Free The Tour by Shelby Rebecca Page B

wait for it to realize all the food was locked up. I was riveted. What if he hadn’t made it out alive? I wouldn’t even have existed.
    That thought feels like the blackness of the universe not near enough to a sun. It’s such a weird feeling to think that it was a series of choices that were made that led to me being born and living this life. Choices.
    There are just too many of those in life. And I am choosing to hide in here rather than allow Kolton to confront me with just how naive I am. About how he warned me and shouldn’t have to babysit me.
    “Where is she?” Kolton’s voice asks the dark, occupied room.
    “Hey, boss,” Manny says, his voice sounding raspy and full of yawns.
    “Where’s Mia?” he asks again. His voice is tight and he sounds …nervous.
    “Under there.”
    “Wha—where?” Manny must’ve pointed or something because Kolton clears his throat.
    “Come out, Mia,” Kolton says, but he sounds slow and groggy. I don’t move. I refuse to. I hear him walking toward the table before I see his bare feet peeking out of his grey sweats. “What are you doing under there?”
    I say nothing and he bends down, meeting me eye to eye. Tears pool from my stubborn eyes and I close them so they can’t give away the feelings I don’t want to share. “Come on,” he says, waving his arm inward. He looks drunk from the pain meds that adulterous doctor gave him.
    “No,” I croak and the bench is pulled back, the scratching sound of the legs pulling against the tiles piercing my eardrums. He waits for a second, as if he’s giving me time to come out before taking further action. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. I want to be alone,” I tell him.
    He drops down and takes hold of the futon mat as if he’s going to pull it up and yank me over his shoulder, caveman style. But he thinks better of it, crawls inside instead, and flops down next to me. I see his wound now, over his heart. It’s been stitched with clear wire, obviously by a plastic surgeon. It looks perfect. We’re not touching, but I feel his body so close to mine that the hairs on my arms are standing, all of me aware of his influence.
    “If you won’t come to me, I’ll come to you,” he says. “Not as comfortable but it’ll work for a minute. Come to bed.”
    I flutter, everywhere. His presence is like a drug. The scent of his skin, the heat coming from him—I have to bite my bottom lip. He smells like sandalwood. Clean, and I can tell he’s taken a shower. Now if his thoughts were cleared of everything Katharina, just as his hair is, I’d feel a lot better.
    I hear Manny rustling the covers and then he opens the front door; smoke break and privacy granted. As the cold air comes into the room like a melody, I get the courage to speak.
    “I don’t want to fight,” I whisper. “I know I caused this whole thing but I don’t need to hear it from you. I taught it to myself when some girl was ripping hair out of my head and those people were looking through me. I don’t need an ‘I told you so’.”
    He blinks slowly, thoughtfully, as if what I’m saying has to travel through the drugs and takes time for him to make sense of it. “I’m sorry you had to find out that way,” he says, wrapping his arm over my stomach and cupping my hip with his hand. I want to push him away but my body betrays me. My heart speeds up, and I have to swallow. My hip presses itself into his hand.
    “Don’t. Don’t feel sorry for me,” I say, putting my hand up to his arm. He winces and his head falls back. He reaches up to the wound.
    “Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck!” I realize I’ve touched him where he’s cut.
    “I’m so sorry,” I say, my hands up, wishing I could console him.
    “I wasn’t mad. I was scared , Mia. Don’t you get it?”
    “I know you think I can’t take care of myself and I need my sugar daddy to come save me,” I answer. His eyes narrow on me and I press myself into the legs of the chair behind