Way to pack for the apocalypse of your life, Lenny.
I wrap a towel around myself and open the door into the bedroom, which is just big enough for the queen-sized bed and about a foot of walking space on each side. There are two drawers built in to the corner, and I’m lucky enough that the first one I open contains several clean white t-shirts. I pull one over my head, and it’s so big it hangs off my shoulders and almost reaches my knees. But it’s clothes, and it’s not ripped or red pleather.
So, there’s that.
I make my way out to where Nine is sitting on the small couch, trying to bandage his bleeding arm by himself.
“Need some help?” I ask.
Nine turns to look at me, and his eyes darken as he takes in what I’m wearing. Suddenly, I think he’s going to be pissed that I didn’t ask about wearing his shirt. “And I thought the fucking dress was bad,” he mutters.
“Sorry, about the shirt. I realize I didn’t pack any pajamas or…anything.”
He looks away and turns his attention back to bandaging his injury, but he’s having trouble tying it off since the injury is so high on his arm and on the very back.
“Here, I’ll do it,” I say. I sit on the couch facing him and take the first aid kit from his lap, setting it down on mine. He hands me the gauze, but I set it to the side. I open one of the alcohol packets and press the pad to his skin.
He flinches.
“Don’t be a baby,” I tell him, blowing on the dime-sized injury.
He’s staring at me. Unmoving. Unblinking.
“That’s not why I flinched,” he says as I finish wrapping his wound.
“Then, why?”
He’s still staring at me with that puzzled look on his face. I’m squirming inside my own skin, so I break the moment by standing and retrieving my bottle from the bathroom.
“Do you believe me?” I ask, with my back still turned. “That I didn’t have anything to do with Jared’s scam?”
“I want to believe you,” he answers.
“Why am I here?”
The frustration in his voice grows as does the volume of them. “Because it’s not safe. There are men looking for you, or don’t you remember?”
It’s an answer, but it’s not a good enough one. “Why do you care if they come for me? Why do you care if they take me? I don’t know where the money is. I can’t give it back to you. I can’t do anything but drink your vodka and squat in your RV until you throw me out for failure to pay rent or failure be sober or just for being a failure at life, so any sort of reason you could offer, any little tidbit of info as to why you’d want to surround yourself with this, please, by all means, do tell.”
He stands and takes a step toward me. “I don’t have to tell you shit except that you’re not leaving. Not yet. Not until I have this figured out. Until then, you can be as drunk as you want for as long as you want, but you’re going to be drunk here. Is that understood?”
“You don’t believe me, do you,” I say. I turn my back to Nine.
“I don’t know,” he answers, his voice is close, I spin around to find him standing so close it only takes one tug on my hip, and I’m pressed flat against him.
“I don’t fucking know what to believe,” he continues.
Suddenly, I’m furious, the anger simmering deep down and explodes into my words. “Well, that makes two of us. It might be the one thing we actually have in common. I’ve trusted the wrong people one too many times, and I’m not about to go down that road again and take you at your word and just hang around until you do decide to torture or kill me, and you know what? You shouldn’t trust me,” I push on his chest, but he catches my wrists, squeezing them tightly. “because you don’t fucking know me!”
I lean to the side and look past him to the door.
He tugs my body back, holding me tighter. “You’re not leaving,” he warns.
I push my chest into his, challenging him. “Oh yeah? Watch me!”
“I said you’re not fucking leaving.” Nine’s nostrils flare.
“You’re not just some puppet master who can pull my strings and get his way,” I yell, struggling harder, but he’s so damn big and strong, it’s infuriating!
He moves in closer, brushing his lips over the sensitive tip of my ear. A tingling sensation tickles its way down my spine and I curse my betraying body.
“Oh, little bird, you’ve got it all wrong.” He grabs my chin, forcing me to meet his dark hooded gaze. “I don’t want to pull your strings.” He looks so deep into my eyes that I’m sure he can see my spleen. I’m scared and uncomfortable. Two of my least favorite things to be. “I want to set you free.”