Tale 1: War of the Protector

Chapter 8

We arrived at a motel, sometime around ten that night.

It didn’t look like it was too bad of a place. It was small, maybe a semi-truck in length, and it was two levels high, with all the room doors on the outside.

Cody got out of the pickup, signaling me to follow. He led me to the motel lobby where he booked a room for the night. I noticed that he wasn’t booking two.

“I’m going to go ahead and assume I’m getting you two a one-bed room,” the concierge said, winking at Cody. “That okay?”

I gaped in horror. I glanced at Cody, but all I could see was that signature smirk of his.

“Perfect,” was all that passed through those filthy little lips of his. He took the offered key from the concierge, slid his hand into mine, and then dragged me from the premises.

The hand enclosed in Cody’s started going numb, even as he yanked on it to keep me moving.

We came back out into the parking lot, and then to the pickup. Cody let go of my hand, much to my relief, because my arm was going numb. He opened the door to the backseat and pulled out a duffel bag and my backpack. Then he turned to me, his eyes landing on my hands.

“What?” I asked as he froze, watching my one good hand massaging my numbed one.

“Shit,” he said, dropping the bags and grabbing my numbed hand.

I hissed as he took it in his hands. He massaged it from my wrist to my fingertips, pushing in that one direction.

Slowly, the numbing feeling went away. Once that had happened, Cody released me, locked the pickup, picked up the bags, and headed towards the room booked for us, like nothing had happened.

I stood there for a moment, rubbing the hand that felt like it had died and resurrected. “Hey!” I called, taking off after Cody. I slowed to a walk beside him, but he wouldn’t look at me. “What was all that about?”

“All what about?”

I blinked at him and waved my hand in front of his face. “My hand. What happened? What was all that about?”

He ignored my questions. Instead, he put the room key in a lock and opened the door to a room. He ushered me inside, then shut the door behind me.

I stood there, watching him turn on the lights, then lock the door and close the curtains.

Then he stood, still facing the curtains. He stood there for quite some time. I was going to speak, but then he said, “It’s happening.”

“What?”

He pressed his forehead against the curtains, and ultimately the window. “We all thought that maybe it wouldn’t happen, but I guess it couldn’t be helped.”

“What?” I said again, stepping closer.

He took a deep breath through his nose, finally looking at me, and freezing me in my tracks. “I’ll get this out now. You’re technically not supposed to exist.”

I folded my arms, confused.

“Well,” he said, “what you are is not supposed to exist. A part of me still hopes that you’re not.”

“You’re making no sense,” I said.

“I know I’m not but…” He paused and sighed again. “Just… go shower. I’ll hopefully have my shit together when you come back.”

I pursed my lips, trying to sift through what he was saying. He was making no sense, and was being way to dramatic. As of right then, he was staring into space. One arm was wrapped around his waist, and the other was resting its elbow on that arm, rubbing the stubble on his face.