Page 53 of The Destruction You Desire
"Nothing we don't already know. Come on. You need to get some rest."
Peyton glances back over her shoulder, clearly torn about whether leaving is the right thing to do or not.
"They'll call if anything happens, but she needs you to look after yourself right now."
"I know. I know," she whispers, her voice rough with emotion.
The motel I've booked is only a short walk away, but even still, the second I see a taxi loitering outside the hospital, I guide Peyton over to it. She's in no state to walk anywhere.
She looks at me curiously when we pull to a stop in front of a questionable-looking motel a few minutes later.
"Come on, baby," I encourage, taking her hand in mine after paying the driver.
"Here?" she asks, her brows pinching as she looks at the rundown buildings surrounding us.
"It's the closest."
"I know but… it's not really your style."
"What are you trying to say, P?" I ask in a mocking tone. She spent all our former years pointing out the little luxuries I had in my life in comparison to hers.
She's right. This isn't exactly the kind of place I'd choose given the choice.
"This isn't about me, baby. This is about making sure you're as close to Libby as possible. Come on, let's go get our key."
We step into the reception, fighting our way through the swollen door and the thick cloud of smoke that assaults us the second we're inside.
There's a man behind the desk with his feet propped up and a smoke hanging from his mouth while he stares at something on a laptop, he doesn't so much as glance up at our arrival but the moan that comes from the computer gives us a good clue as to what has him so distracted.
"I've booked a room." He startles and slams the laptop down in the rush, his smoke falling from his lip and burning his thigh.
"Shit. Fuck." He hops around, trying to get to the cigarette before it catches the ancient carpet beneath our feet alight.
"Okay, name."
"Dunn."
He flips over his clipboard and reaches behind him for a key.
"I just need a signature and deposit."
"Sure." Reluctantly, I take the pen from his outstretched hand, not wanting to think about where that's been already tonight and sign my name before pulling my wallet from my pocket and handing my credit card over.
Peyton stands silently at my side and when I glance over at her, she's looking around at the dated décor chewing on her nail.
The man passes a key over, and as quickly as possible, I get us out of there.
"I hope there's a deadbolt on the inside of the room," Peyton deadpans the second the door slams closed behind us.
"It can only get better, right?"
"Could today get any worse?"
"You hungry?" I ask, changing the subject when a neon pizza sign across the street catches my eye.
"Not really."
"You should eat."
