A Game of Colours

Chapter 33: Oatmeal

Lewis rolls her eyes and runs her hand over the wall. At the top left corner, she grabs onto a small latch and flips it open. She pushes hard against the wall, and it swings open.

My eyes widen.

"What can I say? We put the safe in safe house. No one will find you here, Alice, I can promise you that. Go on in."

***

It's a dingy room with a single oak table and a set of stools surrounding it. A patched up burgundy sofa lies pushed up against the wall. The room is barely lit, as the only window, with a yellow, peeling frame and curtains drawn shut, sits high up against a wall. The whole room has a musty feeling to it. Clearly, it hasn't seen the light of day in a long time. My eyes fall on Jarrah, who reclines in a wooden chair at the back of the room, head tilting back and eyes closed.

"Men. They're much easier to handle when they're asleep, I think," giggles Lewis, "kind of like a child."

"Women. They're never easy to handle," retorts Jarrah, eyes still shut but clearly awake.

"I should've never let you in here, Whitley," she grumbles.

Jarrah opens his eyes, crinkled from smiling, to respond when they fall upon me. He immediately gets up from his seat and makes his way over to help me stand.

"I, er, didn't mean that thing I said about women," he mumbles awkwardly.

"I mean what I say when I say it, Whitley. I'm telling you Alice, he's a bad, untrustworthy apple," she giggles.

"Are you alright?" he asks me, ignoring her.

I nod.

Lewis looks at us strangely. "I'm going into town now, alright? Don't leave the port open when you come back."

"I won't," I say.

She pulls the handle inward, the wall disappearing from view and a bookcase in its place.

"Take care of yourself while I'm gone," she says, leaving the room.

Jarrah walks me over to the sofa, which I gladly rest in. We sit an awkward distance from one another, the tension so thick you could slice it with a knife.

"Food?" he asks.

"What?"

"Do you want it? Food. Like breakfast. I meant breakfast. You know, breaking your fast? Cause you haven't eaten all night--unless you went to get food during the night, which would be weird for me not to notice cause I was here and all, but I'm pretty sure you didn't do that since you can't really walk and all, and I was with you last night and you weren't eating so actually I guess it would be pretty logical for you to not have eaten last night," he rambles.

I quirk my eyebrow.

"What I mean to say is, do you want food?"

"Yes. And what I mean by that is, yes."

"Great. Excellent. I'll go make that, and you just hang tight. How do you feel about oatmeal?"

"Jail food? My favourite."

He leaves the room, my eyes trailing his back curiously. He comes back a few moments later with a steaming bowl.

"There really aren't many options here, sorry if you're not up to it. I would go out and get you something else, but I mean I can't really leave either. Plus, I don't have money and stealing is out of the question."

He stares at the ceiling for a second, probably to catch his breath before continuing.

"I just feel bad for getting you all riled up and leaving you alone last night. I shouldn't have left you in that state--or kissed you. That was a little inappropriate. And then I said see you around? Really? God, I'm such an idiot. I'm sorry. I just wanted to make it up to you. I'm sorry--"