Do Not Disturb || ONC2023

CHAPTER 2

AGATHA

Monday, July 19 - 9:07 AM

Today, I learn that old reflexes don't just leave a person after a memory loss stint. I haven't even taken three steps into the room and Roxanne already has me pinned against her wall. Soft, fleshy curves and taut sleeper muscles mold into my front as she holds me so close I could probably count each eyelash of hers if I take the time to. I attempt to push her off but to no avail. The look in her irises is a dark, silent warning I would've heeded had I not seen it a million times before. The first couple times I saw that same look had me taking a few steps back, but now, it only serves to excite me.

A warning it no longer is to me, but a challenge? Accepted.

Prying my lips open against her pressing palm, I drag my tongue across her skin until she lets go and backs away, baffled at what I just did. The expression on her face is hilarious. Roxanne's always been a bit of a clean freak. I can just imagine what's going on in her head right now, most likely processing the amount of germs now on her hand and how to get them off ASAP.

"What the fuck?" She stares, horrified, at her hand, before her gaze lands back on me as I purse my lips to suppress my glee. "Did you really just lick me?"

"I don't know, did you just throw me up against a wall ala Kdrama hero?" I answer back in a tone much more ridiculous sounding than hers.

Roxanne's features soften, her shoulders deflating from her previously guarded stance. "Sorry, I- I didn't mean to. You just barged in and I thought you were gonna scream, and I didn't want you seeing…"

"The lady with a bloody third eye on your bed?" I stroll in and lock the door behind me. I'm filled with amusement as I watch Roxanne just stand there, looking at me with wide eyes, frozen in place while she deals with the fact that I'm actually in her crime scene. "Plus, I'm not a screamer."

Roxanne sans head injury would've known that for a fact.

I walk around the room, picking up random things and inspecting them. A polaroid picture here, a tube of lipgloss there. Oh, pink fuzzy handcuffs. I twirl those around my index finger and turn to face the only other person in the room— the only living one, that is. Finally, Roxanne's system reboot is done and she launches herself at me, throwing the cuffs away and grabbing me by the arms.

"Please. You can't tell anyone about this." She shakes me a bit to drive her point across. She doesn't need to, like a hundred others, this will remain a secret I will take to my grave.

"I won't. Now you go start from that side and I'll start from here." I move out of her grasp, needing my space back from Roxanne's clouding sweet perfume. It's slowing my brain down. Once I reach the far left corner of the spacious hotel suite, I begin cleaning up, putting things back in their proper places and collecting pieces of trash.

"What are you doing?!" she asks incredulously. "Why did you even follow me inside here?"

I stare at her wordlessly. Right, why am I here again? One second passes. Two. Three. Then I blink. Swiftly, my hand slips into the back pocket of my jeans and pulls out a leather wallet with rose gold engravings, before tossing it into the air. Years of experience has Roxanne plucking the object before it hits the floor without missing a beat.

"You left it at the bar last night. I was just going to give it back." Well, that's a… story, I suppose.

"Oh…" She opens it up and rummages through her belongings. Taking out a card, she reads "Roxanne Hayes…"

I keep on cleaning while she ponders silently to herself. I still can't believe Roxanne forgot everything. I thought retrograde amnesia is just some shit they throw around in telenovelas when the writers run out of creativity and need to stir up drama. But there is no way she would've let that Berlin comment slide if she was faking. The Roxanne glaring daggers at me last night for just being in the same room as her sure wouldn't have.

Speaking of Berlin… The feeling of Roxanne pressing me up against that wall had me reminiscing there for a minute. But I can't think about that right now. Today, I have a new mission to focus on.

Back in reality, I snap my fingers twice in Roxanne's direction, breaking her trance. "Oi, double time, yeah? We'll be finishing by midnight if you don't work with me, now clean your side up."

We work in peace for the next hour or so, working around the room until the only mess left is the largest one. Namely, the cold corpse on the bed. Aside from that, the luxurious room looks brand new, as if no grizzly homicide was committed just hours ago.

Roxanne slumps down on the loveseat, groaning and slipping her fingers beneath the floral bandeau she was wearing. Fresh blood paints her hand after she pulls it out. She's a bit pale too, her skin sporting a light sheen of sweat that I'm sure is not just because of exertion from fixing up the place.

I sigh and drag my feet to the adjoining bathroom to find a first aid kit. Back in the bedroom, I proceed to pull Roxanne's bag of cash from under the bed and feel around for her personal first aid kit. Hers will for sure have the essentials I need. "Come 'ere."

God, if someone had told me I would be spending my morning sewing up Roxanne Hayes' wounds, of all people, I would've laughed in their face, asked them what they were on and where I could avail some for myself, because I would have to be high as fuck to willingly help this vixen.

I'm stone cold sober right now. I don't know what that says about me and I'm not willing to find out just yet.

With nimble hands, I take off the bandeau and carefully part Roxanne's dark hair to reveal a nasty, slightly diagonal gash on her scalp. I suck air through my teeth, it's quite bad. Oops. I accidentally tug a little too harshly on her hair.

"Oww!"

"Sorry…" I mumble.

I'm not usually squeamish, but I wince and apologize everytime Roxanne whines and complains about the pain. Why? The answer is a mystery. While I continue stitching her cut close, Roxanne inquires in a small, uncharacteristic voice, "why are you helping me, Agatha? Why aren't you running for the hills, calling the cops, or- I don't know, accusing me of fucking murder?"

"You don't know if you really did it."

"But all signs point to me though! Any other sane person would've done the opposite of helping me."

"That is true…" I chuckle. Roxanne doesn't look amused. "But let's just say that I'm not the most stand-up citizen, shall we? All done."

Once her stitches are fully secure, Roxanne faces me, her face a picture of tortured wonder. "I'm not the most stand-up citizen either, am I?"

I nibble on my bottom lip, contemplating how to explain this to her. I've never had to ponder about morality. I am the way I am for as long as I remember. First grade Aggie is as numb to dead bodies as the adult version of me is. Same penchant for one of a kind weapons, same competitive nature.

"You see, people like us, we're not the most vile monsters in the world, we don't belong in death row"— we'd be lifers for sure, but I leave that bit out. Doesn't really fit my encouragement speech. "But we're also not going to be recognized as patron saints any time soon, so…"

Roxanne's eyes remain curious, waiting for my next words, hoping that what I say will help tame the Storm roaring in her mind. Help provide even a smidge of insight on how to understand her clashing dark, forgotten past and newfound innocence.

"What I'm trying to say is, we may not be the purest of white, but we're also not all black. We're in the middle. We're gray… morally gray."

"As fucked up as that is, that's the fisrt thing that truly makes sense to me since I woke up today."

That makes me laugh, my head tipping back as I marvel at the insanity of everything happening. This day. Me being here with Roxanne in an entirely different context than last night. Her, smiling a small smile at me despite the headache pounding in her skull. I've never been at the receiving end of those tender smiles of hers. Who knew how addicting it felt?

Eventually, I sober up and shake those ridiculous feelings involving Roxanne. Instead, I look seriously at the woman opposite of me and point a finger at her bag of cash. There's easily a couple hundred thou' in there. With a smirk, I start with a tone of finality, "but you asked why I'm helping you. That's why. Half of it is mine now, Roxanne."

It's fascinating how fast I can come up with a plan B, and set it in motion.