Mark winces as he migrates his dirty socks and underwear from one of his mesh laundry bags, to a smaller blue cloth bag inside his backpack. He's trying to put off going to a laundromat for at least another week, conserving his funds, but he can't get around needing clean socks and underwear and he's running out.
He knows he probably shouldn't have bought those books and given Sören a five-dollar tip the other day, but he needs something to pass the time and he wanted to give Sören a little token of appreciation for letting him hang out in the shop. He justifies the food at the shop as being more cost-effective than buying fresh produce that will go bad quickly, or canned/frozen and needing to find someplace to heat it up; he has, in fact, spent less this month on food than he did last month, according to the ledger he keeps of daily expenses and the money he has on hand.
Mark doesn't just need clean socks and underwear, he needs to wash up. He has some no-rinse body wash that doubles as shampoo, but it still doesn't feel as clean as taking a real shower. There are, unfortunately, few places to do that which are both safe and low-cost. The YMCA requires a membership to use their shower facilities, which is more than Mark can safely afford. Ditto for gyms. Even if the YMCA or gyms were free, their showers typically aren't private, and Mark can't risk showering in front of other guys when he has a vagina, and he can't shower with women, either. Mark is familiar enough with the road to have been to a few dozen truck stops, most of which have private showers for a fee, so once every couple of weeks he drives to a truck stop to take a shower. But he doesn't want to burn his money to take a shower just yet.
So he's about to do something he really doesn't want to do, but doesn't see any other course of action. He takes a deep breath, slings his backpack on, puts his mask up, and hops out of the van. The bells jingle at the door of Phoenix Books and Anthony is behind the counter wearing a black mask that matches his black T-shirt. Anthony waves. "Hi, Mark."
"Hi," Mark says. He pauses a moment to listen to what music Anthony has on today - this time it's Soundgarden. He can't help singing along, a little tribute to Chris Cornell. "I'm a searchlight soul they say | But I can't see it in the night | I'm only faking when I get it right | When I get it right | 'Cause I fell on black days | I fell on black days."
Sören comes out from the cafe just in time for Mark to get theatric. "How would I know | That this could be my fate?" Mark puts his burned hand on his heart, making the words his own.
"It's a damn shame you don't have a record deal," Sören says.
Mark sighs. He knows Sören is paying him a compliment - and he appreciates it - but he also doesn't like thinking about the what-ifs, what-could-have-beens, the things he can never have. He takes a polite bow and begins to browse... and prepares himself for his mission.
He settles down with some books and gets lost in N.K. Jemisin's Inheritance Trilogy series. Every now and again he looks around - it's a survival instinct - and he takes a break to watch Sören and Anthony dancing together, masks down, to "Canned Heat" by Jamiroquai. They look so happy together, and it makes Mark ache, in a good way. He hopes their happiness lasts and they grow old together.
The thought that Sören and Anthony will be gone in about forty to fifty years and he'll still be alive, wandering the Earth, makes Mark ache in a bad way.
He tries not to think about that, focusing again on the two of them dancing, giggling, being able to have silly playful moments like this. When the song is over Anthony and Sören kiss, then remember they're not alone in the store and they clear their throats, give shy little smiles and waves to Mark, before they put their masks back up. Mark waves back, smiling fondly underneath his mask. He finds them adorable...
...and sexy. That kiss stirs Mark's libido, something he hasn't allowed himself in a long time, focusing on survival rather than trying to find a partner, which is fraught with complication if not outright danger. He can't help thinking Sören and Anthony are gorgeous men, and hot together. He admits to himself that he liked watching them kiss - his face is on fire now, as he feels his cunt twinging with that old familiar need - and then his mind starts going places he would prefer it not go, thinking about them undressing each other, caressing each other, sucking each other, taking turns inside each other. He wonders what each of them is like as a lover. He knows Sören is a screamer. He almost brought himself off listening to them the other night -
Stop that.
Mark takes a few deep breaths and makes himself get ready for the first, and least risky part, of his mission. He waits for a lull in customers, and to make sure Sören and Anthony have both gone to the bathroom, and then he puts his book down on the small table next to his chair, gets up, and goes to the single-occupancy restroom, still wearing his backpack. Anthony is putting books away around the store, and Mark hopes he doesn't notice him going into the bathroom with his backpack on, or that if he does, it doesn't make him suspicious. He really doesn't want to answer questions about what he's up to.
Mark puts the toilet seat down, takes off his backpack, unzips it, and pulls out the cloth bag of dirty socks and underwear. He starts running the sink, and as it fills, he pulls out a small, carefully wrapped bottle of dish soap, unwraps it, and pours some dish soap in the sink. Then he throws in the socks and underwear. He soaks them, sitting on the toilet while he waits, checking the time on the prepaid cell phone he only uses for work or emergencies. Every few minutes he gets up to swish the clothes around. When fifteen minutes pass, he begins to rinse the socks and underwear, and squeezes the water out. Finally, he throws the socks and underwear into a different cloth bag, green in color, and he flushes the toilet to pretend he was using the bathroom as he shoves the bag in his backpack and zips it up.
He takes another deep breath, heart racing, hoping the twenty-ish minutes he was in the restroom doesn't cause a problem. He heads to the front door - Anthony is with a customer, ringing them up.
"I'll be back in a few minutes, I have to take a call," Mark lies.
"OK," Anthony says.
Mark goes to his van, which he's had parked in the parking lot the last few nights... except for the night Sören got loud and he had his hand down his pants and suddenly he got one of those bad feelings and pulled out before the police arrived. That would have been really bad, if the police had found his van in the parking lot. He spent that night at a Denny's, but he can't do that every night since they only allow customers there, so he had to buy something. The local Walmart security doesn't allow people to stay in the parking lot overnight anymore, which is what he usually does if he can get away with it.
Once Mark is in the van, he takes out the bag of newly washed socks and underwear, lays them out on a towel, and turns on his battery powered fan - a lifesaver on hot nights - and points it at the laundry. Then he gets out and heads back into the shop. Now for phase two, he tells himself, getting nervous all over again.
This time he orders his usual sandwich and drink, and leaves some change in the tip jar for Sören. Once he sits down Sören gets a flood of customers, and Mark feels bad, just sitting there while Sören makes coffee and sandwiches as fast as he can, looking a bit overwhelmed. He wishes he could help, but he feels like he'd be overstepping bounds to offer. Once the customers are gone Mark thinks about asking Sören if they're hiring, but he knows there's not a Help Wanted sign in the window, and with the pandemic still going they're probably just barely staying afloat, never mind hiring a third person for the shop.
Not to mention that he doesn't have any legal paperwork to show them, and he doesn't want to get into his situation with them. It's bad enough he just did laundry in their bathroom, and soon he's going to actually bathe in their bathroom. Once again he wonders what the point is, why he's still alive, when the novelty of this life wore out some time ago. He knows his life is an act of defiance against the Valar, refusing to surrender to the Doom. He is the last of his line, and he carries the fire. But more and more, it feels like that fire is burning out.
Sören looks burned out, when the rush of customers is gone - Sören was on his feet putting things together for over twenty minutes. He puts his mask down and catches his breath, and Mark notices how hard Sören is breathing. Sören takes out an inhaler and puffs, and then he winces when he notices Mark staring.
"Sorry," Mark says, and takes a too-large bite to finish his sandwich, feeling awkward, wanting to bolt.
"Eh, it's all right. I know I sound like I'm dying." Sören gives a humorless smile.
"Long COVID." Mark remembers.
Sören nods. "I had asthma before this, the COVID made it worse. Anthony worries about me overdoing it."
"I don't blame him."
Sören shrugs. He comes over with a Diet Pepsi for himself and sits at Mark's table. "I feel like a little old man. I used to be able to go for walks and dance. Now I can only do that in short little bursts. I can't sing for very long either."
"You can still scream, though." Mark remembers Sören's Jonathan Davis impression - and the screams of passion he overheard from his van.
Sören turns beetroot, and looks away. "Jæja, I pay for it later, though." Sören looks back at him. "Now you - you've got a set of pipes on you."
Mark smiles. "I like to sing."
"And you're good at it." Sören cocks his head to one side. "I'd have to run the idea by Anthony, but I think an open mic night - with a limited amount of attendees, because social distancing - would be a nice draw for customers."
Mark waits. He knows there's more.
"Maybe, if Anthony agrees, you could get a free meal out of it, and put out a tip jar?" Sören raises an eyebrow.
Mark wonders if Sören figured out he's living in his van - he heard Sören and Anthony outside his van the other night and decided not to answer them, pretending he wasn't in there. Anthony assumed dead battery, but though his accent is fading, Anthony still carries the trace of British public school; Sören on the other hand seems a bit more salt-of-the-earth.
Mark doesn't want pity, but he also knows Sören's compliments of his voice are sincere, and this is less seeing him as a charity case, if Sören suspects what's up, and more a win-win business strategy. Mark can't afford to be too proud and refuse, and he likes performing for an audience - he just doesn't want to become a celebrity.
"If he agrees," Mark says. "But you really ought to consult him about it."
"I will." Sören claps his hands excitedly. "I'm sure he'll say yes, knowing he'll get a concert from you."
Mark feels like he needs to offer some sort of penance for what he's about to do, because he feels guilty even though he's not technically doing anything wrong. "How about I bring in my guitar later and play for you guys, like when you're about to close?"
"I WOULD LOVE THAT." Then Sören looks around and claps his hand over his mouth and makes a tiny little "meep", realizing how loud he was.
Mark throws his head back and laughs, finding both the lack of indoor voice and the little "meep" to be adorable. He moves his chair closer and gives Sören a hug, not able to help himself. Sören hugs him back.
It takes Mark every ounce of his restraint to not give Sören a kiss. He's so cute.
He's so married. Cut that shit out.
...You could offer Anthony a kiss too. And a blowjob.
Mark's face burns again. The only thing worse than thinking about Sören and Anthony having sex together is fantasizing about having a threesome with them. He cannot go down this path. Not only are most humans monogamous and he would likely cause offense, they might probably reject him when they find out he has a vagina. He doesn't want to take the risk of getting pregnant, he's already had two Peredhel children and two abortions; he's lost track of what happened to his descendants, his great-whatever-grandchildren.
And he told himself no more mortals, he's seen too many die. Sören's post-COVID problems are a reminder of that mortality.
When Sören goes back to work, cleaning up after the customer rush, Mark goes back to his books. He's come here often enough that he's determined between two to three PM is their slowest time of day, and thus the safest time to do this. As soon as the clock strikes two, he ducks back into the restroom, locks the door, and starts to get naked.
The restroom looks more like the bathroom in someone's house than a public bathroom, right down to having higher-quality toilet paper than most public bathrooms. The walls are a light blue, and the floor has a design of blue, white and beige tiles in irregular shapes that reminds him of sea glass. The mirror above the sink has a seashell frame with a sculpted water phoenix at the top - Mark wonders if Sören made it - and along one wall is a rail for handicapped accessibility, which leads out to a framed print of Wanderer Above The Sea Of Fog. Mark finds that painting very apt for his lot in life. The opposite wall has a shelf of air plants in seashells...
...and a glossy laminated sign hanging off the shelf that says Sprinkles are for cupcakes, not toilet seats :) in Comic Sans font. Mark chuckles at it, then the moment of relaxation is chased by fear as he looks at his clothes on the floor. He puts the dirty socks and underwear in the blue cloth bag, and takes out a fresh change of socks and underwear.
Then he starts by washing his body, so at least if nothing else, that's clean. He takes a moment to breathe in the scent of his soap, such a little thing, but it's become a luxury. It's soothing to lather himself, to feel the bubbles, though there is that little jarring feeling of dysphoria along with it, once again wishing he had a penis.
Once Mark's body has been soaped and rinsed, he gets to work on his hair. This is the worst part of the equation - his hair is long enough that it takes a lot of time to wash. He knows short hair would be more practical, but he prefers to have his hair long. He still cringes at himself in the mirror, heart racing - he's been in the bathroom quite awhile already, he wonders if he'll get interrupted...
Sure enough, the first knock at the bathroom door comes when he's wearing a halo of soap suds, and his pointy ears are sticking out.
"Occupied," Mark says.
"Jæja, I know," comes Sören's voice from behind the door. "Just making sure you're all right."
"Yeah. I... I'm fine." Mark laughs nervously. He decides not to give any "out in a minute" promises, because he can't. Instead he says, "It's gonna be a little bit, sorry about that."
"OK."
Mark breathes a sigh of relief once the footsteps head off - he might actually be able to get this done - but then, as he's rinsing his hair, there's another knock.
"Mark?" This time it's Anthony. "You still in there?"
"Uh, yeah. Sorry. I'll be out soon."
"You know you've been in there for over an hour, right?"
Mark swallows hard. Oh shit. His heart pounds. He weighs his response. "I. Ah." He can't find words. He doesn't want to lie and claim to be ill.
"Mark, I need you to open the door."
"What?" Oh shit. Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshit -
"Look, Mark, I don't want to be rude," Anthony says, "but I can't smell any, um... gut problems. I need to make sure you're not in here doing drugs in my bathroom, that there's not going to be a scene with an OD -"
"What!"
"...or stealing books. You went to your van and now you're back in here with your backpack. For over an hour."
"What." Mark is almost offended, but he also knows this looks really suspicious and he can't blame Anthony for that; theft hurts small business owners more than corporations.
"I've got a key, and I'm going to give you a choice, you can either open up, or I'm coming in -"
"Wait. Wait. No. I'm... I'm not doing drugs, I'm not stealing books. Just give me five minutes." That isn't going to be long enough to finish his hair, but he knows he took a risk even starting it, and he'll hit a drive-thru and buy a cup of water and rinse in a parking lot if he has to.
"Two minutes, and I'm counting now. One hundred twenty..."
Mark turns off the sink and starts scrambling to get his clothes back on, because the last thing he needs is for Anthony to come in here and see him naked... with a vagina. At least he's naturally flat-chested.
Mark gets his socks, boots, stuffed underwear and jeans on by the time the door opens. Anthony and Sören are both there - if Anthony thinks he's hopped up on drugs, he probably wants an extra body there for reinforcement - and he sees the shock on their faces as they look at him shirtless, with obviously stringy-wet hair, though his pointy ears are hidden under his hair.
Now they know he was washing up in their bathroom. He gives them a quick look at his open backpack so they can see there's no books inside...
...and then he scoops up his shirt and his backpack and he runs, feeling absolutely humiliated. They know. One would have to be a total idiot to not make the connection between his van in their parking lot at night, paying for things with exact change, and him bathing in their sink. They know I'm a street person.
"Mark," Sören calls after him. "Mark, wait."
Mark doesn't turn around, just keeps running, full fight-or-flight. He gets behind the wheel of his van, still shirtless, and pulls out of the parking lot as fast as he can. He'll drive to Old Orchard Beach to stay at the Walmart there tonight if he has to.
"I don't need your pity," Mark hears himself growling, chanting like a mantra of madness. "I don't need your fucking pity."
He's had many low moments in his life - throwing the Silmaril into the sea at the top of the list, unwanted pregnancy towards the top - but this is the lowest he's felt in years. This is what my life has come to.
He finds himself driving to Craig Beach, as if on autopilot, and as soon as he parks he buries his face in his hands and breaks down crying.
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