You've been a resident of the Hotel Cortez for a solid two weeks now.
During your initial week, still breathing, you sought refuge at the bar alongside Liz, finding solace in the bottom of glasses. Amidst the whiskey haze, your eyes occasionally strayed to a captivating figure at the edge of the room — Sally McKenna, with her disheveled hair, mascara-streaked cheeks, and a bold leopard jacket that screamed of rebellion. Liz filled you in on Sally's tumultuous life, yet you, familiar with your own set of issues, saw in her a kindred spirit. In your philosophy, issues were merely collections of uniqueness cruelly exploited by others.
"Issues are unique collections that people misuse against you," you philosophized, nursing your drink while Sally, like you, seemed to bear the weight of a complicated existence. As intriguing as she was, you refrained from approaching her, reluctant to unearth what complications might arise from intertwining your life with hers.
The following week, the Cortez hosted your spectral self, having perished unceremoniously in your sleep. Strangely, the desolation of the hotel presented a peculiar kind of tranquility. Life, or its afterlife counterpart, was none of your business anymore, allowing you to confine yourself to the solitude of your room.
Six days into this spectral existence, monotony urged you to tweak your sleep schedule. Yet, this endeavor lost its charm when it became apparent that your waking hours clashed with others' restful moments. So, you decided to fix your schedule, making today the first day you ventured out since your untimely demise. Liz had tried to check in on you during your erratic sleep phase, but you were elusive. Not in the mood for a drink, you opted for a more annoying pursuit: exploring other residents' rooms. Sally's room, Room 64, lingered as your final destination, a crescendo of mischief.
Earlier in the day, you accidentally walked in on some peculiar scenario, fueling your determination to ensure Sally wasn't present. Confirming the coast was clear, you entered her realm. Amongst the remnants of her life—cigarettes, drugs, makeup, pens, notebooks, and sketches—you found yourself reclining on her bed, casually leafing through her drawings. To your surprise, Sally, beneath the veneer of chaos, harbored an unexpected talent. A particularly captivating sketch of yourself caught your attention.
"Sally, this is actually fucking amazing!" you exclaimed, genuinely impressed. In the midst of your admiration, Sally walked in, her initial shock giving way to frustration.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" you demanded, Sally hastening to collect her cigarettes and sketches from the bed.
"I could ask you the same shit! This is my room,"
you retorted, unapologetically taking another drag from your cigarette. Sally, on the brink of scolding you, halted as she observed you holding the drawing.
"What?" Sally asked, annoyed and confused. "Calm down, Sal. It's actually fucking amazing!" you reassured her, marveling at her untapped potential.
This unexpected camaraderie led to an evening of shared cigarettes, laughter, and a burgeoning connection. Something about Sally stood out, and, curiously, something about you felt different too. The harmony between you two was nothing short of extraordinary.
As the night wore on, signaling bedtime, you felt the weight of exhaustion settling in. Unwilling to be more of a burden, you announced, "Sal, it's late. I should go to my room." Sally, unresponsive, seized your wrist as you were about to leave. A silent exchange of glances followed. "Sal?" you questioned again, prompting no response. It was then that Sally broke the silence, tears streaming down her face.
"Please, don't leave me," she implored, exposing a vulnerability you hadn't anticipated. Despite your inclination to avoid complications, Sally's plea struck a chord. You stayed, offering comfort until her sobs subsided.
"I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, love," you whispered reassuringly, holding her close. This unexpected intimacy prompted Sally to express gratitude.
"Thank you for staying," she whispered, almost inaudible. "Anytime," you whispered back, the sincerity of the moment weaving an unspoken understanding between you two.
Under the covers, you and Sally found solace in each other's presence. "Sweet dreams, babygirl," Sally murmured, her embrace secure. In return, you reached for her hand, intertwining your fingers, and softly muttered, "Sleep well, Sally."
The room fell into a tranquil silence. Neither you nor Sally succumbed to sleep immediately. Sally, though, seemed to be awaiting the moment your eyes would finally shut. However, one lingering thought refused to leave your mind.
"Sal?" you whispered, breaking the silence. "Baby?" she responded, gazing down at you as you locked eyes. Heat enveloped Sally's stomach and chest, your lips drawing nearer. The scent of Sally was hypnotic, and you couldn't resist the magnetic pull.
Your lips met, a gentle exploration evolving into a profound kiss. The taste of Sally overwhelmed your senses, silencing the background hum of the hotel. Sally's body tingled, your proximity rendering her breathless. Fingers found their way under your shirt, tracing the smoothness of your skin. Time seemed to pause, the connection between you and Sally deepening with each passing moment.
As you laid atop Sally's perfect body, the world outside Room 64 ceased to exist. There were no dangers lurking behind the door, no spectators behind the curtains. It was just the two of you, locked in a passionate embrace, finding solace in the midst of the Cortez's chaotic existence.
Now, in the embrace of the afterlife, you discovered an unexpected benefit — the eternal, uninterrupted lock of lips with Sally, a silver lining in the otherwise unpredictable turbulence of existence.
