AgentReyessaton the edge of his bed, head slouched into the palm of his hand as we watched a rerun of The Golden Girls.
Oh, and he was blitzed out of his mind.
Barely two hours into our ‘game’ and Reyes had been a dick to me eight times while I’d managed an easy three. Sitting against the backboard of my bed for the night, I eyed him across the room and noted the prolonged droop of his eyelids every so often.
Good.
Two more shots, and he’d be out cold, and I could get the hell out of here.
“Do you have back problems?”
Agent Reyes pivoted his head on his hand, locking his eyes to mine. “Excuse me?”
“Well, you refuse to relax or lay down, so I’m just assuming your back is fucked. I’m told it's a common ailment of the elderly.”
Unamused, he lifted a finger to my rum and coke sitting on the nightstand. “Drink.”
“What?” I exclaimed, sitting up-right on the bed. “How is that sarcasm? I’m genuinely concerned about your health.”
“Oh yeah? And how old do you think I am?”
I shrugged. “Sixty.”
The remark slipped out before I could catch it, and Reyes’ eyebrows flattened into a grim-set line just like his lips. His stare jumped from me, to my drink, and back to me again.
I bobbed my head in agreement. “Yeah, okay.”
I was barely lightheaded, and another mouthful of diluted rum wasn’t going to hurt anything except my liver. Reaching over, I wound my fingers around my cup and pulled back a healthy swig, disappointed with the lack of burn as it poured down my throat.
I’d had a long standing opinion that alcohol should never be mixed with anything.
Alcohol mixes with other alcohol. End of story.
Drink back on the nightstand, I picked up the hotel ballpoint pen between my fingers and started back up with the poinsettia I’d begun to draw on my thigh. The bud of the pen drew across my skin, curving and poisoning my canvas with ink. I’d always enjoyed the feel of a pen moving over my skin, slightly cool and oddly soft as it rode across my body.
I pictured just a dot of black dripping through my layers of skin and washing the red of my blood just a tinge darker. Making my body just a smidgen sicker. Bringing me an iota closer to death.
Finally, taking my indirect advice, Agent Reyes laid himself back on the bed, pushing his hands up over his face, and sighed. “And I’m 33, by the way.”
“So I was close.”
Hands over his eyes, he only used enough effort to point a finger in my direction. “Drink.”
“Uh-uh. That wasn’t sarcasm. That was pure humor.”
A pause hung between us, lacking his laughter. “You’re a real crack up, Avery.”
The name hit like a razor, slicing open old wounds and flowing out fresh fury.
Why do men never listen when you tell them to stop?
Setting the pen down, my stare stuck to Reyes as my temper ran hot across my chest, inflaming my lungs with perilous fire. “I’m not just speaking to hear my own voice when I tell you not to call me that. I mean it. Do it again and I’ll scream.”
Reyes slipped his hands down to uncover his face and shot me an incredulous look. “Oh you’ll scream?” He sat up on the bed, turning to show me the arrogance and ignorance that inflated his next words. “I don’t think even you believe a goddamn word that comes out of that mouth of yours, Avery.”
And then, I screamed.
The sound cracked like a whip through the room. It ripped out of me like something possessed, taking on a life of its own as it vibrated the pictures above the bed and tore down the cool mask Agent Reyes had fixed on his face.