Page 5 of Poseidon's Island Flower

“Oh, good God! How much did this guy drink!” she squealed. “I think he could keep up with me.”

Her poor liver. For a skinny white girl, she could hold it well.

I snorted, happy that she picked that room. Most likely there was vomit on the floor, urine on the walls and, if she was really lucky, a turd in the toilet.

If she got the alcoholic, I wondered what I was going to walk into.

Unlike her, I did not like walking in on a surprise.

I covered my eyes, pushing the door open, hoping not to see a gigantic dildo on the bed, but I was pleasantly surprised to see it spotless.

And do I meanspotless.

The curtains were closed, but the bedside lamp was on. The bed was completely made, but it wasn’t the hotel’s white comforter that covered the bed. This one was much more luxurious, and I was afraid to touch it.

It was a rich midnight blue, soft and elegant, and when the air conditioning blew the curtain and the natural light hit it, I swore I could see the ocean waves moving across the fluffy fabric.

Several books laid on the nightstand, a pair of bookends holding them together. A piece of paper with an entire schedule of his day lay beside the books.

7 a.m. – Wake up, shower, and dress.

7:30 a.m. – Breakfast.

8 a.m. – Check in with Silas.

8:15 a.m. – Therapy.

Every part of their day was outlined and timed until he went to bed without one second of the day for downtime, unless it was written in his schedule.

“Wow,” I whispered as I went around the bed.

The pillows looked just as soft, and I reached out and pulled one into my body. It was cool—the perfect temperature for a pillow.

This wasn’t the hotel’s pillow. I figured it wasn’t made from down feathers or any of that fake synthetic stuff. It was filled with something entirely different.

My fingers danced across the fabric, seeing how spotless and clean it looked. My curiosity grew, and my urgency grew stronger. How would this fabric feel on my face?

Oh, I want to do it.

And so, I brought it to my cheek, feeling the soft material. It smelled like the salty wind of the sea with a hint of coconut. My rigid shoulders slumped, and I began rubbing my head on the fabric.

It was like some sort of damned catnip, and I found myself crawling onto the bed.

I never rested or laid on a hotel bed in my life. God knows what goes on in these rooms, but this bed and this comforter weren’t ours. It was a complete stranger’s, and it felt clean, fresh, and god it made me want to sleep.

Would it be weird if I left a note to ask where this bed set came from?

Probably.

Would I regret it?

Absolutely not.

I didn’t feel the world on my shoulders. I didn’t feel the empty hole in my heart from the last bit of family that had left me on the island.

I feltcontent.

As I rested, I felt a gentle vibration beneath my ear—the sound of the ocean waves crashing.

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