Fly High | ✅

41 | Peeping Tom

◈A D R I A N◈

That fucking bitch!

I slammed the door hard behind me, startling a man in the middle of zipping up his pants by the urinal. He winced and cursed a moment later, most probably because his dick got caught in the line of the zipper track.

"Fuck!" he bellowed as he crouched on the floor with his hands on his crotch. A bead of sweat trailed down his forehead while he panted, his face red with pain...and probably anger. "You fucking bastard!" he wheezed out.

Angry clouds were still circling my head, Kara's smiling face going around mocking me. My fists curled just at the thought of that. I gave the man a bored look. Served him right for being a wimp jumping at the slightest sound. Decided to avoid any unwelcome confrontation, I gritted out an apology without a thread of sincerity. "Sorry, man."

He shot me a dirty look and struggled to get up to his feet, his hands still clutching his crotch. "You don't sound sorry at all, bastard!"

"Yeah, I don't," I shot back and turned to leave the room but somehow the man managed to stumble forward and yank me back. Caught unguarded, I lost my footing and fell on the wet tiled floor but not before my forehead caught the edge of the basin.

The corner of the counter top grazed a long line from the top of my brows to my hairline. Blood trickled down the ridge of my eyebrow and gathered on the tip of my lashes. Like morning dew drops hanging on the end of a leaf at the crack of dawn.

I blinked dazedly trying to shake off the foggy mist before my eyes. Using my fingers to swipe at my sticky eyelids, I looked up at the shocked man. His eyes were wide with shock and a hint of guilt flashed past.

"Y-you did this to yourself," he stuttered and shuffled out of the room hurriedly, leaving the crime scene.

Unable to sit up any longer, the back of my head hit the floor, completely disregarding how dirty it was with small pools of liquid I didn't want to identify. My brain felt as if it was floating aimlessly in the vast ocean and I was unable to anchor it down to get my bearings.

Groaning, my fingers gingerly touched the wound and jerked back instantly when a sharp pain shot straight to my head. I held my fingers up to see thick blood smeared on them.

Fuck, I really don't wanna die in a smelly washroom.

I laid on the cold, hard ground waiting for someone who needed to piss to find me and get help. Staring at the dim lights hanging from the ceiling, I wondered if I was a magnet to accidents and injuries. The number of times I had myself tangled in shitty messes had to be a Guinness world record. I just marvelled at how resilient my body was after so many injuries.

A knock on the metal door pulled me from my misery. "Hey, you done shitting?" a gruff voice called out sounding so far away.

Logan!

I must have been gone for too long, even for constipation standards for him to check on me. I tried to get up but my strength had abandoned me completely.

"Logan." My frail voice was scratchy and I tried to clear my throat. I doubted he could hear over the clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen.