Black Ice
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I strip off the janitor’s jumpsuit, feeling the bite of the winter air on my skin.
I’m too thin. Every rib shows. I look like a person made of glass, always one tap away from breaking.
I crawl into my bed, pulling the thin, scratchy sheets up to my chin. I’m exhausted, but my mind won't shut up. It keeps replaying the way Alan Voss looked at me.
Not with disgust. With something… different.
I close my eyes, hoping for a dreamless sleep.
I’m not that lucky.
The mood changes. It’s not the chilly, beer-smelling air of my dorm anymore. It’s the scent of fancy leather and that strong, sweet cologne.