Page 105 of The Monster of Hotel No. 7
“Mine is pink. Pastel pink, hot pink, mauve pink. Also pale green. Like the soothing kind.” She speaks quietly but quickly, her words tripping a little in her mouth and I know she is still feeling the effects of everything she had last night, or this morning, or both, it seems, since time passed so quickly at the Emporium, in the worst sort of dramatic, chaotic way.
When we were running in that basement, I thought of turning myself in. I wanted to let her escape, particularly when I heard her scream.
But imagining Stein getting his hands on her, envisioning the next day without her—if I survived it—I couldn’t.
I can’t let her go.
I know this now.
It’s horrible news for her, but there is nothing that will change my mind.
She stifles a yawn, bringing the back of her hand up to her mouth as she cuddles closer to me.
I release one strap on the grocery bag, then hold out my hand, resting the back of it on her thigh. “Give me the wrapper,” I say quietly.
She breathes a small little laugh, but obediently places the trash in my palm. She doesn’t move her hand back, though.
She threads her fingers through my gloved ones, the trash crinkling between us. The top of her hand is so beautiful; smooth, delicate skin over her blue veins. Her nails are hidden, fingers laced as they are with mine curved over her knuckles, but I saw the cracked nails, the chipped green polish (she bought more of that too at the drugstore). All the ways she has been desecrated, for me.
“Does your shoulder still hurt?” I ask quietly. She seemed protective of it as we walked here, about a mile from the drugstore; we saw a sign for this place there and she grabbed onto her arm as she nodded to it, noticing it first.Treefall Park.I know from staring at Maude’s papers that Treefall is two miles from the original Hotel No. 7. If it’s cloistered like this place, it’s no wonder no one finds it unless they’re looking for it. I had never heard of an original building; but it’s not as if Stein kept me in his confidence or I spent my free time looking online for information about a group of hotels he owned.
I do not know what to expect when we get there, but I hope for a few days at least, Karia and I can catch our breath.
“Answer me first, then I’ll tell you.” She sounds suddenly exhausted, and I am not surprised it’s all catching up to her. She’s done so much in the past few days.
With me.
Becauseof me.
“Your favorite color,” she presses, as if I’ve forgotten, which I haven’t. “Tell me, Sullen.” She whispers the last bit and I close my eyes a moment, relishing her hand in mine, her head on my arm, and our aloneness.
I think of taxidermy. My own little touch, with the green lights keeping them company when I could not. But I think, too, of Karia’s penchant for pink over the years. She wore many other colors, mostly seemed to prefer black, actually, but pink is there in a lot of those memories of her I would hold onto when Stein hurt me.
“I like yours,” I tell her. “Pink.” I smile around the word as she jerks her head up, turning to me as I open my eyes and her own light up. “And green,” I add.
“You like pink?” she asks, her voice full of doubt.
Despite the fact she insisted on going into the bathroom at the drugstore and making use of some of her makeup products and wipes, there is eyeliner scrubbed beneath her blue eyes, mascara flecked below her brow. She looks as tired as she sounds too, gaze bleary. Her hair is resettled up in its bun, piled on her head with a pink hair scrunchie, a few paler blonde strands framing her face.
I have a sudden, vicious urge to pull her to me and tell her to sleep. To let her rest. To whisper in her ear she isnotpathetic, nor stupid, nor anything else shitty that anyone in her life has ever called her, including me.
But I also want to knock her out, tie her down, never let her go.
“Yes,” I say, glancing down at her hand in mine. “It reminds me of you.”
“Are you trying to get in my pants, Sullen Rule?”
I flick my gaze back to hers. “Is it working?” I ask, arching a brow.
She bites her bottom lip as she stares at me. “You don’t have to work very hard,” she says, almost shyly.
My heart squeezes inside my chest. Part of me doesn’t believe her. That she is as captivated with me as she seems to be. What I said in the back of the cab, about me being a vacation from her real life, I still think that’s partly true. But there’s so much of some emotion I haven’t really had directed my way, shining through her eyes when she stares at me like this from beneath her lashes. It’s strange. I can’t reconcile the truth of it inside my head.
“Are you like this for everyone?” I ask quietly. Maybe unfairly.
A blush stains her cheeks, pink and round, but she doesn’t pull away from me. “No.” She glances at our hands, the trash between them. “I’ve been like this for no one, Sullen.”
I desperately want to believe her.
