"Stop thinking out loud," Jack takes his shoes off.
"I am overwhelmed," I say. "By certain recent events."
"You were thinking outloud. About sex. Has it been a recent event for you? Congratulations. Who's the lucky man?"
"Sea slug," I correct, and sit on a chair. Warily.
"I was trying to be nice."
"Don't. You suck at it."
Jack's lips quirk in the shadow of a smirk, but it's gone quickly.
"Did you cut yourself?"
I follow his finger pointing to my jeans. A massive tear along the thighs shows an angry red cut, the blood staining the fabric around it.
"Aw, man! These were my favorite jeans! I saw Amelie in these!"
"I'd be a little more concerned about the gaping wound in your flesh," He snarls.
"Well, that's your deal. Personally, I'm okay with blood. Happens every month. Also you should stop rolling your eyes that much because I read somewhere that really hurts your eyesight and you wouldn’t exactly be as aloof and enigmatic if you’re running into walls all the time now, would you?”
"Get in the shower."
"No! What is this, Jersey Shore? You get in the shower!"
"You smell like skunk. And you're bleeding. You need a shower."
"There was quite a big skunk. But really this will only take two seconds and then I'll be out of your duckbutt hair, so listen up -"
"No." He crosses his arms over his chest. "Unfortunately, my powers of immense concentration are compromised by the stench of wildlife and the sight of blood. Take. A. Shower. There are towels, and a robe, and I'll have room service wash and dry your things."
"You're being nice, dude. It's sickening. The color does not match your eyes. Zero out of ten would not buy that nicey-nice makeup again."
"I'm being practical. I have work to do that's important, anyway. I'll have finished by the time you come out, and I'll be able to devote my full attention to your apparent chaotic experience involving my past. Now go."
"Oh, I hate you so much."
"Good. I prefer it to the silence."
He turns to the laptop on the bed and types away, lost in it. The guilt ironizes, clamping down on my chest. I move mechanically into the bathroom, and wince as I peel my muddy jeans and jacket off. I'll have bruises for millennia. Thanks, small-nuts. The knock on the door makes me jump into the ceiling.
"Give me your clothes," Jack says.
"Thanks, thanks a lot. Now I have a light bulb for a head."
"What are you babbling about? Just give me your clothes."
"Go away! I'll drop them on the floor! I can't risk your cooties infecting me!"
"Fine. Just hurry up."
"You hurry up," I grumble wittily. The truth is my heart is pounding. Everything in me is pounding, bashing against my skeleton and skin to escape and slink away like a fleshy, independent meatbag. I'm naked. I'm naked and a boy is within ten feet of me and I am panicking, but I don't let it leak through anywhere, not in my voice, not in my choice of words, because panic is normal, panic is what I'll always do when I'm naked and a boy is around, and I'm shaking suddenly as I open the door when I'm sure he's gone, and I drop the clothes on the floor and lock it behind me.
My underwear is stupid. It's pink with a panda on it. He'll think I'm a kid. He'll think I'm immature -
'Stupid little girl. You're ugly. Do you think anyone on this planet would want to go out with a fat, ugly girl like you?'
The hot water is a luxurious relief, and helps with the shaking, and the fancy shampoo and soap smells like milky almonds. The adrenaline of my escape winds down, and when I exit and tie the robe around myself I feel like a new person. A person who's not-me. And that'd be nice right now. Any other girl wouldn't shake. Any other girl wouldn't be panicking that I have to walk out there in only a robe. There's another knock on the door.
"What?" I snap.
"I've got clothes for you. They aren't yours, but they're better than a robe. And there’s a box of bandaids."
"Just drop them outside."
I peek out and pull them in quick. It's a soft skirt, long and shimmery and black, and a white dress shirt. The shirt is obviously Jack's - it smells like him. And there's a pink lip imprint on the collar. I roll my eyes. No wonder he has a lady's skirt on him, and he's holed up in the Hilton. I put a band-aid on my cut and walk out of the bathroom.
"Just got done working, huh?" I ask. He looks up from the laptop briefly, pauses as his eyes find the shirt and skirt, and nods.
"Yes. For the last time."
"You mean - your last appointment? Ever?"
He nods.
"That's great!" I clap my hands. "Jesus that's - that's really great. Congratulations on not being a sex-slave anymore!"
He curls his lip. "Oh, be quiet."
"How's it feel? To be free and all?"
"It's riotous fun," he deadpans.
"Ah! You're distracting me!" I point at him. "Listen, some guys were looking around the woods where Tallie is. I overheard them talking, and they were looking for a body. Not Tallie's. An adult's body."
Jack closes the laptop. "What did they look like?"
"Two guys in black suits, lackeys obviously, and one huge guy in a tweed suit. He had like, white hair and a really buttheaded presence, like he owned the place. Super rich watch. Super rich in general."
"Did he say who he was? Any hint at all?"
"No. Just that you were going off to Harvard and he wanted to recruit you for his company before all the other scouts. And he called you brilliant and ruthless and some other such nonsense but I forget most of everything after that because I always tend to start zoning out when people start complimenting you."
"What happened after you overheard them?"
"Well, they overheard me. Specifically, my feet on the noisy ground. So I ran. Threw one guy down a hill and kicked the other in the balls. Not a bad night, if I may say so myself."
"And you just...got in your car and came here right after?"
I hold up the faintly warm bag of fries. "Refueled."
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Damnit."
"Something wrong? I mean, other than the corporate dudes after your neck? Protect your neck, by the way. That's a Wu-Tang song. Also it's a mildly good neck. I've stared at it many times while considering choking it."
He chuckles. I cross my arms over my chest.
"What's so funny?"
He shakes his head, a bit of his stupid hair glancing across his stupid eyes. His bruises are faint, but still there, like inky imprints of a harder time.
"It's nice. Having the old you back."
"Oh."
"I missed it," he continues. His eyes are softer, but all at once they become hard. "Nevermind. Forget I said that."
There's a silence, and suddenly I'm blindsided by a headache. It throbs, sending lances of white-hot electricity up and down my spine. It's the same pain I felt in Mernich's office. Shit, shit shit. Not now, brain, not now -