My Queer Superpower

Chapter Forty Three

Several players turned to look at me as I walked deeper into the locker room in my rumpled and grass stained, slate gray suit. They stopped short of turning off music or making a move toward me, so I kept going. I feared that stopping would allow them the moment of thought necessary to change their mind about allowing me disgruntled, but unfettered passage.

The shower area was a mostly empty concrete box covered in gray, mosaic tiles—floor to ceiling. It had six large stainless steel poles spaced evenly with shower heads mounted in every direction near the top. Toward the middle, it had nozzles for controlling the streams and there was a circular steel tray with a railing around it to hold toiletries and maintain balance, respectively.

Juice Williams froze the moment he looked up from his body and saw me. He shook his head and mouthed, "Please leave. No, not here, please," as he clasped his hands together pleadingly. He started backing away from me, toward the spire that wasn't more than a couple feet behind him.

I yelled, "Wait!" to stop him, but I also drew the attention of his teammates.

My shouting had apparently granted them the sense to classify me as interloper. I saw them approaching out of the corner of my eye. At the same time, I saw the potentially disastrous object inside of the spire Juice was backing into.

"No! Please don't move, Jerome!" I had to get his attention. I knew I'd be punished, but I needed him to stop moving and come after me and away from the soap.

Juice walked toward me as I jogged toward the spire. Esmeralda and all of my experience had taught me that it was safe for me to walk through the spire, so I went for it. I dove under his outstretched arms that were moments away from encircling me and scooped up the bar of soap with my dry hands. I slid on my belly through the spire and held up the bar of soap with a weary, yet relieved grin on my face.

I waved it in front of Juice as I stood to my feet, but he backed away from me. He wasn't smiling. The shower area was dark, so I followed him out toward the lockers to show him what I held in my hands. Even if no one else understood what I had done, he would.

He knew about my superpower and he believed me. He'd cared enough about it to carry me around on his back at Faith's party where anyone could've seen him. Now, my suit is completely drenched in water and I did it protecting him.

How could he not appreciate that?

"It was the soap this time," I said, panting for air, "You could've slipped and broke your neck or something."

Juice looked horrified. The other faces around the room were a mix of confusion and amused disbelief. There were all the fixings for outrage and obligatory torment. It was a matter of pride. I walked in on Juice in the shower, called him Jerome and gave some ridiculous excuse for doing both.

"Here," I said with a squeak of a laugh as I handed him the bar of soap, "I'll leave, I just didn't want you to get hurt."

Juice let it fall to the ground, of course. A couple of his teammates, dressed only in skin, blocked my way. I turned to Juice, hoping he'd give me a way out. He looked as frightened as I felt. I ruined his victory shower in the most dramatic way imaginable, but he was still trying to rack his brain to get me out of this.

I had to speak up before the power of suggestion forced his hand. "I'm sorry I called you Jer—wrong name. Please don't hurt me. I'm dumb and crazy, everyone knows it."

I cowered before him and his naked teammates. Blake whispered something in his ear. I was hopeful at first—considering how I kept my silence about him attacking me—but Juice winced too hard for it to have been good news. I backed up as Juice and the players approached, trapping me in a corner.

I can't lie.

Of course, I had imagined being surrounded by naked, muscular guys, but not in one of those fantasies was I half as scared and not at all turned on. In fact, I had never been more terrified. There was no way out and I knew it. I was screwed, only figuratively.

I took a step toward Juice whose closest thing to spoken words had been the pleas he'd mouthed for me to leave. He took a step toward me. His eyebrows, deeply furrowed. If I could've rewound myself, I would've, but I was already in motion to do something ill-advised.

I placed my hands on his bare shoulders to stop his approach and Juice Williams punched me in the face, in the mad-eye, hard. He punched me harder than I had ever been hit before, by him or anyone else. There was a part of him that genuinely hated me in that moment and I wasn't sure I could blame him.

I fell to the wet, tiled floor, clutching my face. I heard receding footsteps, so those around me must've been satisfied. Juice crouched down to check on me. My widening eyes must've clued him in. He stood up and pushed me further into the corner. Some of the guys halted their descent and when Juice turned toward them, they looked suspicious at best. They wanted more. I hadn't been taught enough of a lesson.

I grabbed Juice around the legs, crying. "Please don't. Don't hit me again, you can't."

I begged for mercy. I wasn't acting. I looked up at him with glistening eyes from where I knelt. I tried to force a smile to strengthen my plea. The tip-tops of my canines barely showed. They weren't keen on fake smiles. I needed him to know I'd forgive him, so he wouldn't think all was lost, so he'd have mercy on me. I caressed the inner part of his calf with my fingertips in a way no one else could see.

He kicked me in the face and I bolted out of there as quickly as possible. Howls and gasps of disbelief, saturated with amusement, rang out behind me as I fled to the hall. I wasn't sure what transpired, but a future with Juice seemed highly in doubt. I wedged myself in between two vending machines and sat in the hall, across from the locker room entrance, to wait for him.

I wasn't sure how long I cried over how pathetic I was or how impossible a relationship with Juice would be, but by the time he emerged from the locker room, I had stopped. I stared at him, soaking wet and shaking from how upset I still was. I saved him, he knew it, yet he held nothing back when he punched me.

His face showed enough regret that I could've forgiven him, if he had stopped. He didn't. He was with Marcus and Blake and they were too important for him to bother dropping his act to acknowledge that he really hurt me.

Blake said, "Dude, you fucked him up with that right cross." He pointed to my left eye and laughed. I thought it might be swelling, but pain wasn't exactly uncommon in that eye. He confirmed it. "You got him looking like a battered housewife."

I looked up at Juice, searching his face for a reaction, even if his next words didn't match it, maybe I could pretend.

With coldness in his eyes, he said, "Don't put us in the same sentence," and turned toward the gym with his entourage, all of them dressed in pinstripe suits. He took one step. "Shit, I forgot my phone" —He waved toward the gym— "go on. I'll meet you in there."

He jogged back into the locker room without so much as glancing in my direction. My heart surprised me by how little it reacted. Maybe it was floored already. It was the night Blake tackled me. I could no longer feel, but I could stand on my own. This time, I did.

I stood up and headed to the gym, not waiting for Juice. The last spire could only be Saylor's and my eye clearly knew all along what I couldn't admit. Jerome was a bet on red that landed on double-zero for three years running. That was where he'd always land. It shouldn't have taken me this long to realize that. Elon Musk once said, "People don't change. They die."

I walked into the gym wiser than ever. Amplifiers and loudspeakers were bumping Birthday by Katy Perry, which was nearly a decade old, but instantly reminded me who mattered. It was my favorite song and no doubt, it was played as a special request by one of two people who cared enough to know.

I looked over at the DJ booth—that was definitely an overstatement—and saw Saylor dancing with Faith and Kristen. They were making a scene, one I couldn't wait to get in on. This was their way of figuring out whether I was at the dance. I couldn't disappoint by not turning up, especially given how close they were to the last remaining spire.

The exact spot wasn't a place that could easily be stepped in by mistake since it was occupied by an amplifier, but anything could happen and for once, I didn't want to stand around waiting for fate to decide.