Delicate Deception (On Hold)

Chapter 6: Searing Pains

"Mom...why are you sleeping on the floor?" Ziko's sweet voice bounced off the walls, stirring me awake.

"Why am I sweeping on the four?" I asked drowsily, shifting to get into a more comfortable position, only to fall over onto a hard surface.

I groaned at the impact, pushing myself into a sitting position before stopping short.

Something was amiss. Home had carpeted floors, not- and then it hit me all at once. My eyes snapped open; the glossy, blue ceiling came into view first, everything else rushing back in the seconds afterwards.

Expensive decor, aesthetics, perfection. The only item out of place lay hastily shoved under the bed. I averted my gaze from the rug, and onto Ziko.

"Did you leave the room?" I whispered hastily, jumping up to survey whether he was harmed.

"Yes, I talked to Mr. O! He's cool!" he gushed eagerly.

I cursed under my breath, locking the bedroom door before turning back.

"Please don't do that again. I understand you like him, but we don't know him well yet," I said soothingly, heart dropping when his smile fell.

"Okay."

I pulled him in for a hug, tickling his foot in the process. He pulled me tight to himself, giggling uncontrollably.

"What time is it, anyways?" I asked on my way to the bathroom.

"Six," came Ziko's response. I stopped in my tracks, mentally counting the hours it had been since we'd first entered the suite in the morning.

Eight...I'd been knocked out for eight, whole hours. I shook the grogginess and surprise out of my head, heading further away from the ample sleeping area.

Promptly, I used the bathroom, washing my hands and face multiple times, as if the water could wash aside the way I felt leeched of stability, of my usual vigor. It was something I'd been noticing recently, the lack of composure. I braced my palms on the granite sink for a second, surveying the bags under my eyes. My skin, usually a toned bronze, now exuded an odd, lifeless color. The freckles along my cheekbones had faded as the hours I spent indoors had increased. I pulled a few limp curls away from my eyes and into a short bun atop my head.

"Can we leave the room?" Ziko asked as I emerged, having swapped my tee and joggers for a cleaner outfit. I nodded, watching his blue eyes light up.

We found our bodyguard lounging on the same sofa he'd slept in, hands relaxed behind his head. I paid no heed to the television playing in the background, stopping a safe distance away from the male. His gaze shifted from the television onto me. My own eyes slid over him, sizing him up, noting the change in attire. He now wore a fitted button down paired with tapered, black pants, both pieces hugging his body well. I hadn't had a chance to continue the scrutinization as, in one smooth motion, he sat up.

"Hey, little buddy," he gave my son a small nod, "You guys ready to head out?" the question was directed at me, but Ziko's enthusiastic head nodding caught his attention.

With an amused smile, he pushed himself up and off his current bed. I moved a step backwards, allowing him space.

I stood erect as he slipped a pair of shoes on, feeling odd in the sense that I did not belong. I did not have full control over what was to happen over the next week. And blindly going along with whatever he had planned was proving to be difficult.

I struggled to loosen my tensed muscles as we made our way down. Something was off. Something I couldn't exactly put a finger on. Still, I shrugged off the feeling, knowing full well how easy it was to be delusional when under cover. Anyone could be a potential enemy; it was lethal to keep one's guard up at any and every time.