Jesse stills and looks at me wildly, heat forming. “What did you just say?”
“What?” I stand up straighter, “I said you have to talk to me first. We’re a team.”
“No, not that.” He’s got a smile on his face as he slowly struts towards me. “You called yourself my girlfriend.”
“Oh.” I look up at him with confusion. “Well, I thought I made that clear when I straddled you at lunch in front of the world to see.”
Jesse wraps his arms around me. “Yes, you did. The message was clear, but I’ve never heard you say it out loud before.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “Well, boyfriend . . .” His smile brightens, and it warms my heart. It’s like a ray of light that digs deep down into my soul and nudges itself into all the holes, filling all the places that were missing pieces.
Jesse brings his lips to mine and kisses me with purpose. I heard what he had to say that day in the car when he found me sleeping on a bench at the bus stop, but just now, I think he heard me.
“Can you two stop, now? We get it—you’re together. You don’t have to keep showing us,” Jade whines. “Besides, if we still want to stop to get coffee we need to leave like, two minutes ago.”
Cason appears in the doorway next to Jade. “Oh, come on Jade. Leave them be—they have to make up for all the I told you so’s they got. Besides,” he leans into her ear, “You’re just jealous Adam doesn’t kiss you like that.”
Jade pushes Cason away, rolling her eyes at his jab. “Let’s go, lovebirds. I need coffee.” She pops her sunglasses on and walks off with a chuckling Cason following behind her.
I laugh and look back to Jesse. He drops his lips to mine for a quick peck before grabbing my half-zipped bag and my hand to follow our friends.
A knock at the door brings me out of my daydream. I look around for Marcus, but he hasn’t returned after our spat.
Another knock comes and I look down at the cuff. Not sure what to do. But before I can make a decision, the doorknob wiggles a bit and the door slowly opens up.
I sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed as an older lady comes in pushing a cleaning cart with towels sitting on top. I stare at her, saying nothing. Part of me in shock because it’s somebody other than Marcus, and the other part is freaking out because it’s somebody other than Marcus who could help me.
I don’t react right away because I have no idea who she is, and even though it appears she works for the motel, she could be working for Marcus. So I stare at her and watch to gauge her reaction before I decide how to play this.
When she looks over her shoulder and finally sees me cuffed to the bed, she screams.
“Shhhhh, please don’t scream. Please. He could come back,” I beg her.
She covers her mouth and looks out the door like she might just run. I’m thankful when she doesn’t.
“I’m sorry. I thought he was gone. I always clean when he leaves. It’s quieter that way,” she says.
“So he’s been here before?” I ask her.
She watches me for a second but then shakes her head. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be talking to you.” She turns her back to me and begins grabbing towels and cleaning products from her cart.
“Please, I need help. Anything you can tell me helps,” I beg.
She doesn’t answer me, but when she turns back around, I see the fear in her eyes. She’s scared, but not of me.
“You’re scared of him.” I say right before she reaches the hall to the bathroom. It’s not a question.
“Yes, Mr. Marcus has a . . . a temper,” she says.
I half-chuckle, half-snort as I roll my eyes and respond. “Yes. Yes, he does.”
She stares at me wearily, still holding her supplies. I stare back. Then something in her mind clicks, and she inches one tiny foot towards me. “You’re her, aren’t you?”
“Who?” I ask as I tilt my head.
“Mr. Marcus, is always going on about a girl. It was almost like he was obsessed with her. I always assumed he made her up but, well, here you are. You’re her.” She waves a rag at me to emphasize her point.
I look to her and then to the dingy, curtain-covered window. “Yeah, I’m her.”
I look at her cart and nod towards it, “Do you have anything on that cart that could help me get out of this?” I ask as I hold up the hand cuffed to the bed.
Her eyes widen even larger than they were before, which I didn’t think could be possible. “Oh no, miss. I can’t. He would kill me. Mr. Marcus asks that we not meddle. We are supposed to keep our eyes down and ears closed. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”
I sigh. I don’t blame her. Marcus is psycho—that much we know.
“Can you tell me your name?” I ask her. It’s clear she’s not going to help me escape, but maybe she can help some other way.
“I’m sorry, miss. I cannot,” she mumbles from the bathroom.
“Well can you tell me anything? Anything at all? Do you have a family?” I ask her. She doesn’t respond right away so I try again. “Look, I’ve been here for I don’t know how many days. The only person I’ve seen is Marcus. He’s not exactly a good conversationalist.”
I hear her chuckle, and it’s actually nice to hear genuine laughter in such a fucked up place. “Can you tell me about your family? It could be a story. It’s just nice to pretend I’m normal, in a normal situation.”
She again is silent, but then she starts talking, “I have two sons. Each one devilish in their own way. Smart,
