Page 24 of Where There's Smoke
Melody
Why am I so freaking warm? Am I sick?
It wasn’t even summer—it was mid fall—but I kept tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable in the bed that wasn’t mine. There were too many sounds I didn’t recognize, and to top it off, I was on freaking fire. Something that should’ve been easily remedied in a firehouse, but here I was.
“Ugh!”
I was convinced that Elliot was secretly a lizard who liked basking in tropical climates, because there was no reason that anyone would enjoy being in a room this warm and humid.
I rolled over, hating the way the fabric of the sheets brushed against my skin. Everything felt itchy and off, and I wanted to strip down to nothing. There was no way I was doing that in a stranger’s bed, though.
The guys were back on shift, so I was staying mainly to myself. Luke ran the second shift, and he was nice enough, but I didn’t feel as comfortable hanging around the other firefighters. Their shifts overlapped somewhat, so occasionally the firehouse was packed. Plus, the fire alarm had rung a few times throughout the night, so I had no idea if they were still in the building ornot. I couldn’t remember how long ago the last call came in. I’d gotten fairly good at forcing myself to go back to sleep after the alarm was silenced.
“I wonder if they’re home. Or back or whatever.” This certainly wasn’thome, but I didn’t have anything else making a bid for that title, and the pack was…nice.
Something about Pack Wilder was comforting, even. I felt safe in their presence. My instincts were useless. I had the self-preservation of a pigeon, but I wasn't going to ignore that feeling of security. I hadn’t found it before, and this change was one of the only positives as of late.
Sitting up, I grumbled to myself, throwing the blanket off me and quickly checking the little dog pen next to the bed where Dotty was snoozing.
Thanks to her, I wasn't getting much sleep, anyway. Once she was big enough to sleep through the night, I was going to greatly enjoy getting some much-needed rest. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, I groaned when I realized it was only five in the morning. I had fed the puppy a little before four, so I was smack-dab in the middle of my sleeping time.
I should be asleep! Why is it so forking hot?!
Hauling myself up, I glanced around the room. It was a lovely space, and I was very thankful that Elliot had given it to me. Decorated in cool gray tones, it was pretty bare bones but clean and comfortable. The bed was large and the mattress soft, great for sleeping. Or so you’d think.
Only, as I glanced down at the bed, there was something wrong with it, and I couldn't figure out what.
The back of my mind was screaming at me, but I couldn't understand what it was saying. Something wasn't right, and I needed to fix it.
Like when you fear you accidentally left your oven on, and it's sitting there in the back of your mind, taunting you, this anxietywouldn’t let up. There was the blanket and two pillows. They were okay, but they needed…more.
Grabbing the blanket, I started to rearrange.
Then I arranged it differently.
I picked up the blanket and bundled it up around the pillow as I pressed it to the wall. It created a little bowl shape that I liked, but there wasn’t anything to cover up with now. And there needed to be something on either side as well.Dammit, this isn’t right.
I needed more pillows. More blankets, more…everything.
Glancing toward the door, I bit my lip. I knew what I wanted to do, but Ialsoknew I shouldn't do it. And, dimly, I was aware that this was out of character for me, that it was strange and undeniable.
All the firefighters had been so sweet and accommodating. I knew for a fact that up in the bunk room, where Elliot’s pack mates were sleeping, there were more blankets and pillows that I could use to make my space even nicer.
I wasn't sure why, but it had to betheirthings—Fitz and Samson and Elliot. My sense of smell was slowly starting to return, and while I couldn't put my finger on their scents, in the back of my mind, I knew they were comforting and nice.
Logically, I understood I was behaving erratically. I needed to sit my ass down and behave. Only, there was some psychotic compulsion insisting that I needed to go and get their things. I blamed it on lack of sleep and some mild PTSD that was haunting me after having lost my home and shelter.
You’re just trying to ground yourself. Make yourself feel safe. That’s normal enough. Right? Right.
Tiptoeing out of my room, I glanced around the firehouse. It was still quiet, which was to be expected, given the early hour. The captain's bedroom was downstairs, whereas the normalrooms were upstairs, so I took a bit of a detour through the building to see if the fire trucks were still in the loading bay.
I almost danced with joy when I saw the empty space.
Because, even though I was being wildly irrational, I knew enough to understand that if I went into their bedroom while they were asleep and started pilfering their blankets, they would think I was a psychopath.
Hell, they were probably going to think that, anyway.
With the knowledge that the coast was clear, I darted up the stairs to their room. I knew which one belonged to them because Fitz had pointed it out several days ago.
