MY BODYGUARD

MY BODYGUARD chapter 4

T: We need a room.

The receptionist in front of us is a mid-50's odd-looking fella. His hair is a tad greasy and he's wearing a pair of glasses that look 10 times too big for his face.

R: single or double?

T: Double.

Y: Please.

Tom's lack of manners was annoying me. He turns to roll his eyes at me and then gives his attention back to the receptionist.

T: We'll pay you in the morning.

I can tell by the look on the receptionist's face, he wants to argue with Tom, but he looks too scared to. I can't blame him. I also know that Tom wasn't going to pay the man in the morning, and that he has used fake names under our book in. 'Valerie Johnson' and 'Hunter Garland.' The receptionist eventually hands us our room key and Tom grabs my hand to weave me through the hallways, the smell of mould tickling my nose. We reach our room, more like our box. The room looks tiny, almost too small to fit both of us in.

Y: I'm going to have a shower. Wash all the blood off me.

T: Hurry up, I need one after you.

Y: Why are you rushing? We're here now it's fine.

T: Nothing's fine Y/N! We have NO car and there's no fucking service anywhere in this village. We will have to hot wire a car tomorrow and I'll find a quicker way to Paris.

Y: Alright, god. I get it, this is my fault. You don't have to keep telling me. I'd prefer if you just went back to being annoyingly silent.

I snap at him with no regrets. This constant arguing is draining me out. I grab an off-white towel from a dusty cupboard and I storm off into the bathroom, ignoring Tom standing with a blank expression on his face. As I wash off all of the grime and blood from the crash, I find myself thinking of what Tom has been through and why he is the way he is.

T: Take your time. Don't rush.

He says behind the door, his voice comes out softer than usual. Does he feel bad for shouting at me? Or has me shouting at him made him realize how much of a knob head he can be. I don't reply, I just carry on soaking my hair in the warm water.

~~~

I finish in the shower and I dry myself with the one towel as best as I can. Remembering I don't have any other clothes, I throw on my dirty ones from earlier and try my best to just wipe them down. I get rid of most of the dirt off my black leggings, but there is still a spot of blood on my lilac over-sized t-shirt. I chuck my towel on the hook of the door and I stand for a second, hesitating to open it, but eventually I grow some balls and walk out with a straight face and head for the bed.

I see Tom look at me from the corner of his eyes, but he doesn't bother to say anything. Instead, he gets up from the left side of the bed and takes his turn in the bathroom. I lie down on the right-hand side of the bed and sigh. All of this should feel normal to me. But it doesn't. Something about being with tom drives me round the bend, but also comforts me, makes me want to know more about him and his secrets.

Tom re-enters the room, only in his boxers. I try my best to keep my eyes from venturing too low. His chiseled abs instantly catch my attention but he soon notices me staring and I abruptly cast my eyes away and close them to seem as if I was going to sleep. I hear a little chuckle and then the bed droops beside me as Tom crawls on to his side. Nothing more was said for the rest of the night, gladly.

~~~

Sunday

T: Y/N, wake up. It's 6am.

I wake to see Tom stuffing a pistol into his bag, already dressed and ready to go.

Y: I thought you're supposed to call me Miss Sharpe.

I stretch out and climb off the bed. Tom scoffs and shakes his head, walking out of the room. I guess we are leaving then.

I run after him, feeling gross about not doing my teeth or having a shower. Oh, how I long for a shower right now. We walk down to reception and Tom peaks his head round to see if the greasy haired man is there. Luckily, he isn't, so we walk straight out with no trouble. I follow Tom to the car park opposite and remember what he said the previous night about hot wiring a car, my hands start to get clammy and I start to stress out. He casually walks up to a grey Peugeot 208 and tries the door handle. Oddly, it's unlocked. Lucky us. Tom climbs into the driver's seat, chucking his weapon bag in the back, and nods for me to get in too. He quickly hot wires the car and we are good to go.

Y: Hey uhm... I'm sorry for having a go at you yesterday. I guess, we were both just pretty tired.

Tom lightly laughs which confuses me.

T: Don't think you hurt my feelings Y/N. you didn't.

Y: Can I not just say sorry without you being unnecessarily rude or difficult?

T: Nope.

I scoff at him and shake my head. I guess he's back to being his old annoying self. Fine by me, as long as he gets me to Paris safely.

Because of the little accident yesterday, we have been pushed back a lot of time. Tom has had to find a different route to Paris so we still have about 4 hours to travel. Luckily, we stole a couple of croissants from the room back at the motel so breakfast was sorted. And even better for me, Tom wasn't hungry so I could have them both.

~~~

Tom was pretty quiet for most of the drive but I didn't really care. I mostly just listened to the radio, sometimes dozing off to sleep. We stopped at a petrol station in Versailles for two coffees and a couple of sandwiches, which now leaves us only an hour away from our safe house in Paris. This drive has allowed me to see more sights than I have seen in my entire 20 years, I want to savor it as much as possible because I know for sure that it won't last long.

Tom's phone starts to buzz and he immediately pulls over to answer it. I watch his emotion carefully and at one point I see him glance over to me with a slight sadness in his eyes. He puts his phone away and rubs his temples, making me slightly worried.

Y: What is it?

T: It's your friend Andy. He went on an assignment with some other men. They got ambushed and he... didn't make it.

Y: what?