Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Rett
Sunlight streamed through the opening between the curtain and the wall, startling in its brightness. It brought muffled thoughts of how long it’d been since I’d seen the sun and how I’d gotten so used to darkness.
Even with a sleep-addled mind and eyes watering from the intensity of light, I searched the room before even comprehending what I was looking for.
Not what. Who.
Hiro.
And though it took my brain a moment to catch up, the disappointment in realizing he was gone was instant.
Rolling over, I confirmed his side of the bed was empty and closed my eyes to cling to the last moments of the previous night before it was reduced to mere memory.
Inhaling deep the scent of cigarettes, soap, and something entirely him, I curled into myself while recalling in vivid detail how it felt to cuddle in his arms. My body, which had been permanently trapped in fight-or-flight for so long it knew nothing else, had shamelessly surrendered to his presence.
I clung to that feeling of safety and boneless relief just a little longer because I knew, once it was gone, I might not get it back.
Sleepily, I stretched my arm out to the place he’d been lying when I fell asleep tucked into his embrace, hoping to find a trace of lingering body heat but meeting nothing but cold.
He’d told me he was leaving. Something about his job.
But after that shower, more meds, and getting snuggled to sleep, my mind denied the possibility of tomorrow.
Aka reality.
Aka this moment.
I was used to being alone, but suddenly, the silence felt suffocating and the world so much bigger than before. Groaning, I pushed up, covers falling to my waist as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and pushed the hair from my face.
Even knowing he was gone, I swept the room again. Seeking a glimpse of his leather jacket, a cigarette, his boots… but all of it was gone.
As though he hadn’t been here at all.
Eyes catching on the Gatorade on the bedside table, I snagged it up and drained the bottle.
My throat was much better than before, still a little sore but nothing I couldn’t manage.
My body was achy and tired, fingers stiff, and knees tight.
It seemed like the fever was gone, and I wondered how long I had until checkout.
Judging from how bright the sun was, probably not long.
I needed to get up and figure out what I was doing from here. I couldn’t keep doing this. I needed something more… stable. My health depended on it.
You’re too good for that. Hiro’s words replayed in my mind, and the memory of his voice had my eyes drifting closed.
Four hundred dollars wasn’t much, but I could figure out something. I had to.
Capping the now-empty bottle, I tossed it toward the foot of the bed, and a flash of color caught my eye.
My heart jumped like it was using my stomach as a trampoline as I turned, hope and something deeper lighting me up inside. “Hiro.”
He hadn’t left after all!
But it wasn’t Hiro.
It was a purple backpack. Just sitting there all unassuming on the bed. In my experience, when something appeared unassuming, it was a direct invitation to go ahead and assume all kinds of things. Bad things.
Suspicious, my eyes darted around. Listen, I know I’d spent most of my time here all doped up on whatever medicine Hiro was feeding me, but I did not recall seeing a purple backpack lying around.
And it definitely wasn’t his. If he’d had a bag, it wouldn’t be purple. It’d be black. And probably have a hundred zippers with a pocket for some cigarettes.
Remember that fight-or-flight response I mentioned before? She was back and just as obnoxious as ever. With trembling hands and knees, I slid out of the bed, noticing for the first time I had socks on my feet. Black ones that came halfway to my knees.
The intense urge to smell them consumed my brain and had me going as far as lifting my leg toward my head. The screaming protest in my knee and lower back was the only thing that broke through the intrusive urge and saved me from sitting there like some stray dog sniffing someone’s butt.
What was I even thinking? Smelling socks? Maybe I wasn’t feeling as well as I thought. Maybe I was delirious.
Maybe I was dying.
That seemed more likely.
Or maybe I wanted to know if they smelled like cigarettes and leather.
Yeah, that.
Following that thought, I tugged one off and shoved it under my nose, inhaling as if I had asthma and this dirty sock was my inhaler.
Didn’t smell a ton like leather, but I definitely got the cigarette.
Hiro put his socks on me before he left.
The thought sent a wave of giddiness through me, making my organs levitate before dropping back into place.
Then I remembered the purple backpack and the fact that I might not be alone. Slipping off the bed, I clutched the sock while bending down to look under the bed.
Listen, something could be there.
There wasn’t.
Straightening, I eyed the backpack as I walked around the bed and into the bathroom to click on the light.
The scent of soap lingered. My folded clothes sat on the counter.
I stood there for long moments, staring into the shower, remembering his hands on me.
The way it felt to be the center of someone’s whole world—if only for a moment.
A wave of isolation crashed over me, but I shook it off.
After confirming no one was there, I found myself standing over the backpack. Did Hiro leave it for me? Had he gone out to get it and then bring it back?
Curious, I grabbed the handle on the top and lifted. It was heavier than I expected, making my elbow and fingers groan in protest. The bottom dragged over the bed, and that’s when I heard it. A crinkle. A folded piece of paper sticking out from under the bag.
The second I unfolded it, I recognized the handwriting. It was the same as before. As if my own thoughts needed proof, I went over to my coat hanging by the door and fished out the paper stuffed in the inside pocket. It was a little crumpled now, but I carried it over to lay it beside the new note.
The handwriting matched. Hiro had left this.
Leaving the old note on the bed, I lifted the new one, greedily reading every word.
You can’t be Dora without a backpack. Room is paid for through the end of the week. Order room service. Get an apartment. And a job. Stay out of trouble.
I read the words a hundred times, clinging to them like it was a love letter and not some list of bossy orders.
And who the hell was Dora?
Carefully setting aside the note, I grabbed the bag and unzipped it, pulling it open wide.
On the top was a large paper sack filled with chocolate chip cookies. The really tasty kind he’d left me before.
The scent of chocolate swirled beneath my nose when I sniffled, unshed tears pooling in the corners of my eyes as I stared at the treat.
My stomach rumbled greedily, but if I ate them, they’d be gone.
I wanted to keep everything he gave me, even if it grew nasty mold.
They’d still be special to me. Green was a nice color anyway.
No one ever gave me anything—except for that old man at the shelter who gave me the flu a few months ago. I didn’t count that.
After carefully rolling down the top of the paper sack, I set the cookies to the side and pulled the backpack closer to peer inside… promptly bursting into tears. Those unshed tears from before? They quadrupled. Created a tsunami right there on my face.
As I blubbered, I reached inside and pulled out handfuls of money. Still blubbering uncontrollably, I swiped my wet cheeks on my arms while gasping for breath.
Did he leave this for me?
He couldn’t have.
There’s too much.
You don’t even know how much it is.
I don’t deserve this.
Round and round my mind went, shock making it impossible to hold on to any single thought. Overwhelmed, I tossed the two stacks of money onto the comforter and overturned the bag on the bed.
The pile of cash left me stupefied. Even knowing I was gaping wasn’t enough to get me to rehinge my jaw. I just… had never seen so much money in my entire life.
Noticing there was something white sticking out from the middle of the pile, I reached for it, money tumbling like an avalanche when my hand closed around something soft.
The second I pulled it free, a wail ripped from my chest and more tears tracked down my cheeks, splashing onto my bare torso.
I barely noticed the wetness, too enthralled by the small plushie in my hand.
It was a ghost and so cute, all white and furry with eyes, a nose, and an open mouth.
Sniffling, I hugged it to my chest. Damp eyes falling on the sock I’d left lying on the bed, I grabbed that too, pulling it in to add it to the hug.
Yes, I knew this was a little… pathetic. A three-way hug between me, a ghost stuffie, and a sock. But for someone who had next to nothing, this was everything.
Remembering the money, I climbed back into the bed, put the sock on my foot, and tucked the ghost in my lap. After a moment of disbelief, I started to count.
When I was done, I fell back onto the mattress to stare up at the ceiling in disbelief.
Five thousand dollars.
This had to be a mistake. Surely, he didn’t mean to leave so much cash here. But he had. It was literally covering the bed.
I should call him. Find him. Maybe he lost it.
Although, he really didn’t seem like the type to lose an entire fortune before breakfast. Or anytime.
Oh my god, is he rich?
Questions bubbled to the surface, practically creating a parade on my tongue. I had so much to ask him. But he was gone. Left no number. Implied I’d never see him again.
Just the thought of never seeing him again had me clutching my stomach.
Reaching for the ghost plushie, I held it over my head. He hadn’t signed the note. “But he left you,” I whispered, rubbing my thumb over the soft belly. “That’s basically the same thing, right?”
The ghost didn’t answer, obviously.
Why would he do this? Who even was he—besides the human version of an ATM. It seemed utterly absurd that he just gave me five grand and vanished. That kind of stuff didn’t happen. Especially not to people like me.
Maybe he didn’t just give it to you.
The cruel thought brought me up short.
And I say cruel because the thought went on. Maybe he saw it as payment for services rendered.
Oh my god, does he think I’m a prostitute?
Was this backpack disguised as a life upgrade actually a payment for sex?
If all he wanted was sex, why would he have given me medicine, soup, and—don’t forget—the bread with butter? Why would he have washed me with so much care in the shower and put his socks on me before he left?
Gasping, I lurched upright and scurried to get out of bed, which ended up with me in a heap on the floor, one foot twisted in the sheets and up over my head.
I really needed to put on some pants.
At the very least, underwear.
Following that thought, I panicked again and kicked my leg around until it came free of the sheet, then hurried into the bathroom, not even bothering with the light. In my haste, I knocked over the stack of my folded clothes and snatched the black hoodie from the pile.
The relieved exhale I let out emptied my lungs.
He didn’t take it back.
Sniffling a little, I pulled on the hoodie he’d left behind the first time he’d saved me and wrapped my arms around myself in relief.
I’m not a crybaby, okay? I’m just emotionally hydrated. Which probably makes me physically dehydrated… Never mind.
The important thing was that Hiro left behind the hoodie. And some socks.
And five thousand dollars that he may or may not have used to imply I was a prostitute.
You see why I liked the hoodie most, right?
Although, that little ghost was pretty cute too.
Why leave anything at all?
I guess, really, in the end, it didn’t matter what he left behind because he hadn’t cared enough to stay.