Chapter Four #2
I stripped and jumped in the shower, taking my sweet time getting everything back in order, not caring if that meant the pizza got cold. I needed to feel more normal again.
By the time I finished, maybe twenty minutes later, my legs were so sore they were shaking. I toweled off and climbed out to stare at myself in the mirror with a feeling of bone-deep helplessness.
A year had gone by. And something was wrong with my body.
Never, not once in my life had the act of showering caused freaking muscle fatigue.
That was insane. I had always taken decent care of myself.
I wasn’t model thin or overly muscular, but I made sure something green hit my mouth every day, and I went to the gym an average of three days a week to keep things looking how I liked them to look.
I could spend a night out dancing and not wake up with sore leg muscles.
I dropped the towel and looked at myself in the mirror for the first time since waking up, noticing the small changes.
I was thinner, like I told Sawyer, though not enough to make my ribs stick out or anything like that.
But I looked just a little weaker, a little more frail.
Whatever definition I had in my arms and shoulders and tummy was gone, leaving just smooth skin.
My hair was shorter, but not so short that it made me look all that different.
My brows had grown in, but I kind of liked how they looked a little fuller.
And, as odd as it was to say, my skin looked better than it ever had before.
Then there were the weird things.
Like my boobs hurt so badly. Really, it was like I was two weeks late for my period, and they just kept getting more sore by the day.
And my lower belly was a little bloated.
Again, maybe a PMS thing, though that was never something I dealt with before.
And, finally, I was hot. Literally. Like maybe I had a fever, but I was pretty sure I didn’t.
“Know you have a lot of landscaping to deal with,” Sawyer’s voice called through the door, and I snorted a little at the bluntness, “but the pizza is here.”
“I’ll be out in a sec,” I said, looking away from myself and focusing on getting dressed. I pulled on the panties and got myself into the bra, finding a small bit of relief from the soreness, then pulled on the pants and shirt, combing my fingers through my hair, and heading back out.
“Better,” he said, nodding as I walked out, getting paper plates out of a cabinet, then moving toward the pizza box that had two foil to-go containers with plastic tops sitting on top. “Salad,” he said, moving one toward me. “And I made you a cocktail.”
I stopped from pulling the top off the salad, brows drawn together. “You made me a cocktail?”
“Babe, when I offered you whiskey, you looked like I offered you a pickle juice and anchovy shot. Figured you liked your drinks with some mixer in it.”
He was almost scarily observant. I guess that went with the job. He wouldn’t be a very good private investigator if he was completely oblivious to details, even minor ones.
“I do,” I agreed, popping off the lid of my salad and pouring the house dressing over it. “So what did you make me?”
“Fuck if I know. It’s vodka with cranberry and orange juice.”
“That’s called a Madras,” I said with a small smile, reaching for the glass gratefully.
“Interesting booze knowledge,” he said, pulling out slices and putting one on each plate.
“I took a bartending class for fun once. Some of it stuck.”
“Want to eat here while making stupid-as-fuck awkward small talk,” he started, giving me a look, “or eat in front of the TV?”
God, what was even on the TV anymore? “TV,” I said, grabbing my plate and putting it over the salad while reaching for my drink.
“How about some news? Help you get up to date on some shit. Got an election coming up.”
I didn’t even know who the candidates were. “Sounds great,” I said as I sat on the couch, putting my food on the coffee table.
“Once more, with a little enthusiasm,” he declared, reaching for the remote. “Just fucking with you. This election is a shit show. How about some mindless reruns instead?”
“Better,” I agreed, head spinning. There would be time for catching up. Tomorrow. I deserved to let my brain have a bit of a break for the night.
We ate in relative silence, the only conversation being him asking if I wanted another slice (I did) and a refill on my drink (yes to that as well).
“Alright, if I know one thing, it’s when a woman is silent for over an hour straight, she’s got something on her mind,” Sawyer said, walking back and sitting down beside me on the couch.
“I have a lot on my mind. I think that’s kind of normal when you are missing an entire year of your life.”
To that, he nodded, letting his hand land on my knee and giving it a small, reassuring squeeze that I would have thought was completely uncharacteristic of him, but he did it easily, without so much as a hint of hesitation.
“Look. It’s been a fuck of a day. You look beat.
Hit the guest room and get some sleep. You can start putting your life back together tomorrow.
Okay?” I nodded, taking a deep breath and reaching to grab my plates and drink.
“Leave it,” he demanded in a way that left little room for argument. “Goodnight, Riya.”
“Goodnight,” I said, giving him a small, grateful smile and heading toward the hall.
I went into the room beside the bathroom and found the guest room.
It was another deep color, this time a blue that was almost black, with white trim and a lily-white comforter.
The sheets underneath had a blue pattern mixed into the white.
Somehow, despite the dark colors, there was a softness to the whole thing that I found comforting as I moved toward the bed, slipping off my bra and climbing under the sheets.
Despite my long nap earlier, I felt more tired than I ever had before.
So I slept.
Sawyer was right; I could start rebuilding my life in the morning.