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Joey’s glad that hotels don’t run out of hot water. It took him a few minutes just to get in here, because he would rather not. Like, ever. But he has to, after every show, with soap, or he’s gonna get that itchy fungus thing again.
As the water runs over his shoulders, he thinks about how he fucked up. He really fucked up. Not that he particularly enjoyed the whole being naked thing before, but he was fine. Okay, he fucking hated himself, but as fucked up as it is, it seemed to be a normal amount, and he’d figured he just had to get used to it. He got that far without knowing, he could’ve made it the other two thirds of his life.
But, as much as he wants to just say, ‘Nevermind!’ and continue on as a woman, as easy as that seems in comparison, he can’t. The worms won’t go back in the can, and they’re gross and horrible and he’s stuck with them. He sinks down to the floor and cries, because he’s trapped. In this fucking hotel shower, in his own skin, in the sick fucking joke the world has played on him.
He just wants to dissolve and run down the drain, but he has to step back, turn himself numb, and finish up, so he can go put on his oversized KISS sweatshirt, and pretend he doesn’t exist underneath it. And he’ll get a little drunk, or a little high, and Eric’ll get back and let this shapeless mass of black fabric ride his dick and pull his hair, and maybe it’ll all feel good enough to convince him that everything’s gonna be alright.