Page 47 of The Slug Crystal
Ben grins up at me from where he's sprawled across onebed. "Bold of you to assume anyone's getting sleep with five adults in a sardine can. I call this bed, by the way."
"You can't claim an entire bed," Jake protests, dropping his damp backpack on the floor with a wet thud. "There are five of us and three sleeping surfaces."
"I don't see why not," Ben counters, spreading his arms and legs like a starfish. "First come, first served. That's the American way."
"We're not in America," Jake points out. "You can’t claim a whole bed. And I'm not sharing with you—you kick. I saw you at the motel."
Ben sits up, looking offended. "I don't kick. I strategically reposition during the night to optimize comfort."
"You kicked me in the kidney at the motel," Jake says flatly. "I had a bruise. We weren’t even in the same bed."
I can't help the laugh that bubbles up. The absurdity of our situation, five adults arguing over beds like kids at a sleepover, while my ex-boyfriend-turned-snail watches from his glass habitat, suddenly strikes me as hilarious.
Luca leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking amused. "We could draw straws," he suggests. "Or play cards for bed rights."
"I vote rock-paper-scissors," Ben says. "Best of three determines who gets solo sleeping arrangements."
Marco, who has been quietly arranging his modest luggage in the corner, clears his throat. "I'm perfectly content with the sofa," he offers. "I'm quite used to falling asleep in less-than-ideal circumstances during fieldwork."
"Spoken like a true academic," Ben says approvingly. "Self-sacrifice for the greater good."
Jake runs a hand through his still-damp hair, grimacing when it comes away wet. "I need to change," he says, eyeing the bathroom door, which is so narrow it looks like we'll have to turn sideways to enter.
"Go ahead," I tell him. "You've been soaked long enough."
As Jake squeezes past Marco to reach his bag, his shoulder brushes mine, leaving a damp patch on my sleeve. The room is so tight that every movement becomes a choreographed dance of avoiding collision. Ben swings his legs off the bed, nearly kicking Luca in the process. Marco steps back to make room and bumps into the dresser, causing Alex's terrarium to wobble alarmingly until I steady it with my hand.
"Perhaps we should establish some traffic patterns," Marco suggests, only half-joking. "Like lanes in a swimming pool."
"Or we could just embrace the chaos," Ben says, reaching across the gap between beds to grab a pillow from the second bed. "Survival of the fittest. Every man for himself."
"Very helpful," Jake mutters, extracting a dry shirt from his bag. Our eyes meet briefly as he straightens, and something electric passes between us. An acknowledgment of the absurdity, but also of the underlying currents running through our strange group. He disappears into the bathroom, the door closing with a decisive click.
I sit on the edge of the second bed, feeling the mattress give more than it should. The springs creak in protest, a sound that promises to announce every toss and turn throughout the night. Luca moves from the doorway to perch beside me, careful to leave a respectful distance between us after the tension on the bridge.
"It's not the Four Seasons," he admits, "but it has character."
"Character is one word for it," I reply, but I'm smiling. There's something almost comforting about the cramped quarters, the forced proximity. After the vastness of Venice, with its maze-like streets and endless canals, there's a sense of security in these close walls, in having everyone within arm's reach.
Ben stretches dramatically, his t-shirt riding up to reveal a strip of tanned stomach. "So, sleeping arrangements. I stillvote for my own bed, but I'm willing to be democratic about it."
"Two can take this bed," Luca says, patting the mattress beside me. "Two on the other, one on the sofa. Simple."
The bathroom door opens, and Jake emerges in a dry shirt and fresh jeans, his hair toweled into damp spikes. His gaze immediately lands on Luca sitting beside me on the bed, and his expression tightens.
"I'll take the couch," he says quickly. "Marco can share with Ben."
Marco looks up from where he's carefully arranging his toiletries on the small bedside table. "I've already claimed the sofa," he reminds Jake. "And I believe I'm the smallest of us, so it makes the most sense."
I watch as Jake's jaw works, clearly wanting to argue but finding no logical grounds to do so. The room feels suddenly warmer, the air thicker with unspoken tension.
"We'll figure it out," I say, trying to defuse the situation. "It's just for a few nights."
Ben rolls onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hands like a teenager at a slumber party. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm enjoying our little Venetian adventure so far. Gondola chases, canal diving, sardine-can accommodations, beats the hell out of my normal Wednesday."
His deliberately light tone breaks some of the tension. Even Jake's mouth quirks up at one corner.
"It has been eventful," Marco agrees, settling into the desk chair, the only seating besides the beds and couch. "And tomorrow promises more excitement when we begin our search for Sarah DeMarco."
