Dirty Little Secret
Phil stalked around back stage. He didn't want to get caught. He couldn't get caught. If he got caught, that was it. He was done. He was through. He was over. He was dead.
"Hey, Phil!", Karrah said as she saw him from the end of the hall. He gave a sheepish wave, an arm behind his back hiding something, and said nothing. He pretended he had to keep going and get ready.
He opened up the door to the locker room. Nobody was in. Nobody would be in. Everyone is where they should be. Everyone but him.
But he didn't care. He had other plans.
Phil looked all around the locker room, and he checked the showers and bathroom stalls, just in case. Nobody. Not a single, solitary soul, save his own, was in that locker room.
"Good...", he whispered under his breath.
He looked around with his eyes, just going in circles around the room. There wasn't a sound except his lungs doing their job.
He sat down on the bench, taking what he had in his hand out.
A syringe, a vial, and his wrist tape.
He filled the syringe with the liquid in the vial. He extended his left arm.
The tip of the syringe pierced his skin. The cold steel slowly went into him. It chilled his blood. He pressed down on the button, causing the liquid to go into his system. He slowly pulled the needle out.
Phil leaned against a cold locker, letting out a sigh of relief. He got away with it again. He always waits until drug test day before he does this. After he passes his piss test, he takes them. He also knows how to flush out his system, just in case.
He had a secret. A secret nobody knew. A secret he could safely hide.
He wrapped his arm up in his wrist tape. That hid the injection spot.
Philip Jack Brooks had a secret. His secret is that he takes steroids. Nobody knows. Nobody can ever know.
This is his dirty little secret.