Shauna is helping wipe and cool down my arm and my face, while Kara presumably talks to security elsewhere. The skin is hot and bruised, bright pink, like when Hazel and I tried to dye Easter eggs red last year but could only ever get them to turn pinker. It抯 nothing I need to have seen at a hospital, though. Still, I can抰 stop staring at it.
No one says anything for a long while. I was asked if I wish to press charges, and I don抰. Then, they argue with me. I don抰 care.
I meet Shauna抯 sympathetic gaze. 揧ou can抰 tell Meyer,?I say.
揅an抰 tell me what??
Shauna whips around and Meyer抯 there, looking harried and exhausted and confused. Perfect.
My chin begins to tremble and I clench my jaw as firmly as I can to halt it.
His gaze roams over me as he steps closer, before the hint of his grin flattens and his eyes harden.
I have the odd memory of being taught in school that it takes more muscles to frown than to smile. It makes me marvel at the strength of his.
But then, there. A small flare of his nose, eyebrows twitching up and in to one another. I think again, if this expression was art: Helpless Anger.
揥ho??he grits out, helplessness fading.
I make the mistake of stopping my eyes from dancing along the other parts of his face and meet his own, and the trembling starts anew.
揌ow? How did you get here??I ask.
揑 rented a car in Phoenix. Now you answer mine.?
I shake my head, and it jostles a tear loose. I do not want to lose it, not here.
揌otel??Meyer asks Shauna.
She passes him my backpack. 揂lready checked in earlier.?
He scoops me up and tucks me against him as we walk toward the exit, him practically carrying me. When we emerge into the parking lot I notice a 7-Eleven across the street and recall that the woman抯 coffee was from there梡er the paper cup, at least. Piping hot and fresh. I wonder if she had it before the show or if she got it when she left and came back. It must抳e been the latter.
Meyer slides me into my seat and shuts me into the safety of the car, chin bouncing erratically as fat tears begin to roll down my cheeks. He slips into his seat and immediately starts the engine when I reach for the sports drink in his cupholder, trying to occupy my hands.
揘o. Not厰 he gentles his voice. 揟hat抯 a pee bottle, Fee, not a gatorade.?
揃ut?you抮e a guy. You can just pee anywhere on the side of the road.?Two more tears splatter on the center console between us. So at odds with the stupid sentence I just uttered.
揇idn抰 want to stop at all,?he says, pulling away from the curb. He grabs my hand and lets me hold it in my lap. I clutch it in both of my palms. I laugh a little hysterically when I picture Meyer trying to drive and trying to pee into a gatorade bottle simultaneously.
揓ones. Fee. I抦 sorry I didn抰 make it in time. I really wanted to.?His voice catches on really and the lump in my throat seems to calcify.
I nod, but I want to tell him that he didn抰 need to, that I don抰 even know if I抦 crying over the happiness at seeing him, the success of the show, or the confusion over what took pace after. Did I take something too far? I bullied a paying patron, in a way. Even if she wasn抰 justified in attacking me back, I struck first. I know I did.
And for the first time, in as long as I remember, I question whether I want to go forward with this. I think I might not be getting it right. My why, or my how.
揑抎 like you to tell me everything, Fee. I need you to, please. Let抯 get up to your room and get you cleaned up and then I need you to talk to me. Okay??Meyer says, snatching me from the flushing whirlpool of my thoughts. It抯 now that I notice we抳e stopped in front of the hotel, the tight lines of his expression, and the white knuckles on both of our hands. 揙kay,?I croak.
He loads himself down with his luggage before retrieving my hand again and leading me straight through the lobby and to the elevators. Another hysterical laugh flaps out of me when I think about the stark contrast between this hotel visit together versus our previous one. He, again, doesn抰 question it, just asks for my room number.
And then I continue to crack. The fluttering wings in my chest materialize in the form of laughter. Frothing, bubbling, uncontainable kind. Meyer speed walks us down the hallway when we make it to my floor. He shoves through the door as soon as it unlocks, me in front of him, and in one swift motion tosses his bags into the closet before he strides determinedly toward me and crushes me to him. My arms crash around his middle, gripping each other.
揑抦 sorry I can抰 stop laughing,?I say through the maniacal sound, sucking down a breath through a hiccup.
揂ngel, I hate to break it to you, but you抮e not laughing. You抮e crying.?
He tips my chin up with two fingers and heartbreaking gentleness, cradling the back of my head in his free palm.
Sure enough, I feel the tight wetness around my eyes, already swollen to anaphylactic proportions, I抦 certain. I give in to the urge to sniffle, and a litany of emotions cross his beautiful face: anger, sadness, an attempt at a reassuring lift of his lips that dies out in the same second it starts. And as the last of the adrenaline leaves my system, my teeth begin to chatter.
揂re you cold??He asks.
I shake my head even as I note how hot the latest tear feels on my face. He walks me to the bathroom and wraps me up in a couple towels before he sits me on the toilet and starts the bath.
揚-P-Please don抰 make it t-too hot??
His head turns up to me and he searches my face with a scowl I know isn抰 reserved for me. 揙f course.?
I stick my tender arm out of my towel cocoon and look it over. Not very red anymore, which somehow seems to fit the situation since the burn did more internal damage than anything.
揑 j-just want to w-wash the coffee smell out of my hair,?I whisper. He nods.
And even though this could not be further from the warm and sticky daydream I抳e often had of being fully naked in a hotel room with Meyer, I strip down and climb into the bath with my back to him without much preamble. Maybe it抯 because this was what my Mom always did when I got hurt or had a terrible day. Perhaps it抯 because I want to be taken care of right now and some part of me knows that Meyer wants to care for me and this is a comfort that I don抰 have the strength to fight.
The water is a degree above tepid. Warm enough to slow the shivering, cool enough that it doesn抰 sting the more raw parts of my skin. I keep my back to him as he takes down the shower head and directs its spray to blanket me. And I tell him about the entire night, beginning to end, every high note and low.
I lean my head back when he lathers soap in my hair, fingers stilling against my scalp when I get to the part about the woman.
揑 felt like I had something to prove tonight. I think?I think I wanted to prove that I was okay, that I was good even without you. I went out there and was burning with it. And that entire room was with me, they were all loving it. And instead of enjoying it, I became fixated on one person抯 negativity, Meyer. Why did I let one person get to me that way??
I keep my eyes fixed to the ceiling while he rinses the soap out. I tell him he was right, that I never should抳e told that joke, and a few fresh tears spill down my temples.
He punches the water to off with a fist. 揊ee?It would not have mattered if you didn抰 utter a single bad word or had an entirely G-rated show. People like that will always find a way to be unhappy. All the warnings were there for them to look up. She knew what she was getting into. She had absolutely no right to physically assault you even if you had called her a nasty cunt to her face and told her to light herself on fire. No one. No one has the right to lay a hand on you.?
His tone turns to a growl at the end and I hear him huff out a breath in agitation. I nod once in acknowledgment.
揑抣l grab you something to wear to bed,?he mutters softly.
When I hear him return, I stand up and turn around, stepping into the towel he has up and waiting. I feel his gaze on my face like a brand, but can only bring mine to his throat, just as I see it stall on a swallow.
揑抣l give you a minute,?he says before he leaves. I look down at the shirt he抯 handed me. One of his. Impossibly soft and large. A dog in a Hawaiian print shirt on the front of it. I put it to my face and inhale as best I can through my stuffy nose. I don抰 think I抣l ever return it.
When I emerge he lifts his head from his hands. He抯 sitting on the foot of the bed, hunched over with elbows planted on his thighs. I can trace the exhaustion in every line of his posture.
揗y. I抦 sorry, I抦 sure you抮e tired. You棓 I swallow 摋you can s-stay. Or you can go to your room if you don抰 think you抣l be able to sleep.?
Something flickers across his face while his eyes stay transfixed near the hem of the shirt against my thighs. Something desperate.