Something In Between: Sequel to On The Edge of Tomorrow

Chapter 26

I knew the previous night hadn't been a bad dream, even before I opened my eyes. My lumpy mattress was enough to make the entire ordeal real. I stayed curled in a ball with my eyes closed long after waking. I knew I should stir and call Tess, but I couldn't unfurl myself. The simple act of extending my legs would let the cold, harsh air in, and with it, my bitter reality would be closer, unavoidable. I waited until my muscles grew stiff; the ache spread from my arms and legs up to my spine and surrounded my head in a dull throb. Only then and with a heavy sigh did I break, spilling open like the gooey ooze of an egg.

In a moment of misplaced hope, I checked my phone. There were texts from Tess and Tim, but nothing from Sam. I should've responded to Tess then. That's what an unselfish friend would've done, but I scrolled through to the workgroup chat and asked if anyone wanted my shift. It was Sunday, so the allure of time and a half caused an immediate frenzy of responses. I let them hash it out amongst themselves in favor of flopping lifelessly back to my bed.

It took me another hour and a shower to respond to Tess with a half-hearted, "I'm fine." I was technically fine. I was healthy, aside from the self-induced headache. Even in text, she could see through it.

"Glad to hear you're fine; brunch room 302." Tess' response felt curt even in text.

It wasn't a question; it was a directive. I'd heard rumors of assertive Tess from Tim but never experienced the wrath firsthand. I weighed my options before realizing I was just too tired to argue. So, I begrudgingly replaced my sweatpants for jeans but refused to give up the warmth of my oversize hoodie. I flipped the hood up and pulled on my coat before plodding outside into the frosty December air.

I pulled out my phone as the elevator doors closed on the lobby hotel. Suddenly, panic rose within me at the thought of Tess's questions. I knew she'd try to help, but my mind was wrung out, and the idea of further twisting didn't entice me. There was only one option for quiet: with the loudest person in the room.

"You still in Portland?" I texted with no greeting.

"Yes," he immediately responded. I knew he would.

"You on the 3rd floor too?"

"303; I just cracked the door for you." Billy always made everything easy for me.

The elevator doors rattled open, and I followed the sign to the corner, room 303. Just as expected, the door was ajar. I pushed it open to find Billy on the end of the bed, quietly strumming. It was as though no time had passed. Billy, hotel room, strumming. He didn't look up as I shirked my jacket off and slumped to the loveseat; he just continued to strum absently. For once, he played in the manner that I hummed, with no connective song. It was unusual, a mix of indecision and tuning at best.

Billy must have been on the loveseat when I called; his half-full teacup sat on the coffee table inches from my knee. I picked it up and downed the second half, savoring the chamomile's sweetness and the peppermint's coolness. I set the teacup back down on the table with a rattle and let out a sigh that it was depleted. As if he could read my mind, Billy set a fresh cup in front of me and fell heavily next to me. He pulled a tin forward and popped the lid to reveal Mary's shortbread. Without a word, I grabbed a square and nibbled as I watched the steam dance from the teacup.

There was an extended echo of silence as I continued to watch the steam on the teacup while Billy picked at the tough skin of his thumb. I urged myself to think of anything, but all I could do was watch the steam. It reminded me of the fire dancer logo of the Dave Matthews Band.

"I don't care for Dave Matthews Band." My words cut through the room like an elephant stampede.

Still, there was no startle from Billy. "Noted," he murmured without lifting his eyes from his thumb.