Page 16 of The Lottery

The air empties from the room the moment Marek steps out of it. After interminable seconds of stillness, I force myself to breathe.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Just breathe.

Why does that man have such an effect on me? What gives him the power to suck the oxygen straight out of my lungs?

His words still burn through my body like fire and I feel flushed and out of sorts--and not just from the alcohol, though it definitely contributes to my swimming thoughts.

I need a distraction, a way to get him out of my head. I reach to move my newly potted tree cutting, but Robert rushes over to take it. “Allow me. Where would you like it?”

I point to the corner on the right side of the bed--my preferred side if I had to choose. I like the idea of my grandmother watching over me as I sleep, as foolish as that might sound.

He places it gently on the floor, then looks at the dirt on his hands with a frown. “I’m going to go clean up. Why don’t you eat? You must be starving.”

My stomach is too full of butterflies to fit any food into it just now. I head to the coffee table and absently study the tray of delicacies awaiting me while Robert heads to the bathroom.

Breaded chicken, green beans, scalloped potatoes, warm rolls with fresh butter. I take a plate and add a few bites to it, picking at the green beans with my fork as I sit.

My hands are filthy still, but there’s only one bathroom.

When Robert returns, he frowns at the small portion I’ve taken--and at the dirt covering my hands--but says nothing as he fills his own plate and sits across from me, in the same spot Marek recently sat.

I can’t help but compare the two men, even though I don’t want to.

Robert is kind. Good natured. Pretty thoughtful in a rich provider kind of way. Attractive.

Marek though. He is fire and heat and brilliance. He seems to see into my soul and discern my secrets without me speaking a word. At the same time, he has an energy that compels me to talk. Hell, I just blubbered through my whole life story because he was listening and I didn’t want him to leave.

His presence is electric and my entire body feels desperate to be closer to him.

Ugh.

I sigh and set my plate down. “I’m going to take a shower and get some sleep,” I say, eyeing the one bed suspiciously. It’s big enough for us and then some, but my stomach clenches at the thought of sleeping--actually sleeping--with someone I don’t even know.

Robert seems to sense my unease. “I’ve asked for a cot to be brought to our suite. It should be here soon. I’ll sleep there while we… get to know each other. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. It’s my understanding a lot of the other couples are requesting cots as well.”

I release my breath in relief even as I wonder which crew member will be required to schlep around late at night accommodating all the silver spooners and their partners. Everyone working the ship must be exhausted right now. “That was thoughtful of you,” I say.

As I turn to head to the bathroom, Robert reaches for my hand. “Was he bothering you? Marek? Do you, uh, want me to ask him to leave you alone?”

I almost laugh, but that would be cruel. It’s clearly costing him a lot to make this offer, given how much he admires the man. Plus, he’s just trying to help. To understand the woman he’s been paired with. Not an easy task when I barely understand myself.

“No, he was being kind. He’s not quite who I thought he was, as it turns out.”

I slip into the bathroom and close the door behind me before Robert can ask me any more questions. I will miss my quiet and my solitude, I think. Tomorrow I’ll have to explore the ship, see if there are any nooks or crannies I can get lost in.

I debate between the shower and bath, but with my ankle still too sore to stand on for long and my head fuzzy, I’m safer in the bath. Plus, I could use the soak after the day I’ve had.

I ditch my tourniquet and ankle wrap and strip as the tub fills with water, washing my hands in the sink to get the bulk of the dirt off. The cream the doctor gave me healed the bulk of my blisters quickly. My palms are still a bit red and raw, but nothing like they were earlier today.

I take a moment to study myself in the mirror, twisting right and left to count the bruises. A lot, but none too awful. I’ll heal fast enough.

Carefully, using my good hand to support myself, I slide into the hot water with a contented sigh.

There are an assortment of bath oils, and I chuckle at the ridiculous luxury even as I squirt something that smells like strawberry into the stream. The suds fill the bath quickly, and I turn off the water and lay back, closing my eyes.

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