the soft lather, washing away any remaining dirt and stress her dip didn't remove.

She turned towards the showerhead and remained in that position for some time as the water raised the front of her body. Then, she grabbed a shampoo bottle and squeezed some of its contents into her palm. After gently lathering the top of her hair, she poured more shampoo into her palm and applied it to her hair in the back. Closing her eyes, she massaged the shampoo into her scalp.

With a pleased smile, she breathed in the chill, letting it cool up her nasal passage and lungs, as her hands slowly moved from her forehead to the back of her head, her fingers digging into the shampoo foam in circular motions.

She began to hum, the tone audible through the water jet noise. The tone reproduced by the woman was Boss of Me by Juice WRLD. Like millions of other people — regardless of their race, religion, gender identity, or sexual orientation — the woman loved singing in the shower, where there were no irritating critics or gawkers or idiotic clout-chasers with their smartphones out and cameras on.

With her eyes still shut, the woman stepped closer to the showerhead, allowing the water to rinse her hair. As the shampoo lather streamed down her naked body, she kept humming Boss of Me, while running her fingers through her dark locks. She was enveloped in the embrace of the cold, the water noise almost drowning every other sound in the bathroom; oblivious to the world outside the old and tattered curtain.

It wasn't long before she was done. Turning off the faucet, she got out of the bath and began blotting her face gently with a small towel from its rack. Her reflection was staring at her from the mirror hanging above the sink in the motel.

Ignoring the sight of her features, she threw the towel around her neck and took her toothbrush from its holder, placing it under the tap and lubricating the bristles with a small amount of water. Picking up a toothpaste from the same plastic holder, she squirted a pea-sized amount on the head of the brush before dropping it back.

Inserting it into her mouth, she began brushing her teeth and tongue, going in short, circular strokes to get rid of the accumulated bacteria buildup. Afterward, she spat out the remnants of the toothpaste, saliva, and water into the not-so-clean sink. She finished by turning on the tap, cupping her hand under the water, and rinsing her mouth out several times in quick succession.

A moment later, she emerged from the bathroom with a large towel wrapped around her body and the smaller one pressed against her face, soaking up stray water droplets. She leaned against the threshold of the door and sighed for the umpteenth time when her stomach rumbled.

As she made her way toward her bag, she found herself muttering, "Now, where can one get decent food in this god-forsaken heap of a city?"

She sighed as instead of an appropriate answer, sounds of a struggle and rapid curses were heard from the room adjacent to hers.

Fuck, she hated her life.