Chapter Twelve #4
“Let’s go get some sleep,” he says. “We won’t be of any use half asleep. Let’s leave her a note. Go knock on that lady’s door and ask for a pen and paper.”
I go and get the required stationary before writing down the message for James’s wife to call the nearby hotel when she gets home and ask for Lane.
We then walk to the hotel Lane had mentioned after stopping at a dollar store, to grab some dog food, as well as a burger joint.
I leave Lane with the bags of food and stuff from the dollar store as I get us a hotel room.
I get a room after a minor issue with me trying to get a hotel room without an ID.
I end up saving the day by pulling out my police badge.
Lane snacks on the fries as we ride up to the fourth floor. “Do you feel guilty about that?” he asks curiously.
“Of course not,” I admit as the elevator doors open.
“Of course,” Lane says with a grin as he eats another fry.
We head down the hallway as I glance at the room number written on the envelope.
I find our room at the end of the hall just past the ice machine.
Once there, I swipe the keycard and wait for the light to turn green.
“Are we going to get murdered?” I ask, trying not to recall my last time in a hotel.
“Hopefully not,” he says as he follows me inside. I close the door and lock it. Then I toss the grocery bag on the bathroom counter and wash my face. For a moment, I consider taking a shower, then decide that being on the run is exhausting and I would in the morning instead.
I walk into the bedroom where Lane is sitting on the bed eating his cheeseburger. I reach into the bag and pull out my cheeseburger and start stuffing my face as I hand Copper a piece of it. He scarfs it down then wags his tail as he watches me eat mine.
“So?” I ask.
“So, what?” Lane asks.
“Nothing? You have nothing to say?”
“Good idea getting these burgers,” he says with a nod.
“You’re so frustrating,” I say.
I’m not yet done when he gets up and heads to the bathroom. I sigh but finish eating and let Copper have half my fries. He’ll probably get the shits, knowing my current luck.
When I’m finished, I go into the bathroom and push Lane out of the way, so I can brush my teeth. The toothbrushes are small and stiff and feel like they’re trying to scrape my gums off instead of cleaning them. I suppose that means that I shouldn’t have been so cheap and bought decent ones.
Lane hands me his toothbrush, which I set down so that it’s not touching the counter since I’m paranoid about germs.
“So…how do I take these sutures out?” I ask as I examine the small line of sutures just before my hairline.
“Snip them.”
“Uh huh.”
“Want me to do it?” he asks as his hand smacks the bag that holds the scissors I’d bought. Who needs a doctor anyway?
“Sure,” I say as he snips the scissors in the air. I grab them from him before he cuts something important and carefully cut each suture until they’re free. The wound on my arm looks decently healed, so I cut them off as well before tossing the scissors onto the counter.
When I’m finished, I walk out and find Lane sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Are you going to bed?” I ask.
“Yeah…in a bit.” He looks up in my direction as I walk toward him.
“Do you want to rub my back?” I suggest as I walk up to him and climb onto his lap.
“No,” he says. “I can’t. I’m blind.”
I laugh and watch as he reaches up toward my face.
I’m a little worried after he’d tried poking my eyeball out in the car, so I can’t help but cringe a bit from the memory of the trauma.
His finger touches my cheek and he hesitates but keeps moving it up until his hand is at my hairline.
He slides his hand up as his fingers sink into my hair.
It’s not really a romantic or suggestive gesture, so I just watch.
His hand brushes against my skin as his fingers run down the strand of blond hair.
“Is your hair curly?”
“No, just a little wavy. It has this messy thing perfected,” I say.
He lets a finger follow a strand down, and then slides his hand through my hair up to my forehead.
He touches the hair, pushing it back, before sliding his fingers down my forehead like he’s trying to memorize it.
Then his thumb begins to run a line from the middle of my forehead down my nose until he reaches the tip.
“You said you’re paler than me?” he asks. He leaves his thumb on the tip of my nose as his fingers span out, sliding over my forehead and down the side of my face.
I look at his slightly tanned skin; he clearly hadn’t been afraid of the outdoors before this mess. “Yes,” I say.
“Do you have freckles?”
“No.”
His finger stops as he touches a small scar just above my eyebrow. Most people don’t even notice it since it is barely visible anymore. “What’s this?”
“A scar.”
“From what?”
I watch the concentration on his face. His eyes not focused at all, yet showing complete concentration like he’s truly seeing something.
“Um…I think that was when my brother hit me with a baseball bat,” I say.
“Brother? I didn’t know you have a brother.”
“Yeah…I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. He got into some bad shit.
I guess he took a bit too much after my mom.
” I sigh. “Anyways, back to my scar, it wouldn’t stop bleeding, so he glued it back together with some super glue, but had gotten his finger stuck to it, so when he pulled his finger away, he ripped the wound back open. ”
“Ow,” he says.
“Yeah, it wasn’t pleasant.”
His finger slides inward, and I close my eyes, a little worried about the proximity of his finger and my eye. His finger slides over my eyelid, then through my eyelashes.
“You said your eyes are brown?”
“Yes.”
“What color brown?”
“Uh….I don’t know. Kind of hazel, I guess.”
“Your eyelashes are long,” he says as his fingers slide down my cheek. His thumb dips down my nose to my upper lip, then slides over my cheek as I open my eyes. He traces the edge of my lips as I follow each movement with my eyes.
And I can’t help but wonder when everything changed.
When did I stop seeing him as just an object of desire?
Something to lust after? I never let myself get this close to anyone, so why is it that I am suddenly consumed by him?
I can’t stand the thought of leaving him.
I would rather go through all this shit he’s putting me through than to be alone again.
I want him near me more than I have ever allowed myself to want anything in my life.
He gives me a purpose while also making me feel wanted and needed.
When his fingers touch my chin, he slides his hand down to the bottom of my shirt where he grabs it and pulls it up, over my head.
I lift my arms up and the shirt pulls free.
Once my top half is bared to him, he quickly tackles the buttons of my pants.
Eager to help, I get off his lap and push my pants down, stepping out of them.
Using my toes, I slide my socks off. He reaches for me and sets his hands on my hips, wrapping his fingers around them.
He lifts me up and lays me down on the bed.
He reaches under me and pulls the top cover up and off before climbing up until his knees are on each side of my waist. I don’t reach for his clothes because I’m not quite sure that’s what he’s wanting.
Instead, he picks up where he left off. His fingers dip down my chin to my neck, finding every mole, every dip, everything that makes me who I am, and I just watch him.
I have never felt so noticed, so vulnerable before as I lie there.
It is like he’s seeing every inch of me that no one else has ever taken the time to look at.
His hands slide down my chest, his fingertips brushing over my nipples.
Then moving from my chest, his fingertips dip over my shoulders and down my arms, only stopping when he finds another scar.
“What’s this one from?”
I shift a bit. I’m trying really hard not to get an erection since he clearly just wants to find a way to see me, but his hands are warm and a little rough as they slide down my arms. His finger moves down the scar before drawing a circle around it.
“Where did this scar come from?” he repeats as his finger circles it again.
I’m silent as I watch him, finger still circling the scar.
“Felix?”
“Hmm?” I ask.
“Where’d this scar come from?”
I watch his expression, but he’s not giving anything away.
“I was fifteen and I stole money from my mom. She was going to spend it on drugs and I just wanted something to eat. Her boyfriend got pissed and started hitting me with a beer bottle. I hated him, and I hated her. I hated everyone. I hated myself. I just…wanted to get away, but I couldn’t.
When he was finished beating me, I remember just lying in the closet.
It was the only place I felt like I could get away from them.
And that’s when I heard the sirens. For a split second, I thought my mom called the police.
I thought…I thought she was so worried about me that she called the cops.
I…didn’t care that I ached, that my lip was bleeding, my arm needed stitches.
I didn’t care because my mom cared! She actually cared!