Page 19 of Lamb

I caught his brown eyes. My attempts to ignore him had failed, and the energy to resist was waning. He held my gaze, unmoving and undistracted as we stared for a long moment. I realised the mistake I had made as my heart began to pick up in my chest. Although his expression was neutral, something about his steady, unblinking stare made me feel like someone was intruding inside. Someone without permission. Someone uninvited.

I moved first, scared he had found something he was not meant to see and instead escaped away from his face to his body. I noticed his dark grey tee, thick, bleach-washed jeans and dark hooded jacket slung over his shoulders. It felt too casual for a man who wore tailored suits to do dirty deals for his club.

He reached for my cheek, and I growled like a wild animal to stop him. Reading it in my eyes, his hand hung in the air before retracting back to his side.

“Were you not ever told not to touch something that doesn’t belong to you?” I sighed, the insufferable man having the audacity to act oblivious. “Just because women throw themselves at you doesn’t mean—”

“I do,” Lamb interrupted, eyes unmoving onto mine. “I know.”

I stiffened, his penetrating gaze stirring a thread of guilt deep down in my middle. I refused to apologise, however, dropping my eyes to his chest. His Adam’s apple stirred, but he remained so still I wondered if he even breathed at all.

I closed my eyes, my heavy head resting on the soft pillow. In just a few minutes, this man had managed to sap the energy out of my body and soul. “I am getting a headache,” I grumbled.

“The medicine is wearing off.” Lamb lifted himself off the bed, and my middle jostled with that familiar nausea.

Even through the drowsiness, it’d been a long time since I had felt so relaxed. Drugs were dangerous.

He padded to the other side of the bed, squeezing the IV bag hanging on the post. Confirming it was empty, he sat in Mint’s chair and slid his hands under the covers.

I jumped at the touch of his fingers, but it did not deter him. His fingers slid underneath my elbow and, with great care, he slid my arm out and removed the needle.

“You’re all done.” Lamb soothed a plaster over the bead of blood on my arm, holding it down with his thumb.

“You are doing that thing again,” I grumbled, staring at his hand. His thumb began to smooth over the plaster back and forth. “I am sure that’s plenty stuck now.”

Lamb mumbled something, but I could not make it out. He held on for a moment longer before letting go, looking regretful. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, standing.

With growing strength, I managed to slither my arm back under the defence of the covers and trace Lamb as he moved across the room, disappearing out from the door and closing it behind him.

I pushed the cover back from the bed, a chill racing across my skin. The autumn air felt less welcome on my exposed skin. My jeans and socks had not changed, but an unfamiliar large shirt hung from my shoulders. I reached for the collar, the material soft between my fingers. If I brought it closer, I knew it would smell warm and woodsy.

I leaned off the bed, making smooth, gentle movements as my body roiled with any sharp motion. Lethargy still latched to my limbs, forcing me to use momentous effort to sit upright. Throbbing beat in the back of my mind, but I ignored it, squinting around, looking for my familiar, dirty, tanned backpack.

A few things were of a similar colour, but it was only when I spotted something on the dresser in the back that was the same size that I had the motivation to move my legs to the edge of the bed. I took it steady, but there was little avoiding the dizzying waves. Planting my feet on the floor seemed simple at first until I tried to put weight on it.

Soft, plush carpet absorbed most of my fall, my knees knocking into the ground and my body crumbling down on top of them. I clasped my hand over my mouth as the urge to heave clawed up my throat. With my other hand, I made a tight fist around the top sheet, anchoring me to something steady.

Time ticked by, and my sense of urgency grew stronger. I glanced over the top of the bed to the door; it was still closed. I didn’t know how long I had until Lamb got back, but I had to get it while I had the chance.

“I am not beneath crawling,” I breathed, peeling each finger from the bed and finding support on the carpet.

Crawling proved efficient, and even with the small struggle of keeping my balance and orientation, I moved across to the edge of the room, focusing on my hands and knees.Left. Right. Left. Right.

Something hard slammed into the top of my head, and I jerked backwards with a hiss, only to see the dresser I was aiming for.

My heart leapt at the sight of my dirty, torn, degrading bag slumped on the surface. “Yes!” I lunged for the thing, not caring how the world spun or my knuckles bounced off the dresser as my fingers grabbed a fistful of the material and pulled it down to join me on the floor.

Thump.

I froze.

“No,” I breathed, my hands scrambled for the opening, tugging on the drawstring. “No, no, no, no.”

It was empty.

“No!” I whined, shaking the thing upside down. A range of small items fell—a pair of socks, a napkin, paper, and bottle caps. A handful of empty hotel bottles clattered against each other on the carpet, but otherwise … it was all gone.

Despair washed over me, and I stared holes into the useless pile of rubbish on the floor.

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