Page 28 of All That Remains
"You okay, babe?"
"Yeah...m’sorry. M’just really tired."
10
Once I left, he raged. Something shattered against the wall and he hollered unintelligibly. I walked faster so he couldn't catch up to me in that headspace—as history illustrated it wouldn’t end well. Then I took the stairs so I wouldn't have to wait for the elevator in case he followed. I knew there was no stopping him when he got like this, and I was in no mood for visiting another ER.
Midway down the steps, my knees buckled. I was forced to sit and gather my wits, weeping harder than I had in years. The worst part was the echo. I hadn’t heard myself sob this hard since I was a kid. Back when the smallest inconveniences prompted the gravest despair. When the world seemed one quarrel away from collapsing.
"Excuse me, Mr. Rawlings? You ok?” A guard plodded down the steps behind me. A harnessing presence, drawing me forth from the distal shores of my mind. “I think it'd be best if you return to your room. Show’s starting soon."
I couldn't look back at him.
"Yeah, mate…I hear you. Just, uh…give uz a minute, would you?" I wiped my face with the sleeves of my tee.
"Sure.”
A while later, he offered a cigarette. I took it, knowing it would make me sick. Then he sat beside me and fumbled for a lighter. He was a tall, middle-aged Korean guy with a close haircut andtired eyes. He had straight white teeth and visible laugh lines. I placed him somewhere in his late forties.
"Han,” he said, extending a hand.
"Rafe," I replied.
“Yeah, I know who you are. I better.”
“Yeah,” I chuckled.
When he found the lighter, instead of handing it over, he indicated I should put the cigarette in my mouth. Dumbfounded, I took a second to assess the brand and it wasn't a Marlboro. I popped it between my lips and turned to face him, tears still streaming down my cheeks. He struck the lighter a few times before it caught, and I noted his hands were big and red. Frayed bits of hair covered the knuckles.
First inhale hit like a ton of bricks. This thing was bitter. Nothing like Rome's. I hit it again and it was so pungent I nearly gagged. No menthol. No filter. No calming effects. As I coughed, my eyes watered over.
"Easy there," Han said, rubbing my back.
The touch was overly familiar. A step too far for hotel security, but I didn't mind. His hand was huge and heavy. It slipped down my spine, moving in broad circles between my shoulder blades. It took all I was to not lean in and purr. I hit the cigarette again in hopes it would take my mind off his touch, but the stroke only intensified.
I'm no idiot. I knew the instant his touch became sensual. His circles grew broader and slower, and soon he was rubbing across the small of my back and ribs, like Rome had been doing only moments earlier. I was afraid to look up and read his face—afraid I would see things I sensed in his touch. My breathing shallowed, so I let the cigarette burn between my fingers; the ash growing so long it plopped off without me thumping the filter.
Rome…Rome…Rome, my mind chanted. The second I thought of him and what we’d been doing only moments ago, theeffect of this guy's touch began to wane. Why the fuck was he still rubbing my back? I had a choice. I could sit there and pretend not to pick up what he was putting down, or I could give him a signal for more.
"How's that treating you?" Han asked, indicating the cigarette. His accent was vague, and I assumed it was a regional twinge I was picking up on.
"Alright, I guess," I tilted the filter to watch the tip burn.
"Good…" He rested his hand, still not removing it from my waist.
With his free hand he took the cigarette from between my fingers and finished it off. That crossed a line. It was disturbingly intimate. I turned and watched him take long, expert draws. His eyes didn't squint when he exhaled, like Rome’s. His lips were thin and wet and reminded me of a fish, so unlike Rome's.
"You're pretty good at that," I grinned.
"Too good, really. Been trying to quit since I was sixteen." Finally, he removed his hand from me.
"Oh yeah?"
"You know…I've seen tons of singers come through here. Can’t say I’ve ever found one alone and crying before. What set you off?"
I watched him unseeingly. "How long've you worked here?"
"Four years this May."
