Shuli stopped in front of the elevator doors and pushed the summoning button. “One other thing. He’s supposed to be on pain meds, but he’s not going to take them.”
“Should I prepare a pill schedule in the event he forgets?”
“No, he left the stuff back at the clinic. I want you to bring him a bottle of Jim Beam. He’ll drink it so he passes out.”
“But of course.” Willhis bowed low. “And for you, master?”
“Oh, I took everything they wanted to give me and I got backups in this duffle bag.” As abing!sounded out, he put his hand forward. “Thank you, though.”
“My pleasure, master. I shall attend to our guest immediately.”
He swung the duffle into the elevator, where it landed with athump. “He’s not a guest. He’s our roommate.”
Stepping in, Shuli hit the button and watched the door close on his butler’s worried face. During the ride up, he propped himself against the mirrored wall and hung on to the chrome balustrade. There was a bump to announce the arrival, and the doors opened. No reason to pretend to be a tough guy now.
He let the bag drag along on the thick white carpet.
The second floor had all kinds of bedroom suites opening off both sides of the white-on-white-on-white hallway. The primary suite was all the way down at the end, and as he continued to haul his sorry ass and the bag along, he wondered: (1) why he didn’t live in a smaller house; and (2) why he didn’t take advantage of any of the other cribs.
It was like when you hit a tennis ball off the rim of your racket. You paid for that part, even if it wasn’t the sweet spot in the middle.
Or something like that.
“What was the question,” he mumbled.
In a stunning optical illusion—one that echoed the shit with the snowy walkway—the corridor seemed to get longer the farther he went. It also felt like he was getting shorter, for some reason.
When he finally got to his door, he went to open it with his mind. Failed. Had to do things the old-fashioned way and turn the knob.
His inner sanctum of white-on-white-on-white reminded him of a cloud, and when he’d hit the blanco so hard with the decorator, he’d told himself it was to set off the Rothkos he was collecting. Give them a backdrop to really show off on.
As he kicked the heavy panel closed now… he just thought it showed a lack of commitment. Like he’d moved his things in, but he hadn’t moved himself in.
“Fine. Okay, that’s great.”
He left the duffle just inside the door, and congratulated himself for the stellar thinking that had made him take a shower before he’d left the clinic: He’d used the chair they provided and the grips on the wall, and that nozzle thingy.
So all he had to do was shuffle across to the king-sized bed and fall face-first onto the fluffy-as-Wonder-Bread duvet. As the thing puffed around him, pressing gently into his wounded body, he turned his head to the side, exhaled, and closed his eyes.
It was so quiet here. No beeping machines. No footsteps of people moving around the clinic. No hushed voices—
Knock.
“I’m good, Willhis.”
Knock-knock.
“I’m all good, Willhis!”
He heard the click of the door opening, and started wrenching around with a struggle. Though he wanted to curse, he held back. Thedoggendid not deserve to be on the receiving end of his frustration at the entire world.
Okay, the shit was mostly about Lyric. And that human—
Not the butler or another member of the staff.
L.W. stood there in the doorway, balanced on one crutch, still in those hospital scrubs. On his big body, it was like he was wearing a miniature set of them, his ankles showing, his tattooed lower abdomen, too. The shit was also super tight across his chest.
“What’s doing?” Shuli asked.
