“Welcome to the Sunborough Hills Inn. How many rooms for how many nights?” the red-headed clerk greets us as she enters the room, the cherry butt of her cigarette glowing burnt sienna as she sucks back the nicotine.
“One room, one bed. We’ll be out later tonight. Just need a few hours to crash,” I say, keeping my head low while sliding over seventy-five dollars, their one-night stay fee.
She takes the money and shoves it in the empty space of her neon pink animal-print bra strap, handing me a couple of sets of keys before turning back around and disappearing out the back.
My hand on her lower back, I guide Amira out of the front entrance, leading her to the car so I can drive us to room 20C, the very last room on the third story.
We have to park a few paces down since the motel is overcrowded.
Staring up at the flight, I blow out a tired sigh. “Let me carry you up. I don’t want you walking all those steps and then fucking up your ankle more.”
“No, I can do it. We just won’t get there quickly,” she responds weakly, a soft smile in her tone as she reaches for the handle and slides out of the car.
Pulling out our luggage, I pass the keys off to Amira and follow her up the stairs to our room.
“Reminds me of a few months ago.”
“Yeah. Only this time, I’m not running away from anyone, and I’m not covered in blood and mud,” Amira says, winded from going up three flights of stairs.
We stop in front of our room at the very end of the hall. I dip my head low, sliding down the brim of my hat, so the neighbors peeking through their curtains don’t recognize my face from the few news segments that reported on me and my case.
Finally, Amira gets the door open and holds it wide for me as I step through with our bulky suitcases. Our room smells as nasty as the main lobby downstairs, but I’m too fucking worn out to go back down and demand a new space or clean sheets. And quite honestly, I’ve slept in worse conditions.
Dropping the bags by the foot of the bed, I peel back the comforter and throw it on the floor. I choose to do the same with the pillows, feeling more comfortable using my arms as a cushion instead of the foamy mat in the pillowcase.
“Are you going to be okay to sleep here?” I ask, ripping the shirt off my back before throwing myself down on the dingy, off-white sheets.
She is leaning against the wall, the thick blanket hanging off her thin shoulders. Amira fights with the laces on her shoes, grumbling something angrily under her breath as she struggles to get them off.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
I want to stay awake long enough to feel her join me in bed, but the fatigue is too powerful to fight against.
Within seconds, my lids are sealed shut, and I fall headfirst into sleep, with Amira on my mind and her broken, bruised body underneath my bleeding hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
AMIRA
Tuesday
March 23, 2021
Irun my fingers over the raised scars on Roman’s back, knowing my slight touch will ease the nightmare currently plaguing his mind. I don’t know why it works or how. I can see the vein in his temple still pulsating madly, but the shivers racking his skin stop, and the tension coiling his muscles relaxes.
I may not be able to ease the discomforts of his mind, but I can relieve the strain on his body.
My eyes latch onto the glowing nine thirty-eight on the clock, and I release a sigh.
I’ve slept and showered, shaved every inch of my skin with a disposable razor left wrapped in the shower, plucked my eyebrows with only my nails just to try and pass the time. But now it’s closer to ten than it is nine, and I need to get out of this room.
I choke on the second-hand smoke seeping through my vents from the neighbors next door. Mucus rattling in my chest as I cough into my shoulder, doing my best to shake Roman awake so we can get the hell out of here.
He grumbles in annoyance, batting my hand away from his ribcage as my fingers trace the series of butterflies floating up his skin.
Roman came home this night so excited.
“Look, angel, now I got you on my ribs. Protecting my heart.”
