Page 19 of The Game
I brush my teeth, comb through my vanilla-scented hair, and then blanche. I have no clean clothes. I never saw a washer or dryer unit when I came in, so I can’t just wash them, but asking him for something to wear makes my insides flip. Chewing my bottom lip, I softly open the bathroom door, allowing the steam to filter out. His room is untouched, but on his pristine bed is an old band tee and a small bag. Warmed to my core, I pad across the plush, recently vacuumed carpet and peek into the bag. Inside is a dozen or so pieces of women’s underwear, all with the tags still on. I fish through until I find my size with the most coverage, grab his shirt, and dash back to the bathroom to change.
Feeling humbled in a massive way, I hang the towel and exit his room to find him lying on the couch, scrolling through his phone. The temptation to ask if I can send a text to my step-brothers is strong, but the consequences would outweigh the risk. They would die before I could even warn them there’s someone out to get them.
He moves his phone to the side, glancing at me.
“Breakfast will be here in twenty. I’ll shower and let you sleep.”
“Thank you,” I mutter softly, feeling bashful. He lays his phone on his chest, piercing teal eyes tracing my face with such tenderness.
“You know, you’re a lot easier to deal with when you’re not acting like an uppity bitch.”
I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, well, thanks. You’re a lot easier to deal with when you’re not being a circus show freak.”
His biting grin blooms, his high cheekbones so angular from this viewpoint.
“How’s the finger?”
I hold it up, remembering the small nick. It’s nothing more than a pulsing paper cut at this point. Shrugging, I drop my hand. “It’s fine.”
He stands, so much taller when I am not in my heels. The urge to back up as he comes closer is strong, but I hold my ground as I hold his gaze.
“Don’t answer the door. I’ll be quick.”
I nod, allowing him past me and into his room. The bathroom door closes, and with nothing to keep me busy, I sink onto the couch, surprised at how lush it is, how it surrounds my aching muscles. Stifling a yawn, I glance down at his shirt, holding the hem out to better see the faded logo.
Warped Tour 2012is clinging to the fabric in hues of white and red. I’ve never heard of it, but I’m assuming it’s some type of festival. With a sigh, I lean back into the cushions, my eyes straying to the one window and fire escape beyond as rain builds and plummets to the alley below. Lost in a daze of exhaustion, I don’t hear the knock on his door right away, but my attention is quickly pulled to it as Teddy strides from his room, naked torso glistening with water droplets, towel clutched tight around his waist.
My mouth runs dry at the sight of his lean muscles and the uninterrupted view of his tattoos. Skeletal hands grip the sides of his neck from behind as though choking him, and his arms and stomach and back are covered in varying scenes, most verging on musical and sinister. He opens the lock, grabs the food with a curt nod, always keeping one knee on the door, prepared to slam it closed if need be. Another quirk of his I tuck away to examine later.
Once we’re locked back in, he sets the McDonalds bag on the counter and looks at me, raising his brow.
“Don’t tell me you’re too good for this shit?”
Before I can answer, my stomach growls so loud he grins. My face flashes hotly and a clammy sweat breaks out.
“So you’re not starving yourself. Good to know,” he says while I glare. “Drinks are in the fridge, eat what you want, I’m not the picky one.”
He leaves to go put on some clothes, his hair wet and hanging in limp tendrils that somehow make him look even more lethal, even more…evil? I can’t find the right word for it, but he’s somehow haunting, and it’s alluring. As soon as I’m alone, I jump up and rifle through the bag, groaning in ecstasy as I fist a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit like a trophy. Before I can stop myself, I’m rummaging through his fridge and downing a can of Barq’s Rootbeer. This is the best meal I’ve had in so long.
I make a mental note to leave him my weekly allowance before I go. Even though it’s not much, I’d feel guilty if I didn’t.
He reemerges, grabbing the bag and two more cans of rootbeer before he seats himself next to me on the couch and hands me the other can.
“You’re not full. I watched you scarf that down like a ravenous hyena,” he says, prodding me with another sandwich. I’m too tempted to deny him, giving him a small smile as I take it.
“Thank you,” I whisper. His eyes linger on mine for a moment before he nods.
“You’re welcome, bunny. Eat up. You can sleep in my bed when you’re done.”
As soon as he offers, I yawn, and he chuckles, leaning forward and ripping open a hot sauce packet with his teeth to douse his breakfast burrito in. After flicking on the TV to a random movie and eating in silence, I’m full and content and feeling safe for the first time in so long. I know that as soon as I am alone, everything will begin to compound, and I’ll need a good, cleansing cry. To distract myself, I halfheartedly attempt to converse with him.
“What did you have to show me?” I say before I yawn. Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he shakes his head.
“Too tired, too much to explain. I’ll show you when we wake up.”
I can’t argue with that.