Page 8 of Mania

Who is she?

Why her?

I could supplicate over these questions for days and never get an answer. This place has never supplied them. The only thing I know for sure is I can still feel the pads of her fingers pressing against the pulse on my wrist.

When was the last time I’ve been touched?

I can no longer recall.

My attention shifts to the door as she cracks it open, a large suitcase behind her and a duffel bag hanging off her shoulder.

“Allow me,” I say, pushing off the wall. I reach for her bag, if only to confirm the unbelievable. My hand grazes her arm, then her shoulder as I take the bag into my hands, my body breaking out into goosebumps.

Her eyes follows my hands, then up to my consuming gaze.

She smiles. It’s demure, and my heart squeezes in my chest. A dimple appears on her rosy cheek. “Thank you.”

I nod, trying to keep the disbelief off my face. “Your new room is on the fifth floor.”

She stays quiet as I close the metal gates on the elevator, pressing the button for the right floor. The elevator starts with a jolt, beginning our ascent to her new room.

I study her from the corner of my eye and notice the clenching of her jaw, shoulders stiff.

“Do you have a fear of elevators, Miss Fortune?”

Hergaze flies to mine as if caught. Her laugh is still full of nerves. “Not particularly … but this elevator feels like it should have been decommissioned a few decades ago.”

I let out a small chuckle, watching the arrow move toward the number five over the door. “I assure you, the elevator is the least of your worries.”

Her sheepishWhat does that mean?is drowned out by the sound of the metal gates as I reopen them, and I gladly pretend I didn’t hear her.

How would I even begin to explain any of it?

Maybe earlier today I had half a mind to tell her to leave. Escape while she still can. But now I’m just as hungry as the hotel itself; selfishly wanting to keep her here with me.

To watch her.

To hunger for her.

“Here we are,” I announce, stopping beside Room 562. After unlocking the door, I hand her the keys and duffel bag and wave her in.

Walking in, she surveys the room while dropping her bags near the bed.

“I’ll leave you to get settled then,” I say, still standing in the corridor.

She swivels around to face me. “But my shift ends at six a.m., we should get back to —”

“No need,” I reply quickly, straining to keep my impatience out of my voice. “That will suffice for today. Goodnight, Miss Fortune.”

I don’t give her the time to reply, her eyes wide and seeking as I close the door.

As soon as I’m alone, my head falls forward, and I take in a deep breath, my hand still on the doorknob. My small reprieve is hasty, turning swiftly toward the door right next to hers, myhands clammy. I fumble with the key, hurriedly unlocking the door and quietly stepping inside.

I take a few strides into the room, then turn to the wall facing the bed.

Miss Fortune appears in the large two-way mirror connecting our two rooms.

An odd feeling of relief washes over me as I watch her settle into her new room.

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