The Paradox Hotel

“Good.”

I move toward the center of the room, pull out my favorite beaten roller chair, and flop down into it. I’m sure within moments I could fall asleep if left alone, and I kind of wish I could, but then Allyn snags me from the edge of it. “We’re canceling the summit tomorrow.”

“Someone finally came to their senses,” I say.

“Whatever’s going on, we don’t have a handle on it,” Allyn says, getting up and stretching his arm back and forth, to check the flexibility of the bandage. “It’s late but the snow stopped, so I’m sending facilities to start clearing out. We’re going to hunker down tonight and hope we get through it in one piece. TEA agents will be on walking patrols all night.”

“And what about the big meeting?” Nik asks. “Does it get bumped a day or two?”

“No, I’m telling them to do it somewhere else. Let it be someone else’s problem. If it costs me my job”—he looks down at his arm—“then it costs me my job.”

I stand, suddenly so tired I feel a little drunk. “That’s a good idea. Someone else’s problem. Listen, I know you want my ass out of here, but can I at least crash on my luxurious hallway cot for an hour or two?”

“You know this isn’t how I wanted it to go.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. For my best interest.”

I think he wants to respond but I don’t let him. I step into the lobby, and Ruby’s voice is calling over the speaker system, telling everyone that the lockdown is ended, they’re free to leave their rooms. Seems Allyn was the only injury we incurred besides Reg. I take some small comfort in that as I weave my way through the hallways, up to the second level, and the cot I had claimed earlier, which is still free. I fall into it and feel my body relax as the pressure to keep standing comes off my feet.

It’s nice, but when I close my eyes, the light fixture above me drills down, so bright I can hear the buzz of it.

I reach back for the gun but there’s nothing in my belt. Must have left it in the office, so I stand up, take my boot off, and wing it up at the ceiling. I miss the first time. And the second. But on the third I manage to smash it, and the light sputters out, shards of glass falling to the floor. A few people jerk up in their cots and I just wave at them.

“Good night,” I say.

I get back into bed, and there’s still too much ambient light—not the dead blackness I prefer—but it’s manageable. I lie there, my brain spinning off the rails, because of course now that I’m finally here I can’t sleep. Wondering who let out the dinosaurs. Who’s messing with the hotel. All the nonsense with the ghosts. Plus, god, the kid again. And Axon’s access to government servers, Drucker’s presidential campaign.

God, at this rate I will never sleep.

So I do the same thing I always do on restless nights…

…snake my hand over the sheets, running it across Mena’s sleeping hip and onto her chest, searching for that thump-thump of her heart, the vibration of which will travel through her and into me and lull me to sleep.

When I find it, her skin warm and soft, she intertwines her fingers with mine.

“Still awake?” Mena asks.

“Always awake,” I tell her.

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” She slides a bit under the covers, pressing her body against mine.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, pulling her close.

“For what?” she asks.

“Does it matter? I feel like I’m usually due someone an apology.”

“Why is that?”

I stare at the ceiling that I can barely see, through the sliver of light cast underneath the bathroom door by the night-light.

“Seriously,” Mena says, nuzzling into my neck. “Tell me.”

“I’ve told you.”

“But you’ve never told me the truth.”

She turns a little and places her hand on my chest, and I can feel the thump-thump of my own heart against it.

“I’m serious, January,” she says. “If you’re capable of regret then you’re capable of understanding the weight of your actions. So why do you persist?”

I shrug. “Dunno.”

She presses harder on my heart. “It’s right here. Right under the surface of your skin. I can feel it. I know your family…”

“What about my family? I don’t remember them.”

“Stop that.”

“What do you want to hear?” I ask, and I can feel my pulse increasing against the smoothness of her hand. “That my parents didn’t give me the courtesy of hating me? That they were just indifferent? That they didn’t know what to do with a queer little nerd they thought was going to be a doctor or a lawyer and give them a bucket of grandkids? Do you want me to tell you how I was a lonely kid and I found the only way to get people to like me was to get them to laugh? And I just stuck with what works?”

“Sure, that,” she says. “There’s something else. Something deeper. I can feel it. You have to let it out, mi reina. It’s poisoning you. It’s a thing I know you want to say but you’re afraid.”

I put my hand over hers, knowing exactly what it is I want to say, exactly the thing I have almost told her a hundred times and never could find the courage to come out with. “It’s embarrassing. If you know I’m afraid, why not leave me to it?”

“I love you,” she says. “Tell me.”

“That,” I tell her, the word slipping out.

“What?”

“That,” I say, turning my face away from her, afraid for her to see it, even in the dark. On the off chance the tears might catch a stray bit of light from the bathroom. “You’re the first person to ever tell me that you loved me. The first time you said it, it just overwhelmed me. But I also felt the vacuum of what my life had been like without it until that point. And I just felt so stupid. Like, this little tiny thing is what fucked me up so bad?”

“Oh, my love.” She wraps her arms around me then, cradling me like a child, and it makes my face hot, reveals to me exactly why I held this inside, because the wound has met the open air. “Not even your parents?”

“That just…wasn’t them. They weren’t the touchy-feely type, I guess…”

“Hey,” Mena says, her voice sharp. “It’s not about being ‘touchy-feely.’ It’s about being a kind and loving person.”

“Well, I just…” My voice catches in my throat. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Close your eyes.”

“It’s already dark.”

“Close them.”

I close my eyes. Nothing changes. All that darkness. Filling the room, filling me. She takes my hand and twists her wrist a little so that both of our hands are pressing my heart.

“Breathe in through your nose,” she says. “Feel your chest expand. Get to the top and hold it. Count to three. And then just let go through your mouth. Let it all flow out.”

Even with my eyes closed, even in the dark, even as quiet as I manage to stay, I am crying. But only ever in a place where no one can see me. I want to hide it from her and she knows I want to hide and she won’t let me. She pulls me tighter.

“Do you think…” I start, but my throat seizes.

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