Page 22 of Secondhand Smoke
Nell blinked past the blurriness in her eyes and examined her unfamiliar surroundings as her mind fought to recognize the room. She’d had the same sensation many times after waking from a drunken, nightmare-filled slumber in her bedroom, only to calm down when she recognized her pink walls. This time, however, she really didn’t know where she was.
She was in a bed with a too-thin mattress and curled up fetal style under a comforter that smelled like cigarettes. The wall was pasted with posters for AC/DC, Judas Priest, and dozens of other rock bands.
She might have connected the dots quicker, but her mind was sluggish and her eyes were stuffed with cotton.
What painted in the rest of this confusing picture was the long, lean form sprawled down on the floor, sandwiched between two thin blankets, snoring softly face-down with hair spread around it on a flimsy pillow.
Her eyes widened.
Had she fallen asleep here? Last she remembered, she was leaning back against the sofa, talking, looking at the ceiling, and then . . .
Had he carried her in here?
Somehow, through her sluggish mind, the thought forced an amused huff from her. Barrett wasn’t exactly built like a football player or bodybuilder. To imagine those arms carrying her inthere . . . He’d probably had to drag her, which made it more amusing.
At least she’d retained some of the good mood even if the high had worn off in her sleep.
His snoring halted, and she snapped her mouth shut.
Her amusement shrank into humiliation.
Marijuana wasn’t the same as being drunk.
It was delayed, but the memories pieced themselves together without much work. Especially her poor choice of confessions.
How could she have let herself tell him all that? About KC, aboutherself?
No oneknew that.
She had prayed to God, time and time again, to help fix her before she realized it wasn’t going away. Then she’d tried repenting, begging for forgiveness. Eventually, she’d just accepted her sin and promised to keep it to herself forever and ever.
And nowthis.
Scott Barrett knew.
She barely knew him.
He might have been nice enough to sell to her, watch over her, and carry her into his bedroom to sleep, but did she trust him to keep his mouth shut?
She was already considered a freak in this town. Did she need to give them all another reason to chew her up and spit her out?
God, what had she done?
She buried her face into her hands and tried to take deep, soothing breaths so she could recollect control of her leftover grogginess and figure out her next steps.
The quickest conclusion she came to was that she couldn’t stay there. Kindness or not, she had no idea what Barrett would do when he remembered what she’d said. She knew whatother peoplewould do if he decided to tell them.
She shifted the comforter off herself. The bed squeaked on aged springs, and she froze, fearing she’d wake Barrett.
But his black lashes remained shut, oblivious to the sound. This was her only chance to get up and out before her luck ran dry.
On the tips of her toes, she lifted from the bed frame so slowly that she managed to make only a few soft creaks—not with any help from her grace. She tiptoed out that door as quickly as she could. She was glad she’d had the sense to leave her shoes by the door. She was about to step outside when a small picture caught her eye. Or rather, a print of a landscape painting sitting on a pile of mail on the kitchen counter, in the form of a postcard with the wordsWish you were herein a rolling scrawl. It looked just like the type of landscapes Sam loved to paint, just like the ones she had hung all around her bedroom.
That familiar itching in Nell’s fingers was back, and despite her lack of time, she risked the slight detour to snatch it from the counter, fold it, and shove it in her pocket before she rushed out the door and down the sodden steps to her bike, which was slick with a thin layer of morning dew.
She swung herself over the damp seat and ignored the uncomfortable, cold wetness that soaked through her back pockets as she rode that bike home furiously. Her legs begged to give out.
Panting heavily, she longed for the relief of knowing she didn’t have to face Barrett again, but riding farther from him didn’t help. She’d hoped that running away and hiding forever would fix her problems, but he was a near stranger and he held her deepest, darkest secret in the palm of his hand.
