Page 42 of Room Service
“Because you’d never get rid of us even if you tried,” Chantel says, a beaming smile on her face. She’s right. They’d hound me like a dog if I ever tried to cut them loose, which I wouldn’t, this is just our way.
“Come on, man, just give it up already. You know she won’t stop until she’s got it all out of you anyway,” Gabriel chimes in, and doesn’t he just speak the fucking truth.
And so, over another few tumblers of scotch, I give them as much as I can, which is basically keeping it minimal because talking is overrated.
“Huh. So, she didn’t love the husband, but you don’t know the backstory. Then he shows up here, where you find them in a room with him putting his hands on her in a way that he never should have, and you let him walk out of here on two legs?” Chantel questions when I’m done.
“And your point is?”
“Well, I’ve seen you lose your shit for less, Dorien, so what gives?”
She’s right. In the past, I’ve thought nothing of punching some fucker on the nose who thinks he can have his way with her when Gabriel has left her side for more than five minutes. I’d certainly do the same thing even now.
“I didn’t want to upset her further, and I didn’t know if she’d want me to do that, so I put her before my rage,” I admit, and I know my mistake the moment the words have left my lips. Chantel gasps, one of her hands flying to her mouth in shock.
“Oh,” is all that comes out of Gabriel’s mouth, as they both look at me like I’m someone they don’t recognise. I guess they don’t, because I barely recognise myself anymore.
“Dorien, she’s your—”
“Nope, don’t want to hear it,” I say as I neck the rest of my scotch and stand up, quickly making my way to my bedroom. “Help yourself to anything, and the guest room is yours. First door on the left,” I shout, pointing to it as I pass.
And I don’t fail to hear Chantel’s words as I round the corner. “She better not break him, Gabriel, because if she does, I don’t think he’ll ever come back from it.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
ELISE
It’s been three days since that night with Dorien. Two since I turned down his invitation to the penthouse, and I’ve never been so glad to have gotten sick before. I mean, being sick sucks, but at least I haven’t had to try and avoid the awkwardness. Sure, it’ll be waiting for me when I go back, but I’ll deal with that when the time comes. Right now, I need to focus on getting better, because for two days I’ve been praying to the toilet almost hourly.
I also know that Hayley was unimpressed when I phoned in sick, so I’m sure I’ll go back to her wrath and be cleaning the shittiest of rooms as punishment. Luckily for me, the hotel chain pays a little for sickness leave, and even if it isn’t the usual hourly amount, it’s better than nothing.
I groan as I sit up, feeling weak and shaky as I do, but I force myself to get out of bed to grab a fresh glass of water.
Celeste has been a godsend, but she’s still got to work, and it does me good to try and get out of my pit… I think, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.
I slowly make my way down the stairs and to the kitchen, where I fill a bottle with water and click the kettle on to make a hot drink. It’s all I can stomach really. I’m hoping it’s just a forty-eight-hour bug, but with day two almost done and me still feeling like death, I think I’m just being a bit too hopeful.
If I was sick when I lived with Derrick, he’d have just moaned at me for losing pay and for not pushing through. And speaking of, he’s been phoning me for the last three hours. I’ve ignored every call, even as my inquiring mind wants to know why he’s suddenly blowing up my phone. I haven’t seen or heard from him since he slapped me around the face, and I haven’t heard a peep from my mother. Not that I expected to. She will still be wallowing in her hatred of me for fucking up her plans. I know that won’t be the end of it, she’s just biding her time, because she won’t let this go. She’ll try to bully me back there eventually, but it will just be a wasted effort on her part. I’ll never go back.
The kettle finishes boiling, and I make a cup of tea, adding a little extra sugar than usual. Taking my drinks back to bed, I’m stopped by someone knocking on the door. I’m not in the mood to be bothered with a door-to-door salesman, so I continue to make my way to the bedroom, but the knocking is relentless, making me question who the hell is out there. I momentarily panic that it’s Derrick or my mother, but neither of them know where Celeste lives, so it can’t be them, which puts me back at ease a little.
The knocking continues, and with the little energy I have left, I place the drinks down on bedside table in my room, and I go back to the door. There’s no peephole to see who it is, but I leave the chain across the door as I open it a sliver to see who could possibly want my attention so badly.
My eyes widen when I see a burly man stood there, shades covering his eyes and his mouth pulled into a straight line. He’s massive, like a giant as he towers above me.
“Elise Woods?” he questions, and I nod. “I have a package for you.” He bends to pick up said package, which is a large paper bag that has pink tissue paper spilling out of the top of it, covering whatever may be inside.
“Oh.” A package for me? Here? But no one knows I’m here. “Are you sure it’s for me?” I ask, even though he said my full name when I opened the door.
“Yes. You wanna open the door, or shall I leave it on the floor so you can get it once I’ve gone?”
“Um…”
“Tell you what, I’ll just leave it,” he decides, placing the bag back down and giving me a firm nod. “Good day, Elise Woods.”
Woods… I hate that name. I should go back to my maiden name, but I fucking hate that too. I would rather not be tied to any of the people who have brought so much misery to my life.
My eyes flit down to the bag, and I push the door closed a little, sliding the chain across and opening the door just enough to slide the bag through. I shut the door and pull the chain back across, my eyes fixed on the bag like it’s going to bite me.
