The Wright Way

Chapter 18 - The Wright Way

"Psst. Hey. Ethan?"

Gentle poking at my shoulder awakens me. I open my eyes and blink, taking in the room that looks strange in the bright light slipping through the bedsheet covering the window. Joshua is lying next to me on the bed. He's on the blanket and I'm underneath it, but still–

"Could you just..." I pause to clear my throat. "Could you stop getting into my bed?"

"I was just wondering," he whispers, "don't you have to go to work or something?"

I fumble for my phone on the bedside table and check the hour.

"Not for another day." I put it back down and rub my eyes. "We work for twenty four hours and then we have forty eight hours off."

"What?" He's still whispering—quite unnecessarily, given that he's already woken me up. "There are jobs like that? Holy crap. Work one day and get two days off?"

"You can apply, too, if you want. Although I doubt you can lift a water hose, let alone drag and use it."

"No, thank you, I'll pass. Right now, I don't think I could look at an unlit fireplace without having a panic attack." He pokes me in the shoulder again. "I need money for groceries. Pasta is all carbs and I'm trying to watch my figure."

"Huh?" I say, trying to catch up. "Money?"

He shrugs. "I'll need to recover my documents to access my bank account, and it will take time, I guess. Come on, don't be greedy. I'll cook us something nice."

"It's not about the money. It's just that you shouldn't go out yet."

"I'm an adult, and I can decide for myself," he says. "I perhaps can't pay for myself right now, but decide I can."

I sigh, not awake enough to handle the argument.

"In the drawer." I nod in the direction of the bedside table.

He reaches unceremoniously over me, forcing me to hold back the instinct of kicking him to the floor. There's no contact though—he curves his back like a cat to avoid touching me while he rummages in the drawer, and then he's gone, sitting on the side of the bed, checking the cash compartment of my wallet.

"Okay, I'm out," he says, getting up.

"Don't take the credit card," I say. "Only the cash."

"Can't hear ya," comes from the hallway. His sneakers screech on the linoleum as he puts them on. "I won't be long. You can go back to sleep."

I open my mouth to repeat my request about the credit card but then I shut it again. It does bother me a bit, giving him my wallet, and yet the prospect of him stealing my money and running away seems unlikely. No one could be that ungrateful. Also, I could always block the card.

The door slams shut, and the apartment gets quiet. I consider getting up to lock the door, but I'm so comfortable under the sheets that I keep delaying that. Still, leaving a door unlocked in this neighborhood isn't wise, so I intend to lock it, and I keep intending until, eventually and inevitably, I slip back into sleep, lulled by the muffled, steady purring of the traffic outside.

It's the door slamming shut again that wakes me up. I sit up with a jerk, the thought of not having locked it popping right up. Yet the noise of paper bags rustling in the hallway and the familiar screeching of sneakers against linoleum put my mind at ease. Robbers don't bring paper bags with them.

"You're still asleep?" Joshua peaks into the room, a couple of bags pressed to his chest. "I understand now why they give you two days off. You spend one of them sleeping."