Over Again | ✓

A b s q u a t u l a t e

Chapter Eleven

❝ those who are not looking for happiness are the most likely to find it, because those who are searching forget that the surest way to be happy is to seek happiness for others ❞

;

Martin Luther King

The male's toilet room of this restaurant really smelled.

And no, I didn't have the urge to pee, only to hide from them. By them, I meant Bitch Face and Mr. Mysterious who both entered with equal grace and elegance though Bitch Face's appearance seemed to say otherwise.

Bitch Face was still in the dress we saw her in earlier whilst Mr. Mysterious was clad in a russet fitting tee and faded jeans. If it was any normal day and they didn't try to kill us, I would've pegged them for a beautiful couple and not after a group of young adults on their road trip.

"Really? Them again?" I muttered under my breath, ducking below the table and crouched my way to the nearest door I could find, which unfortunately, was the male's bathroom. My friends, who were still in shock from earlier, barely even made a move as I disappeared from sight. "Oh, just great. Men's toilet room."

Just as I expected, the men's toilet room looked of the dullest place I've ever seen. Not only that but, I didn't expect it to be so... nauseating and ruinous. It literally throws off all my other expectations from it. A perfect pane of window was not to be seen in sight since there was either a broken glass or two or a thousand. Algae scattered on each and every corner of the room, except for the single stall on the far end where the blinking light didn't reach.

"Okay, Harper. If you were Bruce Willis, what would you do in this situation?" I knocked my head with the bottom of my palm repeatedly. "Think, Harper. Think."

I was already halfway to the stall of God-knows-what when the toilet door knob began to rattle and flew open. Oh shit. But I soon managed to hide on the vacated space only to realize a-little-too-late that it was janitor's closet. And- goodness gracious, my eyes! A plastic bag tied to a hook on the whole was overflowing with used condoms. Some- most- of them were filled with melted marshmallows. How undeniably gross.

"Yellow?" A wheezy voice said, footsteps filling the room. "Anybody," wheeze, "here?"

Okay, I was completely and totally losing my mind right at this very moment, too many thoughts unable to process in my head. First, Bitch Face, who we most definitely did not lose at the traffic, came trudging in her skimpy dress with Mr. Mysterious in tow. Secondly, things were about to get worst. For real. And lastly, I left my friends outside with them as I hide like a coward on a janitor's closet in the men's toilet room.

I looked for a place to escape to and gaze landed none other than an open window, wind rustling the piece of cloth covering it. A child could easily fit into the small window, barely the size of a pillow. Could a petite-18-year-old fit through that was the question. I wouldn't know the answer to that till I try, I suppose.

With a large intake of breath, I grabbed hold of a shelf, testing my weight on it and placed my foot on top of the green trash bin. The shelf creaked softly. And I thought it would be the end of my life but fortunately it held long enough for me to reach the window, the warm and musky air fanning my face.

"-for the third time, Wes. Yes, I have set the sleeping smoke in the girl's room. If you don't believe me, you can go and check it for yourself." A familiar shrill voice whined just as I crept out the window, my shoe almost breaking the glass by a millimeter. Thank the Lord for perfect timings.