Callum & Harper (Sleepless 1)

“I have amazing plans for us, Harper,” he said, wrapping his arms around my shoulders like we were best friends, squeezing lightly. “I’ve got to get a room first. We’ll shower and you’ll dress for me like you’d dress for your asshole husband.” He paused. “We’re going out.” He smiled down at me, revealing the devious plans that lay just beneath his seemingly innocent statement.

We took a taxi in utter silence to one of the most broken down motels I’d ever seen. I wondered if it was even open for a moment before noticing a few people milling around a room with the door open. They looked exactly like the kind of people you’d see gathering around a broken motel door. One was most obviously a prostitute, one was possibly a dealer and the others were probably his users.

John walked us through the door to the front office. The walls were grimy, yellow, and black in a few spots. The carpet was close to the same. The lighting was artificial and sucked the life out of the entire room.

“What can I do for you?” The man behind the bullet proof glass asked.

He blended in with the room quite nicely with his dingy yellow sweater full of holes. He missed a few buttons on his once white shirt.

“We’d like a room,” John said.

The man eyed me carefully. “How many hours?” He asked, before adding, “You look too expensive for this part of town.”

“What?” I asked.

“She’s not a prostitute,” John said through gritted teeth. “This is my wife.” My eyes widened a bit and my heart started racing. I’d rather he thought I was a hooker.

“Whatever,” the man said. “A night’s stay is thirty-seven.”

“I’ll pay cash,” John said.

The man didn’t argue which scared the crap out of me because most overnight establishments required some sort of credit card to secure a room. The fact that he didn’t want one was alarming for two reasons. One, the owners and management didn’t much care what went on in their rooms which was concerning to say the least and, two, there would be no way to trace us.

The man handed us a key, an actual key, like it was the freaking fifties or something. The key was attached to a hard bit of plastic that had seen better days.

“One-seventeen,” the man said and slumped back into a chair, raising a paper to his chest.

We walked towards the room in silence. I looked up to see we were passing the unsavory group I noticed when we arrived.

“Hey, baby, something I can do for you?” The prostitute said when she noticed John, her eyes following the length of his body. Something told me this ‘John’ would be one she’d service for free the way she drunk him in. Have at it, I thought, but be prepared for a messy death after.

“Not if you paid me a million dollars,” John said, laughing.

This offended her. There’s something about prostitutes that screams demure, right? Exactly.

“What the hell does that mean?” She screamed, shaking her body and readying to get in his face. Two men I assumed were users or maybe they were just drunk, I couldn’t tell, came to stand behind her. I doubt if they were any sort of knight in shining armor. They looked more ready to rob us than anything. Opportunists, really.

John smiled cruelly her direction and she actually shrunk inside herself a little, the fight inside died the moment he revealed his true nature. She’d seen enough of evil to recognize when she saw it right before her. She turned and ran toward the street but the men behind didn’t take her flight seriously. They stood ready for a fight.

I found myself wishing they’d engage John, that would free me just enough time to ring Callum and warn him before I could run myself but after properly taking in John’s size, they decided against it. The risk seemed to outweigh their reward.

I pleaded with my eyes for help but they didn’t take any notice of me whatsoever. John pushed me toward one-seventeen and opened the door. It was disgusting. If there was maid service, this room hadn’t seen anything but a sheet change and possibly towels for weeks.

“Get in the shower,” he said immediately, making my body tremble.

I grabbed my bag and walked toward the shower. The sink was outside of the room with the shower and toilet, so I placed my bag on the worn laminate there trying to avoid the bed and carpet. John came behind me and pushed me slightly out of the way, rummaging through my bag, pulling out the dress I planned on wearing for Christmas dinner. It was short, came just above mid-thigh, a deep red silk chiffon, with a five inch silk detailing at the hem. The sleeves were long though and billowy and the dress fit snuggly with a choker neckline. It had paisley velvet details throughout the bodice the same color of the chiffon. I was saving it for Callum. It was my Christmas gift for him. Well, the girl inside it was going to be. The girl and the black lace underwear I bought to wear underneath it, that is.

“This will do nicely,” John said, infuriating me. He rummaged further and pulled out the underwear I’d been saving. He smiled at me. “And these will as well.” He shoved the pile back onto the top of my bag. I showered quickly, laying a folded towel down in the tub itself to avoid disease and fungus. It seemed smart at the time despite the other dangers just outside the door. I was so tense during the shower I had hardly any time to think of an escape plan. When I got out, I wrapped two towels around my body and emerged into the room, praying to God that John was somehow miraculously gone but he wasn’t. In fact, he had positioned a chair a few feet away, facing the sinks.

“Dress,” he said, casually resting against the back of the chair, twisting a pen in his hands.

“Turn around,” I said hopelessly.

“Not a chance,” he said, smiling.

I angrily yanked my underwear from the top of my dress and slid them up my legs, desperately trying to keep the towels around my body. John only laughed more.

“I can’t wait to see how you attempt the bra,” he said.