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It was… not pleasant.
I wasn’t expecting much for such a low—for the ID fee—cost of the room.
But it was heinously stuck in decades past with its leaf-printed bedspread in shades of brown, gold, and green.
The laminate coating on the nightstands and dressers were chipped, peeling, and carved with various names and sayings.
The puke green carpet might have actually had a pile at some time, but decades of foot traffic had crushed it to almost completely flat.
The bathroom wasn’t much better, with moldy grout and a shower curtain that had likely never been washed.
This would be a ‘hover over the seat’ if I needed to pee kind of place.
And I damn sure wouldn’t be sitting on that bed.
There was a wooden chair near the bolted-down dome TV, though, that would be safe enough.
I felt bad for Storm when I dragged two of the nightstand drawers out, and placed them on the bed, so he couldn’t climb on like he clearly wanted to.
Inside the top drawer, not even the Bible had been spared the damage to the rest of the room, the cover torn off, and the words Damien was here written on the title page.
“Okay. Alright,” I said, taking a single moment to just stand there, breathing.
Before I was jumping into action again.
I looked at the door with its handle and chain lock, then made my way into the closet, interconnecting a few hangers, then sliding it through one of the chairs, and attaching the chain to the handle.
They weren’t amazing hangers.
They wouldn’t hold if someone was determined enough.
But they might bide me time to escape through the bathroom window.
All of the furniture was bolted down, so I couldn’t do anything else save for take the plastic cup from the bathroom that I would never put my lips on, not even if I used the hand soap to clean it, and place it on the windowsill, figuring that if I dozed off, and someone tried to get in, it would fall and wake me.
I didn’t turn on the TV, not even if it would help the anxiety bubbling through my system once I sat down, and the adrenaline fell away.
Storm, seeming to sense something not being quite right, came over as I sat on the chair, and laid on my feet.
He looked up at me, those sweet eyes questioning.
“I know. I miss him too,” I said, feeling the tears stinging my eyes.
I didn’t even pretend to fight them.
I just let them fall.
Useless, but endless.
I kept my lips closed tightly, not wanting anyone aware that a lonely, vulnerable woman was in this room if they were passing by.
I couldn’t tell you how much time went by as the alarm clock on the nightstand kept flashing a neon midnight endlessly.
But it felt like hours before, suddenly, Storm sat up, ears pricked, posture tense.
“What is it?” I whispered, knowing better than to assume his instincts were up. He never snarled at people, not even shady strangers on the street.
My gaze whipped around, looking for something, anything that I could use as a weapon. But the place was bare bones.
