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feverinfeveroutfic · 5 days ago

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love is not enough | chapter thirty-one

The next thing he knew, he was waking up to the glittering city lights coming in through the window on the right side of the room. Jay and Q were still cozied up on either side of him, still wrapped up in their pajamas. No idea of the time, and he had no desire to even so much as climb up out of bed, either.

But then again, there was promise of room service and the three of them had fallen asleep together before something could even so much as be called in, and as he lay there in between them, he could feel something gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Jay buried her head into his shoulder while Q kept her hand rested upon his chest. The last thing he wanted to do, however, was awaken them.

There was a way out, though, and that was the fact that he had slid his arms out from under their bodies at some point. All he had to do was slide out from under their hands towards the foot of the bed. He had to be careful, however, as one simple gyration of the mattress could wake up one or the other.

He tugged his arms on closer to his chest as if he was about to make his way down a water slide. Using nothing more than his feet, he tugged himself along the face of the mattress. Their hands remained attached to him as if they wore patches of Velcro on their fingertips. He nibbled on his bottom lip and jerked himself down the top of the mattress towards the foot.

They let go of him. Gingerly, he inched along the shapes of their bodies and reached the edge with his feet first.

He nearly slithered off the bed and onto the carpet. Once he realized he was on the floor, he held still down in a squatting position. He was met with silence right behind him.

He ran his fingers through his hair and then he let out a low whistle. Neither of the two girls stirred even for a second, and thus, he could be alone for a while. He stood up and glanced back at them, and he showed them a smile.

He then turned to his suitcase down on the floor for a change of a shirt, but when he squatted back down onto the floor, he looked down to his own body, at his open white shirt. He decided to put on a belt if nothing else.

He took his belt out from the back of his suitcase, and he stood back up with it in hand. He slipped it in under the belt loops and secured the buckle part of the way so he could button up and tuck in his shirt: however, he left the top three buttons undone so he could show off most of his chest. He ran his fingers through his hair again, and that time, he held still so he could better feel himself upon standing there,

He showed them both another smile, and he picked up the room key and tucked it into his jeans pocket. Very carefully, he closed the door behind him and padded through the corridor, along the lush carpet towards the elevator at the far end.

As much as he loved those two girls, there was something he missed about having time to himself.

He ducked inside of the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor. It was here he felt a hard grumble in his stomach, and he pressed a hand to his slender belly.

“God, what time is it,” he asked aloud.

The elevator slowly made its way down to the ground floor and the lobby: the doors slid open as he leaned back against the railing and kept one hand on his stomach as if he ached there. However, once the doors opened, he was met with the aroma of breads as well as coffee. The feeling of coffee even at night gave him this feeling of warmth that he wished those girls could experience.

A feeling of comfort for Q. A feeling of nostalgia for Jay. To get them away from the man with the gun.

He breezed into the lobby, which was alive with the French nightlife. The place was warmly lit with wrought iron lights suspended from the ceiling overhead: the creamy eggshell color of the walls and the heavy dark wooden bar and matching tables and stools made him think of a jazz club. Indeed, there was a jukebox tucked in the far corner and someone had put on some Coltrane, which was then followed by the Eagles.

He wove his way past a couple of tables which bustled with patrons, and he bellied up to the bar and the bartender with the lush blond hair brushed up into a tight wave over his head.

“Um… parlez-vous l’anglais?” he asked the bartender.

“Yes, yes!” he replied.

“Oh, good. Um… do you have the time?” He tapped on his wrist.

“It is, er…” The man glanced down at his wristwatch. “Half past eight.”

“That’s all?” He was stunned. “I mean, oh, that’s all. Um, okay… can I get a cup of coffee and a Reuben sandwich, please? S’il vous plaît?”

“Of course! Fifteen euros.”

“Can do,” he replied, and he handed the bartender a five and a ten with a crooked smile on his face. He didn’t take a spot at the bar, however. He instead took some of his spare change out from his pocket and ducked on over to the jukebox for something to fit the mood of the bar. A little bit of John Scofield for the crowd at the helm. He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets and returned to the bar in time to find that the bartender had first set his drink down on the bar before his stool. He showed the man a little smile and a nod, and then he took his spot there.

He picked up the little white porcelain mug and looked down at the fine layer of white foam with a dusting of dark cocoa powder on top. The aroma of the coffee comforted him about as much as the girls did: he thought about laying in that bed with them as he sipped on it.

There was a man at the neighboring table who wore a white silk shirt much like the one he was wearing. He, too, had two girls hanging off of him, and he, too, seemed to be relishing in all the attention.

He watched him, the way he seemed so much happier at that very moment, completely unbothered by the thought of a man with a gun chasing after his girls. He sounded American as well, or at least from somewhere in North America.

He could relate to him in this sense.

The man then stopped and raised his glass of stout as if to give a toast of sorts.

“Drinks are on me!” the man decreed right then, and everyone in the bar cheered at that.

He lingered there on the end of the bar with his cup of coffee and a little smile on his face. To relax and be alone with his thoughts, and more so when the bartender returned with a napkin and a white porcelain plate of a Reuben sandwich on marble rye. The corned beef looked fresh and the bright pink color of the sauerkraut even made his eyes water.

“Holy hell,” he blurted out, and he showed the bartender a crooked smile. “Thank you. Merci beaucoup.” He picked up one half of the sandwich and took a bite.

“Oh, my god,” he muttered to himself as he held his fingers to his lips. “This is incredible.”

Eating that sandwich felt like making love, and it helped that the Russian dressing tasted fresh as well. He ate it slowly so he could relish in his time alone.

The music of Scofield followed by some French songs he wasn’t familiar with at the moment. There was a big part of him that wished that the girls could be there with him, but at the same time, he wanted this all to himself. The taste and warmth of the sandwich caressing his stomach, and the warmth of the coffee, and he could return to them with a new vigor to his body.

He finished the last of the crust and wiped his fingers and his mouth with the napkin, and he nodded his head.

“Best damn Reuben I’ve had in a long time,” he remarked, and he leaned back in the chair with the cup of coffee in hand. Someone had put The Police on right then, and he smiled to himself.

He shifted around in the chair and crossed one leg over the other. He watched a couple from the table behind him dancing along to the music.

The world of jazz with the world of ska and alternative, and suddenly, he found himself something of an escape from the world of metal. At some point, he was going to show the girls this as an escape of sorts for them, away from the world they came from, and away from the man coming after them.

“I’m going to stay a while,” he muttered to himself as he leaned back in the chair and put his feet up in the neighboring chair. He kept the coffee rested upon his knee, and it was enough to warm him up from the inside some more.

Once he had finished his coffee, he set down the mug and patted his fingers on the surface of the bar. He ducked out of there right as another French song came on, but he wasn’t ready to return upstairs as of yet.

He padded outside to the glittering skyline against the dark sky overhead. Across the street stood a florist that looked to be closing up for the night, and he ducked on over there as he had an idea.

Out front, right next to the bouquets, stood a bunch of corsages: the one that caught his eye contained sunflowers. He spotted another one with little white orchids. A couple of quid for each of them, and he took the offer with a nod.

He took them both and ducked on back to the hotel and the room with them in either hand. If nothing else, he could surprise them with flowers to last forever once they woke up again.

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