Page 12 of Room Service
“Sure thing,” I respond, stifling a yawn.
“Eight a.m. sharp, Elise,” she barks at me as she waltzes away and opens the main door that we came through at the start of the night, disappearing from sight seconds later as she closes it behind her, leaving me on my own to work my magic on this room. She didn’t even look like she’d done a full day’s work with her blonde hair still perfectly in place, not a hair falling out of the bun she seems to prefer, and her make-up looking just as it did first thing this morning.
I sigh and look around at the many empty glasses and platters of food that have been half-eaten. I best get to work so I can go to my room and get a decent night’s sleep without Derrick’s snoring interrupting me intermittently throughout the entire night.
I start to collect plates up and take them through to the kitchen area which is at the end of the main room, where I begin to place them in piles on the side before I load the first lot in the dishwasher. It’s going to take about three loads to complete it all, and then I guess I’ll have to stay to dry it and put it away, otherwise Hayley will be on my arse first thing in the morning.
Once all the plates have been stacked, I load the dishwasher and set about collecting any rubbish lying around as my mind wanders to the handsome stranger that I just keep seeming to run into this week. If he were a regular guest, surely I’d have seen him before now?
My thoughts are halted as the lights go out and the whole apartment is shrouded in darkness, save for the very dim moonlight coming in from the open doors to the balcony. I opened the curtains a little while ago, to let some fresh air filter through as the bodies began to disperse.
“Shit,” I curse quietly as I reach out in front of me to try and feel my way around to get to the phone which sits just beside the large TV on the very far wall. Although, if the power is out, there’s no point in trying to use the phone.
I’ve never been scared of the dark, it’s just frustrating that I don’t know my way around this place well enough to go and alert the reception that maintenance need to get up here, if they don’t already know, of course.
I seem to be doing okay as I continue to try and get to the phone, just to check that it isn’t working before I attempt to find my way out of here.
I walk a few more steps, my eyes straining to try and make out any shapes at all, and then I feel my toe hit something and I curse out loud, my leg giving way as I begin to tumble to the ground. I close my eyes, holding my hands out in front of me and waiting for the impact of my body hitting the floor, but it doesn’t come. Instead, two arms wrap around me from behind and haul me backwards until I’m standing up straight, my body flush against theirs, my heart beating erratically, and my mind instantly wondering if I’m going to fucking die in this room, because what the hell?
“Shhh,” is whispered in my ear, and my heart nearly fucking stops.
It’s him, again.
What is his deal?
I breathe in and out as he holds me there and I wait to see what the hell he thinks he’s doing.
“You didn’t come to my room,” he says in a low voice, his breath making my skin prickle.
“I told you I was working,” I reply, and damn me for sounding all breathy and shit. Ugh.
“Not good enough.”
“We don’t all have the luxury of money, Mr Whateveryournameis,” I respond before I can stop myself, and I immediately want the ground to swallow me up, but then I remind myself that he’s the one that’s come in here and put his hands on me. He’s the one holding me against him right now, invading my personal space. He’s a guest where I work, but I don’t have to be treated like this. It is not in the fucking job description.
So why aren’t I pulling away?
Why am I still stood in his arms, with his breath continuing to tickle my skin?
“I don’t like being stood up,” he says, his lips now whispering over the shell of my ear as I fight my body’s urge to just melt against him.
Is this what I have become? Craving the attention of a complete fucking stranger who could be a goddamn serial killer? He could be anything, and here I am, letting him touch me, hold me, and make me feel things I haven’t felt… ever.
Christ, what am I doing?
“I didn’t stand you up, I had to work,” I tell him, butterflies swirling around inside me as one of his hands moves to lay flat on my stomach. “What is this? What are you doing? And who the hell are you?” The questions rush out of me all at once, and I suddenly find I need all the answers.
“So many questions, Miss Woods…”
“It’s Mrs,” I whisper.
Silence descends.
Seconds tick by.
Did he hear me? But I already know the answer to that as I can feel the tension in his body.
Oh Christ, is now the part where he goes deranged psycho killer on me because this isn’t going to go the way he planned?
