The silence settles in. I think there’s a rustle of him sitting on the other mattress, but that’s it. No lying down, no getting comfortable.
I let it hang as long as I can stand. But while exhaustion began to overtake me the second I laid down and closed my eyes, the niggling worry won’t let me quite settle. When I peel open one eyelid, the world is all tilted to the side because of my position, but I can still make out Fallow perched on the edge of the mattress, staring at the wall with a blank expression.
The sight creates a sort of hollowness in me, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
“I need to take a shower,” I mumble through the pillow. “Any chance I can trust you to run to that Denny’s across the street and grab us some food?”
“Trust me? As in trust me not to spit in your food or trust me not to fuck the maître d’ in the coatroom? Because I feel like you’d like the first one, at least.”
It takes a surge of effort to peel myself off the scratchy pillowcase, but I manage to lift my head enough to look him in the eye.
“A) Please don’t spit in my food. That’s weird. B) It’s a fucking Denny’s. They don’t have a maître d’ or a coat closet, but they do have mediocre pot roast that’ll be reheated and in some Styrofoam in under fifteen minutes. And I’m starving. C) I just need you to come straight back here after without causing chaos or running away. Got it?”
He stares at me, a hint of smile playing at the edge of his mouth.
“Sure thing, boss.”
I narrow my eyes at him, because this answer somehow makes me even more nervous. There’s nothing I can do aboutit now; I guess. I can’t watch him every second of the day, if he wants to leave, he’ll leave.
With another heavy sigh, I push myself off the mattress and shuffle over until I can get my feet on the floor. Everything is stiff just from lying still for a couple of minutes, and when I stand up, I take a minute to really stretch my arms above my head and crack my neck. When I pull my shirt off, I take a quick glance at myself, and it’s not as bad as I thought. Some of my small wounds have reopened and bled some more, but it’s not a horror show.
I give in to another luxurious, full-body stretch and then turn to look at Fallow one more time.
The expression on his face is interesting, to say the least. He’s watching me intently. Almost predatory. I’ve never had trouble finding people to sleep with when the mood takes me, and I had a couple of girlfriends when I was younger, but in my entire life no one has ever looked at me with a tenth of the intensity that he’s bringing into the room right now.
“You can’t look at me like that before we eat, bro. If I try to fool around right now, I’m pretty sure my dick would shrivel into my body with dehydration.”
Fallow raises an eyebrow at me but otherwise stays still.
“Sure thing,bro,” he says at last, his voice dripping with disdain. “I’ll just fetch the food.”
I’m too tired to come up with a snarky response, so I try for sincerity, and his whole posture softens when I thank him.
I pull out a wad of cash from my pocket and hand it to him before heading into the bathroom. It’s difficult, but I don’t let myself turn around and watch him. I’m trusting him to accomplish one tiny thing without causing a scene. It’s not a big deal.
The motel room door doesn’t open and shut until I’m in the shower, but the hot water hitting my body is enough of adistraction not to worry about it. God, I needed this. The ache in every part of me is still present, but I can immediately feel myself relax.
I’m back on the bed wearing clean underwear and nothing else, trying to bandage myself in an awkward spot on the back of my neck, when Fallow finally comes back. He stands in the doorway staring at me for a minute, and I realize he does that a lot. It should make me feel uncomfortable, but instead it gives me the strongest urge to preen a little. I do my best to resist.
“You got the food?” I ask, looking at the plastic bag in his hand.
He holds it up, like I’m stupid for asking.
“Every single thing in here looks disgusting, just so you know. That place has been forsaken by God.”
I huff a laugh, because he’s not wrong.
“It’s all going to be salty and soft. After the day we’ve had, it’ll hit. Trust me.”
He looks unimpressed but doesn’t argue.
I keep futzing with my bandage while he pulls out containers and plastic cutlery, but it only takes a minute for him to look annoyed and walk over to me, batting my hands away from my own wound.
“Do you know how to do anything right?” he asks, quietly taking over the job of bandaging.
His movements are careful, and he’s touching me as little as humanly possible while completing the task, but it’s still more than I expect. Strong fingers smooth over the bandage once it’s placed, and then he’s grabbing the antiseptic and swiping over some other cuts that I can’t even see.
“Thank you,” I say, which he frowns at.
