Triple Digits

Corey Strickland

He knew women liked taking long showers, but fifty-five minutes seemed excessive, even for Claire, who liked everything in excess. Money, speed, food, showers.
Lounging on his motel bed, watching the Redwood news, which was full of celebrity stories, Corey began to wonder if something was wrong. They had an hour and five minutes to get to the restaurant, but Claire still hadn't emerged from the shower.
Should he go check on her?
'He would give her another five minutes,' he reasoned. An hour was more than long enough, and if she wasn't back by then, he would go looking for her.
Now thoroughly worried, he wasn't able to focus on anything but the hand of his watch inching closer and closer to seven PM.
When it hit six fifty-eight, he leapt up from the bed, unable to wait any longer, and strode nervously down the hallway. When he entered the shared showering space, he glanced around nervously. He could hear a shower running deeper in the room, but no other sounds emanated from anywhere.
What if something had happened to her? Or she'd slipped and fallen?
Rushing toward the shower, he rapped his knuckles against it in a knock, hearing Claire weakly groan back, "Corey?"
His heart leapt into his throat at how ill she sounded, her voice wavering like she was in pain.
"Can you open the door? Do you know how long you've been in here?" He requested gently, hoping she hadn't been crying all alone again when he'd been just down the hall.
From within the shower stall, he heard her choke out, "No."
"That's okay," he reassured, "It's been an hour. I need to make sure you're okay. You said you can't open the door- why is that?" Her response was sluggish and delayed, but eventually she said in a groan, "... My head hurts..." He cursed himself for forgetting. She still had a bad concussion. Corey should have come and checked on her sooner.
Studying the door, he wondered if there was a way to open it from the outside. From first glances- No, there was not.
The only way he could see himself getting in there without her standing and opening the door was if he clambered over the top, where there was a gap between the walls of the stall and the ceiling of the room.
"Can you stand and let me in?"
He heard what sounded like her hand and feet sliding against the wet tiles, before she let out a quiet gasp of pain, slumping back down. That was a no, then. If he couldn't go through, under or around it, he would have to climb over the top.
Thank the Gods for his training at the police academy, where he was taught to scale fences.
Searching the room, Corey eventually found a chair he could stand on, warning Claire, "I'm coming over the top, okay?" She groaned a weak agreement, too dazed with pain to care what he did.
From his shower earlier today, he knew there was a locker on the other side. He could use that to stand on before lowering himself to the floor on the other side.
Stepping up onto the chair, he dragged himself over the top of the door, clinging on for dear life before lowering himself slowly onto the locker. It wobbled, the top of it bending under his weight.
He could see Claire curled up against the wall of the shower, the water raining down on her, plastering her hair to her skin. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, her head resting on her knees.
The fact that she was naked was second to the knowledge that she was terribly injured.
From here, he couldn't see her eyes, but he imagined they were a little glazed.
Corey was no paramedic, but she didn't look too good. She should have been resting this weekend, not having to fly out here to attend to a funeral. He cursed the universe for such an unfortunate string of events.
Stepping down onto the floor, which was soaking wet, Corey ignored the water that hit his skin and clothes, kneeling in front of Claire and lifting her head up with his fingers under her chin.
She didn't even blink at him, but he was correct. Her eyes were glazed.
"My ears are ringing," she said quietly, sounding a little hysterical. He frowned worriedly, asking, "Can you walk?"
She tried to stand again, only to sway, Corey helping lower her to the ground again, his hands firm on the bare skin of her waist.
Rising to his feet, he twisted the shower off, the water finally stopping, and Claire began shivering in the cold. Heading to the locker, he grabbed out her towel, slinging it over his shoulder before offering her his hands. When she took them, he helped her stand, sliding an arm around her waist and pinning her to his chest before she could fall again.
He dried her hair first, being gentle with her head, wrapping the towel around her and unlocking the door, awkwardly shuffling her out of the small space. When they were out of the stall, he bent slightly, sliding one hand under her knees, keeping the other just under her shoulders, and lifted her into his arms.
She was too exhausted and sick to even demand he put her down.
Carrying her back to the room, Strickland laid her out on her bed, returning to the shower room and collecting her remaining things- a dress in a bag, and used the motel phone to call the hospital in Mid-City where Claire had originally been seen for her injuries.
He stood in the hall, guarding the room, while speaking to her doctor, who reassured him that the symptoms were the normal presentations of a concussion, and advised that she stay home and rest.
When Corey explained where they were, and the dinner they were meant to attend tonight, he was firmly told to keep her in bed at all costs. No more bright lights, loud sounds, or rushing around.
He could do that.
Hanging up the phone, Strickland entered the room once again, immediately turning off the light and TV. She was still in the bed where he'd left her, pressing her face into the pillows to hide from even the smallest hint of light.
Tucking her in with a blanket, he exited the room again, this time with Claire's phone, to call Averie and let her know what was going on.
Her sister promised to explain that Claire would not be attending the dinner tonight, but not why, and warned that it would likely be pushed back until tomorrow night, after the funeral.
He had to admit he didn't really give a shit about the dinner, or what Claire's parents would think of her for not showing up.
She was hurt- really hurt, and if she didn't rest, she risked doing serious damage to herself.
Then, he took up a post beside the door in the hallway, guarding it while Claire slept inside...