First Bitten: Chapter 25

The next few hours in the car are painful.

I’m relieved when the weather worsens and Nathan finally relents, pulling into the next services to get us a hotel room for the night.

“I got us an adjoining room,” he says coming to a stop outside room six-two-nine. He slots the key card into the lock, opens the door for me and hands me the key.

He stands aside.

I walk past him into the room and drop my bags down on the double bed. “Thanks,” I say, turning back. He’s leaning up against the door jamb, his own bag still in his hand. There’s a brief but awkward silence. I wrap my arms around my chest for something to do with them.

“I’m going to get some sleep.” He reaches in and closes my door. Seconds later I hear the click of the next door room.

I’m all alone.

I grab the remote control off the desk and turn on the TV. I sit down on the edge of the bed and start flicking through the channels.

My eyes drift around the room. There’s a small fridge. Nathan must have requested a room with one so I can keep my limited supply of blood fresh.

I wonder what I’ll do when it runs out; hunt for myself, I guess. I wish I’d taken Nathan up on his offer to teach me now. Maybe I’ll ask him to teach me before he leaves.

A tightness settles itself into my chest.

I put the remote down on the bed, open up the cooler bag, take a bottle of blood out, put it on the bedside table, and go and put the rest in the fridge. I don’t bother unpacking my clothes, figuring I won’t be here long enough to warrant it, so I just store my bag in the bottom of the wardrobe.

I sit back on the bed, pick my bottle of blood up and immerse myself in other people’s lives on the TV, desperately trying to forget my own.

After an hour, I finally bite the bullet, knowing I can’t put it off forever, and pick the plastic bag up and take it to the bathroom with me.

Standing over the sink, I empty the contents of the bag into it.

I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m a ghost. I’m nobody. I don’t matter to anyone.

So then, I guess, it shouldn’t matter what I look like anymore either.

Without allowing a second thought, I pick the scissors up, pull my hair to the nape of my neck and start cutting.

My blonde hair litters the floor. I glance down at it. Stupid tears leak from my eyes. Sucking it up, I dry my face on my arm, pinch my lower lip between my teeth and continue to cut.

When I’m finished, I have a chin-length bob. I don’t know how short Nathan wanted it, but I thought it best to at least have some hair left to hide behind.

Collecting my old hair up from the floor, I dump it in the bin and open up the box of hair dye. I read the instructions, mix up the dye and lather it all over my light hair. Then I pull the toilet seat down, sit quietly and untangle painful thoughts in my mind while waiting the long fifteen minutes for the dye to do its job.

When my fifteen minutes are up, I peel my clothes off and get in the shower. Soon enough the water is running clear of the dye, so I get out and wrap my hair and body up in the hotel provided towels.

I pad my way back into the room, go to the wardrobe and get a pair of my pyjamas out of my bag.

There’s a knock at my door. I look at it surprised. I thought Nathan would still be sleeping.

I drop my pyjamas onto the bed and go to look through the peep hole, checking it is him. It is.

I open up the door.

I smell the alcohol on him instantly. He hasn’t slept at all. He must have gone down to the hotel bar. This isn’t good, but understandable.

His eyes do a quick sweep of my body. Feeling self-conscious, I tighten the towel around me.

“I brought you some food.” He holds out a pre-packed sandwich. “It was all they had.”

“Thanks.” I reach out and take it from him. My fingers graze his hand. He shoves his hands in his pockets. Lingering, he looks at anything but me.

“Do you wanna come in and have a coffee?” I ask and wait for the rebuff.

“Sure.” He nods.

Hiding my surprise, I step back, allowing him space to pass by. His nearness makes my heart and head hurt.

I put the sandwich down on the desk, go over to the kettle and switch it on.

“I’ll go get changed,” I say, picking up my pyjamas and heading for the bathroom, desperately trying not to hope on the fact he’s actually here with me.

When I’m dressed, I stand in front of the mirror trying to pluck up the courage to look at my hair.

I whip the towel from my hair.

Okay, so dark hair does not suit me, at all. Seriously, if Carrie were here she would be taking the piss. Come to think of it, so would Sol. A painful smile forces its way onto my lips.

I tidy my damp towels onto the rails and go out to make Nathan’s coffee. He’s sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room.

In the silence I make us both a coffee. I carry Nathan’s over to him. He takes it without a word. I sit myself down on the bed, cradling my own cup in my hands.

“You look different,” he observes.

“Wasn’t that the point?” There’s an edge to my voice I didn’t intend.

He sets his cup down on the floor. “Have you had some blood?”

“When we first arrived.” I sip my coffee.

He leans forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his thighs, hands clasped together. He looks down.

“Have you eaten?” I ask him, indicating the sandwich on the desk.

He shakes his head.

“You really should eat something,” I urge gently.

His eyes snap up at me. “When I need your concern, I’ll ask for it. Until that time, back the fuck off.”

The atmosphere disintegrates to something near horrendous. My eyes are wide with surprise, hot tears pricking the back of them. Nathan abruptly stands and strides toward the interconnecting door.

“You’re going?” I ask. My tone comes out needy.

“Looks that way.” His is detached.

“But your coffee, you haven’t touched it.”

“I changed my mind.”

I get the distinct impression he’s referring to something altogether different than the coffee. He opens the door connecting our rooms. “Be ready to leave at six in the morning. We’ll get on the road again while it’s quiet.”

And the last thing I hear from him is the cold hard click of the lock as he locks me out, permanently.