asking for ID when I paid for my room with the handful of crumpled bills stuffed inside my mother’s wallet. He was already asleep when I left the office. At the car, I grabbed my sleeping bag, pillows, duffle and my mom’s ashes before joggling the lot while wiggling the key into the door and stepping into the room.
Out of habit, I went straight to work stripping the bed, spraying down the mattress with Lysol and arranging the tarp. I spread my sleeping bag and pillows on top. Then, I went for a shower, but not before double bolting the door, sticking a chair under the doorknob and checking all the locks on the windows.
The shower was a stand up with no tub. There was a healthy amount of mold growing along the tiles and most of the water was ice cold if it wasn’t running brown. But in a pinch — and with the way I looked and smelt — it was the best I could do. I stripped out of my ruined sweats and t-shirt and dumped the lot into the trashcan behind the toilet. I stepped into the cubical and winced at the drizzle of ice cubs falling from the rusted showerhead.
I emerged five minutes later, as clean as I was going to be, wrapped myself in one of my own towels and padded quickly into the bedroom. My duffle sat on the bed, just where I’d left it, next to the small pile of neatly folded clothes. Nothing had changed at all since walking into the shower, yet it had. Something wasn’t the same.
“How did you get in here?” I growled without turning around to face the shadow lurking across the room, just over my left shoulder.
I tossed a glance towards the securely locked door and the chair still tucked beneath the doorknob before turning to face the figure lounging comfortably in the armchair in the corner.
Isaiah regarded me quietly for a moment, head tilted to the side. He didn’t seem overly proud of himself for finding me, or for somehow getting inside my motel room, but neither was he exactly ashamed.
“The front door was unlocked.” He motioned towards the door and chair.
“You know, this whole stalking thing is becoming a problem!” I hissed, snatching up my clothes and storming back into the bathroom, slamming the door for good measure.
I dressed slowly in shorts and an oversized t-shirt, taking a great deal more time than usual combing my hair and brushing my teeth. I was less inclined to kill him when I emerged ten minutes later. I wasn’t Buffy, but Mom had taught me enough self-defense routines to make a grown man cry if I had to. I never actually used that particular trade, but I was willing to try them all out on him if it meant getting my point across.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, standing clear across the room with my arms crossed and my temper washing off me in waves. “Why are you still following me? I told you I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“And I won’t leave you alone.” Something in my chest wrenched at the way he said it, as if he really meant it and not in a chauvinistic, creepy way either.
I quickly squished that feeling. “I don’t need you looking out for me. I can do that myself.”
“Fine,” he answered simply. “Pretend I’m not here then.”
He might as well have asked me to grow wings and fly. Ignoring him was like trying not to breathe — impossible. But no way was I going to tell him that.
“What do you want from me?” Three nights of no sleep, of one chaos after another and loss pressed into my shoulders, deflating them, caving them in, and any strength I might have had, dwindled and flickered like a dying light. I would have happily fallen asleep standing up if it were an option. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
A sort of sadness passed over his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “If it were that easy I would. Also,” he stared down into his lap, his brows furrowed in contemplation, “because you shouldn’t be alone,”
The thought to ask what he meant crossed my mind. I even started to open my
Out of habit, I went straight to work stripping the bed, spraying down the mattress with Lysol and arranging the tarp. I spread my sleeping bag and pillows on top. Then, I went for a shower, but not before double bolting the door, sticking a chair under the doorknob and checking all the locks on the windows.
The shower was a stand up with no tub. There was a healthy amount of mold growing along the tiles and most of the water was ice cold if it wasn’t running brown. But in a pinch — and with the way I looked and smelt — it was the best I could do. I stripped out of my ruined sweats and t-shirt and dumped the lot into the trashcan behind the toilet. I stepped into the cubical and winced at the drizzle of ice cubs falling from the rusted showerhead.
I emerged five minutes later, as clean as I was going to be, wrapped myself in one of my own towels and padded quickly into the bedroom. My duffle sat on the bed, just where I’d left it, next to the small pile of neatly folded clothes. Nothing had changed at all since walking into the shower, yet it had. Something wasn’t the same.
“How did you get in here?” I growled without turning around to face the shadow lurking across the room, just over my left shoulder.
I tossed a glance towards the securely locked door and the chair still tucked beneath the doorknob before turning to face the figure lounging comfortably in the armchair in the corner.
Isaiah regarded me quietly for a moment, head tilted to the side. He didn’t seem overly proud of himself for finding me, or for somehow getting inside my motel room, but neither was he exactly ashamed.
“The front door was unlocked.” He motioned towards the door and chair.
“You know, this whole stalking thing is becoming a problem!” I hissed, snatching up my clothes and storming back into the bathroom, slamming the door for good measure.
I dressed slowly in shorts and an oversized t-shirt, taking a great deal more time than usual combing my hair and brushing my teeth. I was less inclined to kill him when I emerged ten minutes later. I wasn’t Buffy, but Mom had taught me enough self-defense routines to make a grown man cry if I had to. I never actually used that particular trade, but I was willing to try them all out on him if it meant getting my point across.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, standing clear across the room with my arms crossed and my temper washing off me in waves. “Why are you still following me? I told you I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“And I won’t leave you alone.” Something in my chest wrenched at the way he said it, as if he really meant it and not in a chauvinistic, creepy way either.
I quickly squished that feeling. “I don’t need you looking out for me. I can do that myself.”
“Fine,” he answered simply. “Pretend I’m not here then.”
He might as well have asked me to grow wings and fly. Ignoring him was like trying not to breathe — impossible. But no way was I going to tell him that.
“What do you want from me?” Three nights of no sleep, of one chaos after another and loss pressed into my shoulders, deflating them, caving them in, and any strength I might have had, dwindled and flickered like a dying light. I would have happily fallen asleep standing up if it were an option. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
A sort of sadness passed over his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “If it were that easy I would. Also,” he stared down into his lap, his brows furrowed in contemplation, “because you shouldn’t be alone,”
The thought to ask what he meant crossed my mind. I even started to open my
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