22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The battery light flashes in the corner of my laptop screen, and I slap it shut. It’s just gone half-six in the evening anyway, and time I moved from the ground behind my door.
Stretching my arms and back as I stand, I check Kai’s door one last time, even though I know he hasn’t left. No one came, and no one went. No visitors, no surprise guests. Just a blond British man listening out for any sound. Any sign of distress. Any excuse for me to help him.
Dressed in a hoodie and pair of sweatpants from one of the piles on my bedroom floor, I plug my laptop into charge and look around my room like the thing I’m searching for will jump out at me.
The thought came to me about an hour ago whilst watching Stranger Things on mute with the subtitles. But they live in the eighties. This is twenty-twenty-three.
But you know what else is from the eighties? This room’s shitty decor.
The old telephone by the door. The brown accent tiles in the bathroom. The desk and chair. Because the staff dorms used to be the original hotel.
Leaning over my suitcase, I try to open the desk’s drawer, but it’s stuck. Leaping to the other side, I shake the handle and try opening it again. Crunches—like paint cracking—make me wonder how long it’s been since this thing was opened. Growing restless, I tug the drawer the remainder of the way, only for the wood to squeak worse than cutlery dragged along a ceramic plate.
“Fucker.” I curse the drawer as my ears ring. But at least my search has proven fruitful. Because there—albeit discolored—is a pad of paper and a pencil. Both with the Vistas logo and no doubt older than I am.
I tear the paper from the pad and fold it in half. It’s a dumb note, but I want him to have it. I need him to know he’s not alone.
Exiting my room, I walk straight to his door. There’s rustling behind it, but it abruptly stops when I stare directly at the spyhole.
Resisting the urge to blow him a kiss, I wave instead and hold the note up by my face. Ducking out of sight, I pop back up and wiggle my empty hands before strutting away, none the wiser as to whether he was actually watching me or not. But I can dream. It’s one of the few things every person is allowed to do.