Page 80 of The Dark Obsession

Rafael’s eyes are mere slits, focused on the road. In absolute silence, except for the hum of the engine, we arrive at a dusty-looking hotel. He pulls around back and parks behind two large bins then helps me out of the car. His eyes scan every inch of the dark car park as we jog to the entrance.

As the door swings open, a loud bell chimes annoyingly. The entrance is a ghastly shade of red and green. The carpet matches the old and worn wallpaper, which, in some places, hangs off the walls. The lights on the wall are yellowing behind sheets of dusty glass, and an old lady stands, staring at us with great interest.

“Room for two?” she asks, a well-practised smile creasing her wrinkled lips.

“Yeah. Do you have one on the top floor?” He glances over his shoulder. His hand clenches my waist when the woman bends to sift through keys in a draw.

I step closer to him and push myself against his side into a half hug. The gun in his jean line presses against my stomach, and my heart rockets again, palpitating too fast for me to catch up.

Rafael raises his eyebrows as the woman mutters a string of profanities about the useless cleaners.

“Here,” the old woman announces with a clunk of metal on the desk. “Room six, floor seven.” She pushes a piece of paper used as a logbook towards Rafael, stating the price per night is fifty pounds.

Rafael grabs the pen attached to the desk with a chain and scribbles a name: Mattius Commons. His fingers slip into his pocket, and he removes the money, places it on the desk, and turns.

“Umm …” the lady croaks, beckoning us back. “The lift is broken. Stairs are this way.”

Rafael nods politely. “Shit,” he mutters, and we traipse to a heavy maroon door. We climb the repetitive spiral staircase, his hand clasped to mine. “Sorry.” Rafael slows to eye me.

“For what?”

“The lift being broken.” He smiles.

I chortle. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m also sorry about everything that’s happening to you.” His hand tightens around mine.

My throat dries up. “Please don’t say sorry. You’re here, the only one here getting me through this, and I can’t even begin to thank you enough.”

With a sigh of relief, we reach the top. I dry the tears from my cheek before Rafael has a chance to see, and we go through one of the identical maroon doors. This one has the number seven painted messily on it.

Rafael grips my hand, the other hand close to the gun nestled on his waist, and pushes the door open with his foot. He moves me along the lengthy narrow hallway fast enough that I must run to keep up.

My face collides with his shoulder as he halts and opens our room’s door. The first thing I notice is the smell of mould. The room is plain and cold. A double bed fills most of the space in the middle of the room, opposite is an old box TV. The tiniest bathroom I’ve ever seen, with a small tiled square shower, sits to the right.

I sit on the end of the bed, watching Rafael lock the door and take the gun from his waistline. He leaves it on the table next to the TV. My heart hammers at the sight of the weapon. My foot starts taping loudly on the floor, it turns rapidly into a shake.

Rafael spies me, and he’s by my side at once, holding my hand. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

“I’m not used to guns,” I say with a shiver.

Rafael’s eyes fill with pity. “I’m sorry, but it’s to protect you.” He wraps his arms around me. “You’re freezing.”

“I don’t feel cold.”

Rafael’s perfect lips move into a smirk whilst his hands rub my arms and back in circular motions.

Before I can stop myself, I lock my lips onto his. I want his protection; I yearn for the safety he gives me. Fighting to forget, even for a second what is going on. His lips are hesitant, they move slowly, stopping too soon.

“Kiss me,” I mutter breathlessly.

He stifles a groan and moulds his lips to mine again. The circular rubbing motion stops, and his hands tighten across my body as he lifts me onto his lap. His fingers lock uncertainly in my hair, and he guides my head back to reveal my neck. His lips travelling along my neck to behind my ear.

The tingling in my stomach has reached my lips. My legs and fingertips feel the fire now igniting.

He stands to move me onto the bed. His reddened face seems unsure, his chest moves fast under his shirt. His fingers fumble on his buttons, only undoing a few, before he gives up and leans onto me. Warm and soft, his lips move with mine. His tongue rarely takes a break from caressing mine.

Tears stain my cheeks as reality takes hold.

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