Completely (New York 3)

color of the pillowcase, deep orange, and the striped pattern of sunlight against a textured wall.

Then to the arm flung across her middle, heavy and hot.

To breath against the back of her neck.

A clock blinked on the bedside table, glowing red numbers, 02:04. Blink. Blink. Blink. It flipped to 02:05, and she let her eyes close.

Later, she heard a muffled vibrating from the floor. The clock read 04:17. The vibrating—she knew that sound. Her mobile.

She closed her eyes. Sleepy. It went on for a while, a long muffled bzzzzt followed by a pause. After it fell silent, the blinking clock flipped to 04:18. She was in bed with a man.

She closed her eyes.

Later. She’d deal with it later.

A chime sounded in the hallway, followed by voices moving down the corridor. They got closer, people talking, laughing, louder and closer until they were right outside her door and the rapping of knuckles against wood made her push the man’s arm away and sit up, heart beating fast.

“Who is it?” she called.

The body beside her stirred. “What’s happening?”

“Someone’s here.” Her mouth was packed with cotton, her tongue foreign and hateful.

“Who?”

“I don’t know, someone.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wrapped the sheet around her, fumbling, stood. When she took a step, she felt a crunch under her bare foot, something happened to her knee, and the floor lurched up to meet her, barking her shin, burning her kneecaps on the carpet. “Shit!”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Her shin hurt. Her right leg tingled unbearably, thousands of needling pinpricks that told her it had fallen asleep and given out under her weight. Bloody hell.

Another loud knock. “Just a moment, please!” she called.

“Do you need me to get it?” he asked.

“Yes, that would be excellent.”

“Can I have the sheet?”

She contemplated the request, but it would take days to disentangle the fabric from her body and legs. Also, if she gave up the sheet, she would be naked with wolves at the door. “No.”

He let out a deep sigh. “Okay.” A rustling sound. “Give me a second.”

“Hurry, please. It could be housekeeping.”

“What time is it?” A hint of alarm in his voice.

“I’ve no idea.”

She knew he was getting out of the bed, heard the sounds of his movements, saw him in her peripheral vision as he rushed around the room looking for his clothes, but she didn’t look directly at him. She was too preoccupied with the uncomfortable sensation of coming awake, the pins and needles in her leg remarkably similar to the pins and needles in her brain, which began sending her urgent messages she didn’t wish to receive.

You had sex with a stranger.

That man. That man right there.

Doctor Doom. You slept with Doctor Doom.

You ate dumplings with him. You drank wine. You had sex.