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Zeitler toddlers could kick my ass right now.
    I scan the contents of my refrigerator. I decide on an energy drink for breakfast. I see the clock on the microwave- I guess it’s a mid-day snack. I can’t eat this late in the day. I usually eat breakfast and at the end of my night I will try to hold something down. No way can I eat so close to becoming Dalton Thompson. I usually retch up whatever I ate during the day.
    I fetch Thompson’s identity and head into the bathroom to start my night. I stare longingly at the shower stall. I can’t get my bindings wet by taking a shower. Times like these I wished I had a bathtub. I could call my Dad and have him rebind me, but I don’t want to be coddled.
    I give myself a poor excuse of a sponge-bath out of the sink. I avoid all the bruising and broken skin.
Unbidden Sebastian pops into my thoughts. I hate it when the memories surface. I try to forget and it’s like getting hit with a semi.
Sebastian- my submissive, sweet, and compl etely straight, lifelong friend- my first kiss. I miss him like crazy, but it’s best if I’ m not in his presence. He’ ll do anything for me and I feed off it. He’ s safer in Vegas. My thoughts veer from innocent dark, brown eyes to ones that resemble water and twinkle with mischief.
    My cock greets me for the first time in a long while. I stare down in awe as he swells at the thoughts rolling through my mind. I test him by touching him lightly with a fingertip. I arch a brow when he doesn’t deflate. It’s been almost a year since he ’s enjoyed my touch.
I reach down and grip him tightly- painfully. I moan a sigh of relief at the pleasure that radiates from my groin. I close my eyes and recall two different men as my hand picks up a brutal pace. Within seconds my head flops back and I howl a cry of release.
    A laugh bubbles up my throat when I see the mess I ’ve created on my sink and even the vanity mirror.
“Fuck, thanks for staying hard for me. I guess you’re telling me what you want. Leave it to me to find two unavailable men wanting. Sorry, but it’s girls for you. If you get hard for me again we can pretend Sebby is with us.”
    I stare at myself through the s pooge spattered mirror. I’ m fucking insane. I run a hand though my chin-length hair. I ’ve always preferred it long. But I cut it to this length after years of havi ng it used for my restraint. I’ m safe now, but I still don’t grow it longer. I pull it back and fasten it at the nape of my neck. I glare at the offending mass of bland, brown hair and stifle a sigh. I adjust the wig until Font’s hair is completely covered. I place the left contact in my eye cov er ing the brilliant green with a muted brown and repeat the process with the right. I gaze into the mirror and a stranger looks impassively back.
    I smooth concealer underneath my eyes cov er ing the bruise-like bags. No mat ter how much sleep I have they’re still there. It’ s a part o f me. I don’ t cover them out of vanity, rather one more part of Font that is concealed. Lastly, I cover my lips with the tan cream. Just as the dark circles, my lip s are an unnatural shade of red- it’s just me.
Overtop of my boxers I pull on a pair of baggy jeans. If I were Font, I’d wear skinny jeans, but Dalton doesn’t wear those. He’ s a thirty-four year old drab asshole. I gingerly pull on a black thermal shirt effectively coving all the markings on my body. I pull a t-shirt over it to cover and add a jacket for ad ded balk. It would be strange if Thompson appeared emaciated. I layer to cover my slight build.
I huff in several breaths storing Font to the back of my mind and bringing Dalton Thompson to the fore. You are Dalton Thompson, a thirty-four year old retired FBI agent. You are antagonistic and belligerent. I repeat the mantra several times over. I was given this identity when I went into w itness protection three years ago. I was hidden in plain sight. My enemies wouldn’t believe me capable