Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
Rett
My gasp shattered the silence, consciousness slamming into place as my eyes flew wide. As I jerked upright, the hood of my coat snapped back against my shoulders.
Despite the sudden awareness, I was disoriented, brain struggling to catch up to where I was. Or, rather, where I wasn’t. The room was too quiet, too warm, the ground beneath me not uncomfortable at all.
Blinking, I attempted to focus my addled mind, and slowly, my surroundings came into focus. White walls and a large window framed in black but obscured partly by floor-to-ceiling curtains. Turned out, focusing only made me more confused because…
Where am I?
This was not where I’d been.
Where was I?
Memories of the three thugs in the alley, the clanking fence, my aching fingers, and the sensation of warm blood oozing over my cheek had my fingers flying up to my face where they prodded what felt like bandages.
Winkling my nose, I lowered my hand, staring at my fingers, which didn’t ache nearly as bad as they had. I forgot all about that, though, when I noted the dark fabric concealing nearly my entire hand.
That’s not my coat.
Lifting my other hand, I patted my chest, hand meeting thick, soft fabric and… a string? Chin falling to my chest, I looked down, taking stock of myself, and nearly passed out all over again.
Where were my jeans? My socks? Whose shirt is this?
Gaping, I pushed my fingers from beneath the too-long sleeve of the hoodie to cautiously lift the hem, revealing my naked thighs, and then farther up to heave a heavy sigh of relief.
My briefs were still on. Thank God.
The sleeve fell over my hand again when I dropped the hem, and I couldn’t even enjoy the feeling of being cocooned. What in the fresh chaos is this?
Bracing my hands on either side of me, I dropped my legs over the edge of the mattress.
Wait. I was in a bed. A bigger bed than I’d ever been in before.
It was like three of the shelter cots in one.
And the bedding was piled on. I felt around, noting the downy comforter in white fabric that was actually white and not that old dingy brown.
Across the foot of the huge mattress was another blanket, and behind me were at least six pillows.
One of them bearing the indent of my head.
Fingering the bandages on my cheek once more, I let my gaze fall on the nightstand right beside the bed. Right there on the dark wood top in front of a glowing gold lamp was a brown paper bag and a tall white cup with a white lid and a brown sleeve around the base.
My stomach growled aggressively, and I put a hand against it, trying to quiet it. Guilty, I glanced around, searching the corners of the small room and finding nothing. Not even dust.
My eyes landed on a door that led into a bathroom, and a trickle of unease glazed my spine. Lips rolling in, I debated on what to do.
Call out? Run?
Accept my fate and get murdered?
Being as quiet and unmoving as I could, I listened intently, but the only sounds were honking horns and sirens from the street outside. Clearly, I was still in the city.
After another quick glance at the cup and bag on the nightstand, I cleared my throat. “H-hello?”
My entire body braced for attack. For someone to come flying out of the dark bathroom like a lurking demon to accuse me of trespassing.
But no demon came.
Though, all these demon thoughts made me very aware of the way my bare feet dangled over the side of the bed, exposed to whatever might be lurking beneath it. Uncomfortable, I pulled in my knees, tucking them beneath the black hoodie that was easily three times my size.
The inside was warm and soft, the material not threadbare or worn at all. It felt nice against my skin.
After my paranoia had settled a bit, I hopped down from the bed and padded over to the bathroom, flicking on every switch to illuminate the small space.
I forgot I’d been looking for trouble when I caught sight of the wide shower with its white subway tile and glass door.
Across from it was a sink with black countertops and a mirror that took up the entire wall.
I did a double-take at my reflection, moving farther into the room to examine the bandage taped across my cheek. The sudden memory of being punched and my cheek driving into the unforgiving ground washed over me.
As if corroborating the memory, the other side of my face was tender and dark with a fresh purple-and-red bruise. Everything rushed back: the shoveling job, the diner, the chili. The thugs following me out onto the sidewalk and chasing me into a dead-end alley.
I gasped, my hands flying to my chest to check the pockets of my coat. To see if they got all my money… but I was wearing the hoodie.
A hoodie that wasn’t mine. All I’d had on beneath my coat was a long-sleeve T-shirt.
Searching the rest of my memory, I tried to recall where I was, how I ended up here… whose shirt this was.
There was nothing. The last thing I remembered was being punched, thinking I was going to die, and then…
Watch out!
Words I’d definitely yelled echoed through me like a shadow. No. A ghost. Like a ghost haunting the recesses of my mind.
Someone else had been there. Someone who wasn’t with those three thugs. Someone who jumped in to protect me. I raced back into the other room as though the floor was filled with hot coals, looking around again, this time not with confusion but with hope.
It was the same as before, though. Empty. Quiet.
Shoulders sagging, doubt nipped at my mind. Was I remembering wrong? Had it all been a dream? No way someone had actually jumped into the middle of me getting mugged to help.
Maybe that happened in other cities or to other people. But not in the slums of Buffalo. Not to me.
Angry and maybe a little hurt, I ran over to the nightstand and snatched up the cup.
The liquid inside was still hot, the warmth seeping into the part of my fingers exposed from beneath the sleeve of my shirt.
The unmistakable scent of coffee wafted upward, and I remembered the black coffee I’d tossed in one of my attackers’ faces.
After another tentative glance around, I lifted the large white cup and took a sip. Flavor burst across my tongue, swirls of creamy milk, sweet caramel, the warmth of cinnamon, and of course, the jolt of espresso.
Frankly, it was heaven in a cup, and I forgot I’d been taking a drink out of spite and purred while taking another decadent gulp. This stuff made those little creamer cups in my pocket look like a joke.
Eyes straying to the paper bag, I wondered what was inside.
But then I remembered what I was supposed to be doing.
“Mmm,” I said, super loud and drawn out. “This coffee is sooo good.” The second the words left my mouth, my fingers tightened around the cup, expecting someone to barge into the room and try to toss me out the window because I’d touched their bougie latte.
The pictures of these in all the coffeehouse windows around the city did look delicious. I’d always wondered if they tasted as good as they looked. Now I knew they did. And I also knew I’d probably never get another one because good-looking and good-tasting were definitely out of my price range.
“I’m drinking your coffee,” I announced again.
Nothing.
No one.
Not a peep.
A new thought plagued me, and I looked down at the latte in absolute horror.
What if it was poisoned? Made so tasty and warm to entice me into drinking it so it could strangle me from the inside out?
Maybe it was those thugs. Maybe this was their way of getting back at me for having so little cash and attempting to fight back.
Popping off the white lid, I gazed into the contents, noting the way the foam on the top swirled perfectly with the light brown brew. There was even a drizzle of caramel clinging to the foam.
It didn’t look poisoned.
Like they’d make it look poisoned. Don’t be stupid, Rett.
Lifting it, I sniffed.
It didn’t smell poisoned either.
I pouted, caught in a war with myself. To drink or not to drink.
I mean, who was I to waste bougie lattes with caramel and cinnamon? But also, what if this latte wasted me?
Could be worse ways to go, I reasoned.
Heaving a regretful sigh, I set the cup back on the nightstand, my eye catching on a pad of paper and a pen illuminated in the glow of the lamp.
The pen clattered onto the wooden tabletop when I picked up the thick rectangular pad to read the note scrawled on the top page.
Check out tomorrow at 11 a.m. Room service is on me.
Below those words was one more.
Eat.
And right after it was an arrow pointing at the paper bag and latte.
Tucking the pad beneath my arm, I grabbed the bag and stuck my face inside.
The scent of chili wafted up to meet me, and I reached in to pull out a large to-go container.
Along with it was an entire grilled cheese sandwich.
There were also cups of cheese, sour cream, and a pile of crackers.
At the very bottom of the bag was something wrapped in white paper.
I pulled it free and moaned when I caught a whiff and ripped the paper off in my haste to confirm my nose’s hypothesis.
It was a chocolate chunk cookie bigger than my hand.
Forgetting all about poison, I shoved it in my mouth and bit down. Melty chocolate and sugar burst in my mouth and smeared my lips. Groaning, I fell onto the bed, still clutching the cookie and chewing.
I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had a chocolate chip cookie.
I ate half while I lay there on my back, kicking my bare legs in happiness.
Even though I wanted to demolish the entire thing on the spot, I convinced myself to save some for later and carefully wrapped it back in the white paper, exchanging it for the latte.
I mean, if I was going to die, this wouldn’t be the worst way. And, oh god, coffee with a cookie?
Maybe I was actually dead and this was heaven.