I knew before I tried that the door would be locked, but I checked anyway.

Yep, locked.

I dropped my hand from the handle and turned back around, staring at the room with much more clarity. Now that I was alone, coherent, and able to rationally put two thoughts together, I could really take a look around and see all there was before me.

The room was bare. The cement walls gave me an entrapment-like feeling, as if I was standing in the centre of an inescapable void. I wasn’t claustrophobic, but I wasn’t a fan of being so alone. I’d always had my phone attached to my hip because even a voice can chase away the forlorn thoughts that I’d have otherwise drowned in.

The room wasn’t scary in any shape of form. The blue bed sheets had smelled clean and unused. If this was Remy’s room, he didn’t use it often. Was it a guest room? There was only a bed and a dresser on either side… My eyes widened and my heart skipped a beat at a door in the corner against the same wall of the bed that I had overlooked.

I rushed to it and turned the handle. It opened freely and I was hit with a septic smell that sometimes accompanied a bathroom. Thank fuck for that! My bladder was a dam that was about to explode.

It was a tiny bathroom with a shower stall on one side, toilet and a small sink on the other. There was a white brick looking thing that I assumed was a bar of soap that hadn’t been used in about a century. No shampoos or towels. Please God, if you’re there, give me some toilet paper at least! Yes, there was a god. A stack of toilet paper rolls sat beside the toilet.

I gladly went about my business, splashed water on my face and rinsed my mouth. The taste of dried blood had me feeling around the inside of it for a moment until I hissed at a pain in my right gum. It had stopped bleeding at least, so it mustn’t have been serious. I’d have given anything for a mirror to see what I looked like.

Alas, exhaustion prevailed, and I meandered back to the bed, tripping over the same thing I’d tripped out of on my way out of it earlier. I looked down at a pair of black boots. I bent down and shoved them under the bed, cursing under my breath that even in guestrooms men had to find a place to dump their shit.

I paused just then, kneeling down to take a proper look under the bed. There was a small, brown box against one of the bed legs. I grabbed it and set it on the night table, and then I lifted the lid and peeked inside.

Uneasiness gripped me at the revolver and switch blade that sat within.

I hesitantly picked up the revolver and inspected it, turning it over in my hands. Was it loaded? Mesmerised by the simplicity of such a deadly weapon, I studied it for some time. It was a six cylinder, this much I did know. I’d watched enough Western movies as a kid with Jaxon to also know that to shoot you needed to pull the lever back and squeeze the trigger.

I quickly put it away before my sleep induced thoughts tried to convince me to meddle around with it. I didn’t want to know if it was loaded. Who the fuck cared? I wasn’t intending on shooting anyone, much less Remy.

I inspected the switch blade next. It looked rustic with a brown, worn out handle and a silver button. I pressed the button on the end of the handle and the blade jerked out. Huh. Its blade was only a few inches long, enough to do damage if you stuck it in the right spot. I folded it back and set it within the box, and then I slid the box back under the bed where I’d found it.

I climbed into the bed and wrapped the ultra-warm doona around myself.

It took me forever to fall asleep.

All I thought about was Jaxon.

*****

The noise of the door opening woke me up. I knew before I opened my eyes that it was Remy, and after a lonely night, I was thankful for some company.

Wearing the same clothes, he strode in looking worse for wear than yesterday: jeans and a black long sleeve shirt with his patched vest on. His face was paler, his eyes dimmed out by exhaustion, and his movements were slower. I watched him set some things down. The smell of food wafted into my nose and my stomach tightened in hunger.

“Morning,” he said, setting a large brown bag on the bed beside me. “Grabbed some breakfast.”

I sat up and rested my back against the headboard. “Thanks,” I said.

He nodded in return and began unloading the bag. Unloading… and unloading. Christ, there had to be a bottom to that bag eventually. My eyes bulged out of my head as I took in the containers of pancakes, bacon strips, hash browns, scrambled eggs, bagels and sausages.

“You really went all out,” I remarked dryly.

He nodded again without a word and handed me a paper plate and a plastic spork. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed, and his tired eyes watched me unwaveringly, taking in my every movement.

I won’t pretend that this wasn’t awkward. It was insanely fucking awkward. Why was he watching me like I was some lab experiment? I cleared my throat and looked on at all the food, trying my hardest not to feel the heat of his stare as I reached over for the pancakes. I placed two on my plate and then shovelled on some eggs and some sausages and… well, I managed to put everything on that damn plate. I was starving, my eyes bigger than my stomach, and the smell of it all had been too much to resist.

“You should eat, too,” I said, motioning to the food.

No spork and plate needed, he grabbed a sausage and devoured it in two bites, and then he went for some more. We ate in silence, and the awkwardness no longer bothered me because I was feeding my face with the greasiest of foods. Greasy foods and me meshed well. A happy woman is a full woman, right?

“What’s your favourite out of all this?” he randomly inquired, chewing quietly as he regarded me.

“The food?”

“Yeah.”

“Right now I’m loving the hash browns.”

“What do you usually have in the mornings?”

“Cereal.”

He stilled for a moment and his jaw tensed. “I didn’t get you cereal. How the fuck did I miss that?”

Was he seriously hating on himself for that? I pressed my lips down hard to fight my smile. “It’s no big deal at all. This is actually a nice change. I’ve barely found time in the last week to even have breakfast.”

He continued eating, and his eyes continued to roam me head to toe. Though he was impossible to read normally, I knew I saw the look of fascination in those dark irises of his. What he could possibly be fascinated about, I had no idea.

“You look shattered,” I commented, trying to inject some conversation between us.