When I open my eyes, I'll know whether yesterday was a long freakish dream or an even longer nightmare. The sheets I'm lying on smell fresh, and the satin finish is a sensation I hardly remember. Even the plushness beneath me is almost too soft compared to what I'm used to, but I might be happy never moving again. The heaviness of my eyelids forces me to sink further into the mess of pillows as I stretch my arms and legs wildly to the sides, trying my best to take up this impossibly large bed.
With moments of comfort drowning in the memories of what I witnessed and participated in yesterday, I pull myself up against the headboard, still refusing to open my tired eyes. I don't understand any of this—anything that happened—or anything that could be waiting for me today. With the millions of thoughts running through my head, regret is something I'm not feeling. I want to think this is a lucky break, but watching people suffer is horrible, so this can’t be considered luck.
I press open my eyelids, squinting against the brightness of the sun spilling in through the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks Boston Harbor. The space surrounding me is even whiter during the day than I noticed last night. It’s kind of like I'm living on a cloud right now, but the cloud is hovering over a warehouse containing God knows how many confined people.
Maybe I need something normal right now. Or a distraction. That could help. I reach for the remote on the mahogany nightstand and power on the TV.
I flick through the channels for a minute, finding only a select few that have a clear picture. For such a nice hotel, they have a shitty cable selection. I haven’t watched TV in more than eight months now, and I’m not sure I was missing much.
As I flip back and forth between the few channels, I stumble upon a Breaking News banner scrolling across the bottom of the screen. After the blur within my eyes clear up, I read the words. Then I re-read them a few more times because I need to convince myself I’m seeing it all correctly.
Norm Santiago confesses to bombing the US Embassy in Mexico City. Santiago is currently in custody.
I whip my head around, looking for the time. It's only 7:45 a.m., and they already have him in custody? Does that mean the music worked? I didn’t think it would work since it wasn’t a legit ensemble of the psychotherapy music. How did that all happen so fast? What the hell?
The news shows the back of a man walking between two FBI agents, hands cuffed, and a black shirt over his head. The U.S. Embassy? This is exactly what I need to avoid, which is why I shouldn’t have turned on the damn TV. I power the thing off before falling back into the pillows and lean over to the nightstand for the room service menu. Don't mind if I do.
There isn't much to choose from, but everything looks incredible, even after my huge meal last night. I may need to eat like that for the next few months just to catch up after starving for so long.
A loud thud against the door startles me into tossing the menu toward the end of the bed. Fuck! Not that I wasn't expecting Axel to show up at the ass crack of dawn, but he doesn't need to scare the shit out of me. "Jesus! I'm coming."
"Jesus is coming?" A voice yells in. It's not Axel's voice. I think it's Everett, which I wasn't expecting either. I clamber out of bed, noticing I'm only in a t-shirt and panties. Yeah, opening the door like this would probably be the worst idea ever. I search around the room for my jeans and find them draped over the desk chair. I was in such a fog last night that I hardly remember getting ready for bed, never mind recalling where I put my belongings.
I open the door, knowing I look like I just crawled out of bed … because, well ... "I wasn't expecting to see you here," I tell Everett, who’s leaning against the wall across my room with two coffees in his hands.
"I can drink both if you'd like," he says, toeing off the wall with his brown, leather boot. He wasn’t dressed as well as Axel yesterday, but he was presentable; whereas today, he has on a white t-shirt and torn jeans. I know it's not Sunday, so I guess I'm a bit confused.
"No, I'd kill for a coffee … "
"Wouldn't put that past you," he says, walking into my room.
"Funny," I mutter, snagging one of the Starbucks cups. "Where's Axel?"
Everett scratches under his nose and makes his way over to the window. "He's a little tied up today. He told me to tell you to do what you wanted for the day and meet back here for dinner at six."
"He couldn't tell me himself? Does he have people to do everything for him?" I press.
"I'm not his person," he corrects me. "We're partners."
"Like, ‘partners, partners,’" I say, using air quotes, "or like he tells you what to do kind of partners … though I do suppose those questions can have the same answer."
Everett turns around with a sneer and furrowed brows. "I meant, we started working together, doing all of this at the same time."
"All of this? Does this have a name?" I ask. "Just curious since, as you know, I'm somewhat employed by a 'company' with no apparent name, or so it seems."
"Our work doesn't need a name," he says. "I ordered you breakfast, by the way. It should be up here in about five minutes. I didn't know what you'd want, so I ordered everything. That way, you can choose, and I'll just eat whatever you don't want."
I sit down at the edge of my bed and take a sip from the steaming coffee cup, inhaling the incredible roasted aroma. I have missed this smell. "You're having breakfast with me, in my hotel room?"
"You answered the door without a bra on and your white t-shirt isn't as thick as you think it is, so I think we're past the awkwardness, huh?"
Peering down at myself, I'm quick to grab a pillow from behind me and clutch it against my chest. Heat rushes through my cheeks, but the fact that he's laughing at me causes my embarrassment to turn to anger. "I still had fifteen minutes you know …"
"Always expect the unexpected," he says, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Is everything okay with Axel?" I ask.
"Why, you worried about him?"
"Didn't know if I should be concerned with what he's doing? I don't even know him well enough to be concerned with him as a person."
"Sure," he says, patronizing me.
"So, did you come here to just annoy me? Because I can order my own breakfast, just in case you weren’t sure."
"I came up to get to know our newest man," he says, smirking against the rim of his cup.
I'm not falling into his trap of clarifying the difference between a man and a woman, but I’m aware he's trying to get under my skin just as Axel was doing yesterday. Both are incredibly immature.
Room service knocks on the door between his rude comment and my lack of response, so I hold my pillow where it is as I jog to the door.
A man rolls in with two carts loaded with food, and I’m already so hungry again that I might eat every morsel of it without concern for saving any of it for Everett. The room-service guy places the cart in front of the bed and leaves without a word. Following the slamming sound of the closing door, Everett pulls up a chair to the opposite side of the cart. "I'm starving," he says.
"I thought you said you were going to eat whatever I don't want?"
"Yeah?" he questions.
"Well, I might want all of it," I tell him.
"I'd get full just by watching you try to eat all of this," he says with a laugh.
Still holding my pillow, I eyeball the food then Everett. "Did Axel tell you to babysit me today?"
"That's not something you should be worried about," he says, his voice lowering an octave.
Whatever. "I need a minute. Don’t touch the food." I get up and close myself inside of the bathroom, finding my bra on the floor. Then I spot a complimentary toothbrush with toothpaste. Perfect. If only I had a complimentary reflection right now this morning wouldn't be so bad. I tie my hair up, brush my teeth and slip the bra on before returning to my hot meal.
Of course, when I come out, I find Everett eating off one of the plates. "Come on!"
"Oh, you found your bra?" he teases.
I chuck the pillow at him, forcing him to drop his fork.
With a firm hand on the rolling tray, I pull it over to the edge of the bed where I make myself comfortable. "Mmm," I moan during my first bite.
"To answer your question, no, Axel did not ask me to babysit you. He told me to tell you he had some things to handle and to meet him back here at six tonight."