Page 63 of Unspoken Truths

Hurrying forward, I’m inside before I realize I’m in the boys’ locker room, and everyone else is gone. I was so furious, it didn’t fully hit me that I was walking in here until now. Dammit! Jared rolls his eyes as I freeze like a deer in the headlights, watching as he opens his locker and tosses his cap and goggles inside of it.

“Out with it then,” he complains, wincing as he strips out of his bottoms.

Instead of being wrinkled, his cock bounces out thick and hard. His hand immediately strokes it absently, grabbing his shower caddy from inside of the locker. This is bizarre. I should leave right?

Moving over to me, he grabs my arm and pulls before shoving me to sit on the bench.

“Let’s test if you’re actually a lesbian,” he grunts. “I bet you touch your pussy at least once while you watch me shower. Maybe don’t waste our time and actually ask a question or two before you come, yeah?”

Fucker.

* * *

JARED

It’s like a game of chicken, except I want to see if this will send the little mouse running. I noticed that she doesn’t enjoy her nickname. That’s a pity since I don’t give a shit.

I have ink up both of my arms, but have to use heavy tattoo makeup to cover them up. I fucking hate it, it feels stifling. It’s the only way that I can swim per the dictates of the school, so I suck it up. This shit is thick, full coverage, and not a hint of color shows on my pale skin.

Chlorine doesn’t affect it either. The only way to get rid of it is to use a makeup foaming cleanser while I’m showering. I’d usually wait until I’m home, but I want to bare everything to the little mouse for some reason. My skin feels as if it’s itching, which I know is just in my head.

I know what people see when they look at me. They comment how Bryce is so much easier to get along with. While it’s true, no one knows that he cheats on his girlfriend, Patricia with a nurse who’s married, and he’s not actually as nice as he seems. My mean streak is simply on display for everyone else to see.

I’m also not a cheater in any sense of the term.

I asked the team if they wanted to go out after the meet, but most have plans. They were excited about the offer, helping me to see that the team needs that camaraderie. I may try again after a practice to get into the habit of doing it. It’s not that I hate my team members, I’m just easily peopled out, which is why I stick with my core group.

It’s not considered normal for a high school student to feel like this when everyone is partying or going to the next club meeting. Theo is one of the biggest introverts that I know, but most people ignore it because he scares the shit out of them. I sometimes wish I was more like him or Elijah, who is popular and a fantastic rugby player, yet he can easily fly under the radar when needed.

Being in the spotlight is exhilarating yet also exhausting.

Scrubbing my arms with the cleanser, I glance at the little mouse who is struggling to figure out if she wants to watch me or look away. She's still here, and I’m willing to silently give her props for that.

“Ask me something,” I grunt at her, raising my voice so she’ll hear me over the water running.

“Why do you hide your tattoos?” she says, biting her lip as she realizes that isn’t something that can be printed.

Rachelle Thomas has integrity, I’ll give her that. More than most people at this fucking school. I’ll probably never tell her that, though.

“I only cover them during meets and practice,” I explain. “Otherwise, they’re covered by my school jacket. You know you can’t use that, right?”

“I do,” she sighs, crossing her legs at her ankles and leaning back on her hands along the back of the bench. “What do you think about when you’re swimming? Your face is so intense.”

“Nothing,” I say honestly. “My mind is clear, everything is quiet, I can’t even hear Coach or the people in the stands. All the bullshit fades away.”

There’s a look on her face as I say that, and my eyes narrow. Rachelle doesn’t know this, but there’s a spotlight over the bench where she’s sitting. It means I can see the line on her thigh that isn’t hidden by them being pressed together.

Is it true then? She’s a cutter? I know what the psychiatric reports said from last year, but a part of me wants to see the scars, the proof that she’s broken.

Just like I am.

Except, instead of cutting, I jump into the pool whenever life feels like it’s kicking my ass and the pressure is overwhelming. Even when swimming is what is creating the stress because I’m not doing it well enough.

There’s always room for improvement, it’s something I’ve heard my entire life, but today was the first time that it didn’t feel like a reprimand. Instead, Calvin was telling me there was nothing I could have done differently today.

This swim meet, I swam as hard as I possibly could.

“I know the feeling,” Rachelle mutters. “Is that why you swim, for the peace?”

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