Page 59 of Malaise
EIGHTEEN
My feet criss-cross in a recurring rhythm as I study my English notes from throughout the year. Turns out the box that was heavy as hell contained all my school stuff… including my exam schedule that must have been delivered to the house after I bolted from the quad on Monday.
I run a pink highlighter over the phrases and definitions that need to stick, and bite the end of the pen. The motel room is quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic as it passes by on the street. Carver went out this morning to ask around for work, determined that he’ll find a way to have us stay here as long as we need to.
I think he just likes playing pretend and imagining this is how it would be if we did live together. Or maybe that’s me just hoping he’s thinking the same way I am? Either way, it’s nice.
I woke up this morning with his arm lying heavy over my middle, and stayed where I was until he woke, just relishing where I was and how it felt to be cared for so deeply.
As much as he said he couldn’t, he does know how to just “kiss and stuff.” I drop the highlighter and roll to my back as every intimate part of me throbs at the memory of his hands over my flesh, his fingers telling a story that his eyes echoed. My lips still ache from a night spent being woken repeatedly when he wanted more.
As if I would say no.
Realising my study session is screwed, I get off the bed and cross to the stash of condiments and coffee samples in the wee basket. I pick a minted blend, and find where the jug and cups are kept. The water slowly boils as my phone vibrates on the bed behind me.
Carver: No luck this morning. You like donuts?
Do I like donuts? Is the sky blue? Is the Pope a catholic?
Cinnamon, I reply.
I’ve got no idea what we’ll do if his dad won’t let me stay there with Carver. The few hundred I’d saved in my account was for bond when I found a place in the city. I could give in and use it, but then that’d mean staying in Whitecaps longer while I rebuilt that account. Could I do that? It’s not as though I’m going anywhere in a hurry anyway. There’s nothing forcing me to leave, other than my own selfish desire to get out of this black hole.
I’m still running through scenarios in my mind when Carver returns to the motel. He pulls the Falcon up in the park outside our unit, and I greet him at the door like an overexcited puppy when he walks in with a paper bag in his hand.
“Didn’t know if you like jam-filled or not, so I bought both.”
“Either. I’m not fussy.”
He leans down, holding the bag out to the side so I can push up on my tiptoes and lay a kiss on his cheek.
“How much studying did you get done?” His eyes roam over my things still spread out on the bed, and the two coffee cups waiting for the hot water in the kitchenette.
“A bit.” As though I’d tell him why I had to stop. Embarrassing. “Would you like a hot drink to go with?” I gesture to the donuts as he pulls out a plate for them.
“Love one.”
“Nobody’s hiring then?”
His gaze darkens as he sets four sugary donuts on the dish. “Or they aren’t hiring me. I can’t tell which it is.”
“You think your last boss put out a bad word?” I flick the switch down on the jug and set it off bubbling again.
“Babe, my last name is a bad word.”
Right.
“When’s your first exam?” He pops a hip into the counter and takes a bite of one of the donuts. Sugar coats his lips, and I stare while he licks it off.
“Um, Friday.”
“Which subject?”
“English.”
I pour the boiling water into our mugs and stir as he takes another bite, sugar falling onto his chin.
“You got work tonight, right?”