Thunder...
Waiting for a flash, for another confirmatory rumble, I lay perfectly still, holding my breath, my eyes wide open. I'd hated storms since I was a kid. Though my terror had abated over the years, the wisdom of maturity kicking in, I could never quite forget the trauma of being told at five years old that a friend of my father's had been struck by lightning whilst playing golf. He'd died instantly. Ever since, I'd had an irrational fear that lightning could get me anywhere. And even though I could reason I was quite safe here in bed in my hotel room, I knew there was no chance I'd go back to sleep until the storm had passed.
But when I heard the next boom, I realised it wasn't thunder at all.
"What the hell...?" I muttered, sitting bolt upright and staring through the darkness towards the ceiling as though I expected I'd be able to see into the room above. And as the sound of the next crash reverberated through the floor, I scrabbled for the switch that turned on the bedside light, a quick glance at my alarm clock confirming the worst. Two thirty-six. Perfect.
"You bastards," I wailed, collapsing back on my pillows and groaning at the continuing bumps and thuds overhead.
The last thing I could remember was crawling into bed twenty minutes after Luke had left, having half-heartedly dried my hair with the hotel's ineffectual hairdryer. His 'little something' had certainly helped--God, I didn't think I'd ever felt so wiped out after an orgasm. I'd been asleep for maybe three and a half hours--the most sleep I'd had in almost a week--and now, thanks to some mind-bogglingly thoughtless hotel guests, I was awake again.
Wide
awake.
Needing to use the bathroom, I hauled myself out of bed, still muttering rude words. And as I caught sight of myself in the mirror above the sink, I sighed heavily. Though my face appeared less sallow than it had earlier and the dark circles beneath my eyes had faded, my hair was a mess of unruly curls. Not so much pre-Raphaelite as pre-invention of the hairbrush, I thought grimly, raking my fingers through the worst of the tangles, realising as I did so just how sore my arm was again. The local anaesthetic had definitely worn off.
I downed a couple of painkillers with a mug full of water then stumbled back into the bedroom. There were still curious shuffling noises coming from the room above mine, interspersed with muffled speech and raucous male laughter. Sighing, I reached for the television remote, even though I knew it was highly unlikely there'd be anything worth watching at this hour. There hadn't been for the last six nights.
And tonight proved to be no exception. I flicked through the meagre selection of channels, finding an old war film in black and white, a documentary about North Sea Oil, an ancient sit-com and a Jerry Springer-type show. Apparently the young heavily-tattooed man on screen had had nine children by nine different women. I found it hard to care.
How on earth did long-term insomniacs cope? Praying fervently that I wasn't about to become one, I clicked the television off again and lay down, just in time to hear a flurry of noise above me then the unmistakeable sound of a door banging shut.
Silence.
I smiled up at the ceiling, absurdly grateful. "Thank you," I breathed. But just as I was reaching for the light switch I heard the sound of running water followed by the familiar clanking of over-used hotel plumbing. Fantastic. Now my decidedly inconsiderate neighbour was taking a shower.
Groaning, I pulled a pillow over my head, inhaling the clean but slightly musty smell of the hotel-laundered pillowcase. So much for the restorative powers of a good night's sleep. If anything, I was going to look even more haggard by daybreak than I had when Luke had left me and for reasons I wasn't quite ready to analyse, I found that thought disconcerting...
Tea. If Mum was with me now, that's what she'd be suggesting. "Everything seems better after a cuppa," she'd say, no matter what the calamity. The first thing she'd done after I'd told her about Daniel cheating on me was put on the kettle--for all the good that did. And with another heavy sigh, I rolled out of bed.
I'd have to call her in the morning, I thought, remembering my drowned mobile phone as I sipped at my tea a few minutes later, watching my reflection in the dressing table mirror. As it was, she was probably concerned I hadn't phoned. I'd made a point of calling her every evening since I'd arrived, filling the conversation with breezy anecdotes about mornings spent sightseeing and lazy afternoons on the beach. Okay, so a lot of what I'd told her wasn't true, but I didn't want her to worry. I figured that she didn't really need to hear I'd spent much of my time walking about like a zombie, my face perpetually blotchy from crying. Though today had been rather better.
I found myself smiling as I thought of Luke, a ripple of awareness zinging through my body as I remembered what we'd done--what
he'd
done to me.
Dear God
... I doubted I'd ever be able to stand on a beach again without thinking about him.
But on hearing the distinctive squeal of the fire safety door at the end of the corridor outside my room, I straightened up with a jerk, half the contents of my mug slopping down my front. "For heaven's sake," I muttered, giving the wet patch a futile brush as the warm tea cooled against my chest, growing increasingly irritated as I listened to the approaching footsteps, the floorboards creaking slightly. "Go to bed! It's three in the morning--"
The knock at my door was soft. So soft, in fact, I knew if I'd been deep in slumber, I wouldn't have heard it. Startled, I slithered off the bed, my heart leaping in my chest as I realised there was only one person it could be...
"Hey." Luke shot me an unexpectedly stern look as I opened the door. "Why aren't you asleep?"
Recovering from the shock of seeing him clad in one of the hotel's complimentary white fluffy dressing gowns, I felt my welcoming smile droop to a scowl. "I was!"
"You're such a liar." He nodded his head towards the mug still in my hand. "I hope to God that isn't coffee."
"What? No--it's tea." I bit my lip, irritated at being caught out. "Not that it's any of your business."
"Tea?" He narrowed his eyes, pulling me with him into the room and letting the spring-loaded door close behind us. "Babe, there's caffeine in tea as well, you know. No wonder you're not sleeping. And just for the record, you made it my business when you let me suture your arm. Cute nightshirt, by the way."
"I let you?" I repeated weakly, feeling the colour race to my face as I glanced down at the tea-drenched image of a teddy bear on the front of my oversized T-shirt, wondering even as I did so whether he was wearing anything under his gown.... "As I recall, I didn't have much choice. What are you saying--I'm your patient now? And when, exactly, did I say you could come in?"
Ignoring my questions he seized me by the shoulders and studied my face. "You've had some sleep though, right?" he demanded. "Because you look a damn sight better than you did."
"Gee, thanks," I muttered, doing my best not to flinch beneath his critical appraisal. "If it wasn't for the idiots upstairs I'd
still
be asleep. I don't know what the hell they were doing. It sounded like--" My breath caught in my throat as he lifted a hand to my cheek, pushing his fingers into my wayward curls and tucking them back behind my ear. "It s-sounded like they were moving beds around or something. And then one of them--" I stopped again as Luke removed the mug from my hand, setting it down on the dressing table behind us. "One of the bas-bastards took a show-
er
..."
His kiss was as sweet as it was sudden, his mouth moving over mine with just the right amount of pressure, his tongue gently parting then exploring the inside of my lips. And as he deepened the kiss I gave a helpless groan, looping my arms around him and burying my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.
"I'm sorry we woke you up," he murmured into my mouth before raising his head just enough to smile at me. "I'm not a bastard though. Just a tosser."
