Twist Of Fate

Twenty Four

CHLOE

I don't hear Harry get into bed. The exhaustion and stress from the last few days must have wiped me out, because the next thing I know the sunlight is streaming in through the net curtain (neither of us drew the main curtains last night) and the clock next to the bed reads 5.27am. I stumble out of bed and stagger to the bathroom for a glass of water, close the curtains on my way back and fall into another deep sleep. By the time I wake again it is 7.48, and when I roll over on the lumpy mattress, Harry is wide awake in the other bed and staring up at the ceiling in silence. 

"Morning," I mumble, and receive a grunt in return. I give myself a couple of minutes to wake up properly and summon the energy to start another day on the end of Harry's bad temper, before pushing the covers back and making my way to the bathroom again. I feel Harry's eyes on my bare legs and I hurry the last few steps self-consciously, glad when I can shut the bathroom door on his appraising gaze. 

A shower isn't strictly necessary given my hour-long bath not even twelve hours previously, but yet again I am left uncertain when I will next be able to have a proper wash, so I take my time under the shower head, thinking long and hard about today's journey and how best to approach the subject with Harry to get him on my side. It is only when I am standing on the shower mat, having dried myself and brushed my teeth, ready to walk back into the bedroom that I realise I didn't bring any clothes in here with me, and will have to exit the bathroom wearing only this small towel. Cursing myself for my lack of forward planning, I open the door and scuttle across the bedroom to my bed, where my rucksack is on the floor containing the few items of clothing I brought with me. I daren't look at Harry, or even in his direction, but wait until I hear him hauling himself out of bed and the bathroom door closing behind him before I turn around to make sure he is safely out of sight. 

I grab my last clean top and pair of shorts from my bag, and curse myself again for not washing my clothes last night when I had the chance. They would likely have been dry by this morning, or at least dry enough to shove in my rucksack and transport to our next destination without adding too much weight to the already heavy load. I make a mental note to find somewhere as soon as possible to do some washing. 

By the time Harry emerges from the bathroom, his hair dripping wet and a green bath towel slung low on his waist, I have packed everything up that I can and am sitting on the bed, ready. I try not to stare at his bare chest, but my eyes seem to have a mind of their own, lingering over his tattoos and wondering what they mean, and how long they have been there. 

"I was thinking," I begin nervously, staring past him at the wall in an attempt not to embarrass myself, "that we could use the hotel restaurant this morning to have some breakfast?"

He eyes me for a moment, and then sits down on the bed to rifle through his bag and retrieve a pair of jersey shorts and a grey vest. "As long as we're quick. I want to be away from here as soon as possible."

"Do you have an idea where you want to go?" I ask, already knowing the answer but asking anyway because his lack of planning will only help my case.

He bites his lip as he pulls what looks like a pair of black boxer shorts from his bag. I quickly look away. "Dunno. Not really. Just somewhere far from here."

I nod, concealing a satisfied smile. "I guessed as much. I've got an idea, then."

"OK."

"Do you want to hear it?"

"I'm literally on the edge of my seat." There is no mistaking the sarcasm in his tone, and I would dearly love to tell him to fuck off and make his own plans if he is going to be so damn rude, but I don't.