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When he comes back I sit up on one elbow and sip tentatively at the glass that he hands me. I notice that all three buttons at the top of hisColeson Joineryshirt are now undone, an extra inch of deep tan skin now exposed in the dark navy V. He’s winding down after a hard day’s work, but he’s still managed to fit me into his busy schedule. I snuggle down into that luxurious thought and finish up my water.
“So if I call your name you’ll come?” I ask him politely.
He gives me a long look, his jaw working overtime. “I’m here to help you with anything you need,” is what he manages to say, gruff and tense.
Oh, but what aboutyourneeds, Mitch?
I choose to change the subject, mostly because I’m now seeing two of him and my thoughts have become so outrageous that I’m scandalising my own psyche.
“I’m sorry for, like, everything, by the way,” I say quietly. Embarrassment mixed with food poisoning is one hell of a depressant. “For the mood swings that I came here with, and for the stuff that I say literally all the time – for someone who has spent the past seven years writing you would think that I’d learned a thing or two about communication. But the reality of the matter is that it’s the most isolated job in the world.”
A look of perplexity crosses his face. “You’re a writer?” he asks, a crease deepening against his brow.
I forgot how little I have actually told him about myself. All he knows is that I’m a spoiled princess from LA – how the hell has he tolerated me these past three weeks?
I shake my head because this conversation is not for right now. “It doesn’t matter,” I mumble, tightening my grip on his quilt as my shaking begins to mercifully subside. “I’m just sorry, okay?”
Compassion sparkles in his eyes. I wish I could pull him down here with me.
“You don’t need to apologise for anything. Just get better for me, Harper.”
My chest squeezes, warm and tight. I’m not used to this hands-on care and it’s making my body react in the most painful ways. I clench my legs tighter and he takes a big step back.
“Don’t go truffle-pigging in those drawers whilst I’m gone,” he warns me, mock-stern, a thick finger pointing at the small bespoke cabinet beside my head.
I bite into my bottom lip, smiling, and nod my head even though I’m a little liar. The second that he’s out of this room I’m going through those drawers like I’m digging for gold in the Outback.
A flicker of an almost-smile touches his cheekbones. Then he gently closes the door.
I’m asleep before my hand reaches the first drawer.
*
The lamp has been turned off when I open my eyes, and from the absence of any streetlight making its way in under the drawn curtains I gather that it must be the middle of the night. I’m stiff, my body is cold with sweat, and my arms feel heavy as I struggle to right myself. If I had woken up ten minutes later I think that I would’ve ended up having an episode.
My sleep paralysis affects me only rarely but I’ve worked out that it’s triggered when I don’t lie in the right position. When I go to sleep on my back I tend to wake up okay, but it’s hit and miss. The numbness pervading through my chest and arms makes me shudder involuntarily until my stomach bug is resuscitated, making me lean over and grab the bucket.
After my little retch suddenly last night’s adventure hits me like a lorry and I shoot bolt upright becauseI’min Mitch’s bedroom.
I fumble for the lamp switch and then squint when I turn it on. My breathing is laboured and adrenaline is coursing through my body. I’m nervous. Excited. Then my mind wanders to how I would be feeling if Mitch was in here with me right now…
I look back to the cabinet that’s housing the light and I see that Mitch brought me another glass of water, setting it on a coaster that I don’t remember being there yesterday evening. My wrist feels weak so I lift the glass slowly and take a few small sips.
Then I look at the drawers.
Why would he ask me specifically not to go through his drawers? Okay, other than for obvious privacy reasons. If anything he simply drew my attention to them harder. Now I’m dying to find out what he keeps next to his bed.
I put the glass down and sit on my hands, restraining myself.
One drawer. Just one, I reason with myself.
Hm. Sold.
I lean slightly over the edge of the bed and tuck the drawer knob between my middle and pointer fingers, easing it forwards so that it slides quietly. Just a few inches, then I stop and peer in.
It’s empty bar one inconspicuous black box. I can’t read it under the shadow cast by the top of the dresser so I gently pick it up and hold it under the lamp.
It’s glossy, like the kind of box that an expensive cologne would be in. I flip it over and run my fingers over the small raised text, written in gold script. In the centre is the wordMAGNUMand then in small font beneath itis the wordPlus.
