People Got A Lotta Nerve

“You walk slow…” He mumbled, waiting for me once again at a lit street corner, his eyes darting back and forth down both streets of the intersection. I rolled my eyes, hobbling slowly behind him, trying to catch up so I could catch my breath.

“It still hurts.” I said when I finally reached up to him. I balanced on one foot again, my hand holding onto a fence for balance as I examined my cut foot again. Dirt and small rocks were now occupying the offending opening, dried blood cracking along my heel. I tried to flick a few of the larger pebbles out of the cut, but once they were removed, blood began seeping out of the wound all over again. I exhaled, watching the blood pool along the contours of my foot and pool on the sidewalk below. I looked up at Oliver, who was still trying to determine a way to go. Just a few moments ago, he was laughing hysterically, his body on top of mine as we collapsed together on the street. It was like he did a 180 now though; his eyes had lost that glazed over look, now clearly sobered up, light wrinkles forming around them as he squinted. His lips were bent slightly down at the corners, his hair, no longer perfectly straight, was feathering around his cheekbones and his neck. “I didn’t even realize you had snakebites.” I whispered. It was weird, they had just caught the light now, sparkling a dull yellow color under the streetlights, but I had been staring at his face for so many days now in my head, it was strange to find a new feature I had yet to chart.

He made a quiet grunt noise, clearly uninterested in my comments. He grabbed my hand again, the one that I still had gripped along the fence, and began leading me across the street. “I think we stay on this street. I don’t remember turning yet.”

I wasn’t about to agree, or disagree with him. He was clearly in the zone, and I was not going to be the one to mess that up. In the short time we have spent together now, which, is the longest we have actually spent together, I have learned one thing about Oliver- he does everything 100%, nothing is given a less adequate effort. It is obvious when he performs (yes I youtubed his band that day on my couch before he texted me). It doesn’t take a mind reader to see the intensity in his face, in every action he makes, as soon as he steps out onto that stage. I mean, I am not a fan of metal, or hardcore, or whatever the hell that genre is called, but I can appreciate the technical difficulty of it, the intricacy of the guitar and the uniformity required to execute a perfect breakdown, and of course the willpower and the dedication to ravage your lungs and vocal chords screaming like that for hours at a time, every day.

“We can’t be lost forever,” I breathed, hobbling along behind Oliver’s large steps giving me quite the workout. “I mean, how big is Las Vegas, really?”

Oliver stopped walking, and looked back at me. “Are you alright? Let me see your foot.”

“I’m fine.” I flashed him a smile, hoping to calm his nerves. Last thing I wanted was him fussing over me. “I just want to get back. I bet you everyone is worried.”

“No, love. Show me your foot.”

Again, I leaned up against a fence, showing him my injury. “It isn’t anything major, it just needs to be cleaned.”

“Damn right, your foots ‘bout as black as coal.” He looked at me and gave me the first smile that had crossed his face since we had realized just how lost we were. And, I was happy to receive it, no matter how weak it was.

Oliver kept the smile on his face, turning slightly and bending his knees. “Alright, lass. Up you go.”

“…What? Up?” I have a habit of turning my head slightly to the side when I am confused, kind of like a dog. I know, I look dumb.

Oliver looked and me, laughed, bending his knees just slightly lower. “I said up yeh go, onto my back love. Cant have you walkin’ ‘round on that foot of yours.”

“Oohhh, piggyback ride!” I smiled, and with a certain confidence I didn’t even know I had, I placed one guiding hand onto his shoulder, and swung my body weight onto his back, wrapping my feet around his waist, so my feet sat comfortably on top of his hipbones, my arms wrapped loosely around his neck.

“Now don’t be goin’ gettin blood on me clothes, theyre new.” He laughed, as I blushed just a tiny bit and held my cut foot away from his shirt, which happened to be white. I really didn’t want to ruin his clothes. He seemed to be really into his appearance, especially with his 100% effort rule.

The streets seemed to be getting longer and longer, the desert sand blowing up in gusts at times, and settling down in the gutters at others. As I stayed curled around his body, I leaned my head against his back and began studying the passing grafitti in more detail. The blues and the pinks and the greens all seemed to melt into each other with time, all turning into swirling rainbows occupying the plain white stucco walls. Before long I noticed the sun rising just over the clouds, and the familiar Eiffel Tower restaurant of the Paris Hotel began to tower into the skyline.

“We’re close…” I yawned, nuzzling my face into his back. I felt like we had been walking for days, through streets that seemed to have no names, running together into one long maze. The blood from my foot had made a trail from where we started, just like Hansel and Gretel. I heard Oliver’s laugh come deep and throaty, all the way from deep inside his rib cage. It was soft however, meant only for my ears. Before I knew it, my eyes lost the battle with my mind, and they closed, my mind rocked to sleep by his laugh.

The bed I was in was definitely not my own. For one, I do not starch my sheets. There is something homely and comforting in wrinkles, the kind that cling to your body as you wrap yourself into them, ready to call it quits for the day. Secondly, I only use jersey sheets, and these were 100% cotton, the fabric prickling my leg that laid along a seam. I let out a soft groan as I lifted my arms high above my head, my joints clicking and popping in my ears, my fingers splaying out and then coming to rest again. Slowly, very slowly, I rested onto my elbows, lifting my head out of the bed. I used a hand to rub the sleep out of my eyes, and yawned a nice, big, comforting yawn. I looked around slowly, trying to determine my location, since I had already deduced that this wasn’t my room, or my big, comfortable bed. No, I definitely did not have floral patterned window treatments, or a huge bulky television sitting on top of some outdated dresser. This was definitely…a hotel. I sighed, closing my eyes once again and slamming my body back in bed. I did not want to deal with this.

“Mornin love, wakey wakey!” Someone…some god forsaken soul that clearly was a morning person sang, bounding into the room with a swish of the door. I heard a crash a few feet from my head, and opened my eyes to see a set of keys slammed down on the end table.

“Go away.” I mumbled, turning over onto my side, away from this intruder. I didn’t know who it was, but at that time, I hated them with an intensity matched by nothing else in the world. I felt the bed shift again, someone’s weight obviously messing with the physics of this cheap hotel bed.

“Awh love, be a little bit nicer, aye? Yeh mighta threw me back out.”

That same deep laugh. The same dissipating giggles.

“You’re a morning person?” I groaned again, refusing to turn around and face him, especially in my certain physical state. I don’t know anyone who looks good in the morning, especially when they first wake up. I remember when I was in school, 1st period Monday morning was always the worst. I felt like I had voluntarily locked myself in a room full of zombies for an hour, looking at everyone with those creepy glazed over looks and their wet hair leaving wet spots on their clothes. Clearly that shower didn’t wake them up like they had intended.

“Nah, I didn’t sleep. But you were out.” He laughed again, getting up from the bed. “I know how ya girls are, with the mornin' routines ‘nd all. Ill leave nd come back so you can get all pretty.”

And again, I was alone. Finally. I contemplated just laying in bed until he came back again, my eyes closing again every time I tried to open them, like tiny weights had been attached to my eye lashes. However, this would put me in the same situation I was just in a few minutes ago, revealing to Oliver the demon I impersonated every morning. Emma sometimes used to call me Samara, after that girl from The Ring. My hair always falls into my face like hers when she was climbing out of the television and killing people, and I tended to stumble and trip around in the morning, coordination not being my forte. More than once, I had tripped over something out of place like a shoe or Emma’s rogue car keys, and I had tumbled down onto the floor, writhing in pain as whoever got the privilege to witness the event laughed and laughed. But of course, I probably should listen to Oliver. I should get out of bed, untangle myself from these sheets, and find my way to the bathroom…a nice hot shower would definitely wake me up…

Just like those kids in your 1st period class or whatever?

Good Christian sassed me, killing all progress I had made to get out of bed at that point. Unlike me, it seemed as though Good Christian never had ‘off times’, when she could just shut up for once and do what I wanted, instead of fighting every fucking thing I wanted to do.

Finally, my feet hit the cheaply carpeted floor, and my hand went up to my face, brushing away some hair that was tickling my nose and irritating my mouth. I looked down, and for the first time, noticed something a little peculiar….

WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES?! SERIOUSLY, WHERE ARE THEY?

Here I was, in some rock star’s hotel room, getting out of bed clad only in one of Emma’s ‘cleavage bras’ I had borrowed, and my tiny lacy black boy shorts, my dress nowhere to be found.

What in God’s name happened…

If Good Christian actually occupied her own body instead of mine, I’m sure her head would be in her hands right now, even more embarrassed for me than I was for myself at this moment. But since I was alone, there was no one to hide from, no one to judge my less than perfect body. I simply stretched out my arms and legs for the second time, and stood up for the first time that day.

Instantly, I fell back down onto the bed.

“FUCKIN A!” I moaned, rolling onto my side as my hands reflexively grabbed my foot. I had almost forgotten, my foot that got cut by the glass last night. I turned my foot over, and peered slowly down at the cut. Yes, it looked as bad as it hurt. My foot was still ‘black as coal’, as Oliver put it, and I could still count a few pebbles that had been lodged into the wound from following Oliver down the random Las Vegas streets. The blood was dry now, into patterns etched out by cracks, the green veins under my skin outlining some of the more horrific parts.

I hope theres no infection…

I sighed, agreeing with Good Christian just this one. This time, I gingerly stood up, placing the majority of my weight on my good foot, my left hand keeping my balance by firmly gripping the end table. Trying to be as quiet as possible, I began hopping over to the bathroom, around the bed and passed the television and the outdated dresser. Maybe, if I was lucky, I would find my dress somewhere around here. I mean, if it came off, it didn’t just disappear, right?

Once in the bathroom, I began to peel off my remaining undergarments, my boyshorts sliding down my thighs and turning into a little black pile on the tile floor. Once the annoying bra was off, I was finally able to take a deep cleansing breath, my chest no longer restricted by that menacing piece of clothing. As I turned on the shower, making sure to turn the hot water knob 4 times for every 1 turn of the cold water knob, I began humming some random song I don’t remember ever hearing before, tapping my left hand on my thigh in beat as my right hand turned on the shower, adjusting it to make the water the perfect temperature.

By the time Oliver came back, I was already out of the shower, and more or less back to my normal self. The sleep was out of my eyes, my hair was tangled, but out of my face, and I had perfected standing without killing my foot. I heard his card key slide through the little machine, making it ‘beep’ as the door opened. He was silent for a second, probably expecting my body to be lifeless in his bed just like before. He tapped on the bathroom door, asking if I was alright. I responded, trying to untangle my hair with my fingers. I heard the bed springs squeal with protest as he collapsed on the bed, all of his weight shifting from his feet to the bed.

“Do you know where my dress is?” I called to him through the door. No way, no how will I parade around Oliver in just a bra and panties. I would much rather be stabbed in the face. I mean, I needed him critiquing my body as much as I needed a gunshot wound to the head.

“Yeah, its out here, love.”

“Will you bring it to me?” I leaned up against the door, thankful for its presence. It was the only thing separating my frail self confidence from this cocky, Don Juan-esque rock star.

“Na, don’t wanna get up.” He laughed. “You come get it.”

I took a deep breath, and swallowed some invisible lump that had taken residence deep inside my throat. “Close your eyes.” I whispered, just audible to him.

“Closed.” He replied. I could almost visualize the ‘cheeky’ smile on his face. Very quietly, I tip-toed out the door, balancing my injured foot on my toes, so I wouldn’t have to hop around.

“Are you sure?” I asked, taking just a few more steps further. Luckily, the layout of his hotel room allowed me a few feet where Oliver couldn’t see me, especially if he was laying on the bed.

I heard him laugh yet again, his body rolling over, the bed squeaking to life once more. Taking this as a good enough answer, I stepped tentatively out towards the bed. He was lying on his back, his eyes closed, fingers laced together resting across his stomach. His long skinny legs were hanging over the bed, his feet, clad in black and grey striped socks, were planted firmly on the floor. Even though his eyes were closed, I still felt myself suck in my stomach, and hold my breath. The nerves were multiplying, taking advantage of my current state, taking over my entire body. It took me everything I had to quietly walk out closer to him, my hands gently shaking.

“Where is it?” I said, still trying to stay as quiet as possible.

He unlaced one of his hands, and pointed across the room, my dress bunched up in a pile on some badly upholstered living chair.

I didn’t respond, just quickened my steps over to the chair. My back was now facing him as I tried to find the sleeves of the dress, so I could slip it over my head and no longer feel so…vulnerable. When I finally found the right side of the dress, I head the bed creak one more time. It was slow, and very soft; my ears barely picked up on it. The dress was wrapped around my arms, just about to go over my head, but I froze.

“Ye ‘ave a nice back.” He said. I cringed, goose bumps rising up along my arms and stomach.

“I told you to keep your eyes closed.” I managed to spit out, my feet still frozen to the beige carpet below me.

“Awh, calm down love. S’not the first half naked lass Ive seen, you know.”

“Yeah? Well…” I trailed off, finally slipping the dress over my head, and tugging it down my body until I was no longer exposed. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Is that right?” And what kind are you?” I swear to god, this kid never stops laughing.

“The hungry kind. And the kind that isn’t really used to waking up in Vegas lost and disoriented.”

“How ‘bout I take you downstairs, you can eat as much as you want, and we will find your mate…Emma, right?”

I nodded, finally turning to face him. He was now sitting on the bed, his smile momentarily paralyzing me. Fortunately, I was able to snap out of it though and avoid looking like a complete dumbass. To be honest, I couldn’t believe that he almost didn’t remember Emma’s name. She’s normally the remembered one.

The sad thing is, it kind of…just kind of made my heart flutter.