I snorted. “You wish.”
“You know.”
I really didn’t need to picture his dick at that moment.
“Dex?” I prodded.
“I think I saw a pizza joint when we rolled into town,” he said, voice muffled. “This is buttfuck Canada so I’m not sure we’ll have much more selection than that. I’m going to try and order in, do you want some?”
Being with Dex was doing hell to my waistline. Unlike him and his daily gym sessions, I couldn’t afford to keep eating junk. But we would be hiking for the next few days, so what the hell. I told him to get me whatever he wanted and in 30 minutes we were sitting cross-legged in his room, me on one bed and him on the other. We ate the thin pizza with its overdose of marinara sauce and flipped through the three crackly television channels until we were stuck watching a documentary on the CBC.
Despite the casual munchies and TV watching, sitting there with Dex wasn’t as comfortable as I would have hoped. He seemed content just to relax and kept oddly quiet, though the constant drumming of his fingers on his thigh suggested he had something on his mind. His face was ashen from the long drive, which might have explained why the witty and suggestive comments had dwindled. It sounded funny, but I kind of missed them. Though, when you thought about it, being in a cheap motel room together probably wasn’t the safest place for sexual sparring.
When the program was coming to an end, he gave a yawn, settling back into the stiff floral comforter.
I eyed the clock, which read 9pm.
“Hey, I think the hot tub is still open,” I suggested, recalling the tiny tub outside surrounded by a tall metal gate. “The sign said it closed at 10.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Did you bring a bathing suit with you?”
I hadn’t thought of that. “Well, no. But I have matching bra and underwear.”
He turned his attention back to the television. “So going commando was just a one-time thing, then.”
My cheeks burned at the memory. “You sure you don’t want to go?”
He frowned and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “You’re being strangely insistent. I didn’t know you wanted me with my shirt off that badly.”
Bingo.
“What does your new tattoo say?” I pounced, unable to help myself.
His grin spread and he folded his hands behind his head, his black sweater lifting up slightly, showing off a tempting trail of hair and the dark waistband of his boxer briefs. “Oh, so you really do want to get my shirt off. I’m flattered, Perry. I thought it was just the other way around.”
I leaned over so I was at the edge of my bed, my eyes imploring his. “What does it say?”
He gave his head one shake. “You’ll find out in due time, kiddo.”
“Why is it a secret?”
His eyes shone as he tilted his head at me. “It’s not a secret. It’s a tattoo. And now it’s a bargaining chip.”
“Bargaining chip?” I didn’t like the sounds of this.
“Yes. I’ll show you my back if you show me yours.”
I straightened up. “Just my back?”
“Did I say back? I meant front.” His eyebrows wagged. “No bra.”
I crossed my arms and inched back. “You’re a jerk.”
He shrugged. “So I’ve heard.”
Even though I had mastered the art of glaring thanks to being around him, Dex looked totally amused and unaffected.
I quickly had to remind myself that I didn’t care.
“All right, well I’m going to go sleep,” I told him, getting up.
“Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” he replied. “Knowing us, they’d probably be demonic.”
“Right,” I muttered and left Dex lying back on his bed, eyes on the ancient television, still and blasé except for the tapping of his fingers on the quilt. The tattoo remained a mystery. And, in a way, so did Dex.
Even though it was quite early, the drive had taken a toll on me too and after I had taken a hot shower from a woefully low-pressure faucet, I crawled right into bed. The foreign, scratchy bedsheets and unfamiliar darkness of the room didn’t even keep me up for more than a few minutes. This was a rarity, considering that ever since the possession, I hadn’t been sleeping well. And who could blame me, really. When you’ve had actual monsters under your bed, nighttime becomes that much scarier.
My sleep was dreamless. At least, I didn’t remember anything when I was awakened by an anguished cry from Dex’s room followed by a deafening thud that shook my walls and caused a painting on the wall to fall to the ground.
“Dex!” I yelled, bolting straight out of bed. I stumbled over the blanket and made my way blindly to the door between our rooms. I quickly unlocked my door and thankfully found his unlocked.
I shoved it open and burst into his room.
It couldn’t have been an eerier scene.
The room was dark except for a light coming from the bathroom vanity area. The light didn’t do much to illuminate the room, however, because a bed, the same bed I had been sitting on earlier, was flipped entirely over and propped up against the bathroom door.
Dex was standing in front of it, back to me, an unmoving silhouette in a weary pose.
“Dex,” I said cautiously, my heart in my throat. I walked carefully across the room, avoiding the bedding and pillows that had been scattered around.
I stopped right to the side of him. He was wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants and shaking lightly, from his loose fingers that hung down at his sides, all the way up to the flashing whites of his eyes. His gaze never left the flipped over mattress. He was staring at it like it was going to attack him any minute.
“Hey,” I whispered. He didn’t acknowledge me until I reached for him, touching his elbow. Then he jumped and spun around to face me, sucking in a giant rush of air. If he looked dazed before, now he was awake and aware.
And more afraid.
He shook harder, swallowing harder, as his eyes tried desperately to tell me something that his mouth couldn’t.
It scared the living shit out of me, causing my skin to prickle down my back.
I quickly grabbed him and brought him close. The action was instinctive. I wrapped my arms around him and brought his head down into my neck. He was almost hyperventilating.
I had no idea what to do or what to say. I had no idea what happened. Had he flipped the bed over and thrown it against the vanity? The mirror behind it was cracked and glass had scattered on the ground. Why? Was he angry? How could he even flip the bed by himself? Why was he convulsing in my arms like a punished dog, making whimpering noises at my throat?
“It’s going to be OK,” I told him, holding him tighter. “Do you need help? A doctor?”
He shook his head violently and I squeezed him again.
“That’s OK,” I reassured him. “Let’s go to my room. Come on.”
I led him out of the room, keeping my grip steady on him, and ushered him through the doors. I closed his and as I did so, his head snapped up.
In the darkness of my room I could only see the glinting whites of his eyes.
“Lock it,” he said in an ominous voice.
I nodded and quickly threw the lock over. I did the same to my door and led him over to my bed, sitting him down. I leaned over and flicked on the bedside light.
He propped his elbows up on his knees and held his head between his hands. I kneeled down in front of him and was suddenly reminded that I had in fact seen him like this before. In an alley in Seattle, when Abby had decided to pay him a visit.
That thought made my lungs constrict painfully, making it hard to breathe. Abby was gone. Abby had been destroyed. I couldn’t deal with the alternative, I couldn’t.
Now I was shaking. I took his hands off of his face and replaced them with mine. I got a good grip around his ears and hair and moved my head up until he had no choice but to look at me.
I didn’t want to ask the question because I didn’t want to hear the answer. But I had to know.
“Dex, please, what happened?” I asked, my voice cracking in its whisper.
His eyes, so close to mine, ebbed and flowed like a tumultuous tide.
“Please tell me.” I brought my eyes off his and focused on his lips. Wanting him to talk. Wanting to kiss him. I blamed the adrenaline that was rushing through my body. I wasn’t thinking clearly.
“I saw her,” he said in a voice that seemed to float, delicate as air.
My heart pounded hard in my chest, as if it was just waking up. I struggled to breathe.
“Abby?” I squeaked.
His head shook, barely. “Not Abby.”
“Who?”
He closed his eyes, brow furrowed in some internal pain. I stroked the side of his face with my fingers, feeling the solidness of his high cheekbones, the ever-present scratch of his facial hair, rough and hard under my touch. I hoped it was calming him as much as it was calming me.
“Who, Dex?” I repeated. I smoothed the skin under his eyes with my thumb until he finally looked back at me. They were wet with tears and my soul felt like it drained out of me and onto the floor. I didn’t know if I wanted to know anymore, about someone worse than Abby. Someone that could reduce this strong man to this. I could feel his fragility in my hands, like I was holding eggshells.
His lips moved and a puff of air and words came out, words I couldn’t understand. I moved my face closer to his and brushed his lips with mine. The room seemed to vibrate but maybe it was the beating of my heart.
“Please tell me,” I whispered into his mouth.