Chapter Eight:
#Jake
I reached the hotel, slipped into the room, and carelessly pushed the door shut behind me with my foot. My tight suit, which had become a heavy burden, was covered in a thick layer of forgotten dust. It was the dust of my old house; the silent witness to the hours I'd spent there examining its walls and the memories clinging to them. I felt a tremendous weight crushing my body, and a soul burdened by a vague pain. I threw myself onto the bed without bothering to change my clothes. I don't know how I succumbed to sleep so quickly.
Hours, I don't know how many, later, I woke up to a nagging ache in my stomach. I hadn't tasted real food since I arrived here. I picked up the phone and ordered some food. The receptionist assured me that my order would arrive in ten minutes. I used the time to get up and head to the bathroom. As usual, I had no clothes to wear except the white cotton robe. I put it on and walked out, only to find the hotel attendant knocking at the door. He delivered scrambled eggs, a piece of steak, mashed potatoes, and orange juice, then left. I was extremely hungry, but I only took a few bites; the food caught in my throat like a lump of lead.
I checked my phone; it was one o'clock in the afternoon. Now I was awake, partially fed, but completely empty of purpose. Yet, before I surrendered to the spiral of thoughts, I realized something practical that needed to be done immediately: I couldn't stay wearing the bathrobe.
I picked up the phone again and called the reception. "Hello, this is Jake from Room 144. Can I ask for an exceptional service? I need some clothes. I didn't bring anything with me. Could you send a trusted person to buy some essentials?"
The attendant replied that he would handle it himself. "I wear size 42 (L) for tops and 34 for the waist (jeans). As for shoes, I need size 44." I asked him to choose practical and comfortable clothes, and he agreed to return in about an hour and a half. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to think. I was suspended here, waiting for a stranger to bring me new pieces of cloth to hide my fragility.
Just as I started to feel the tightness creeping in, I heard a gentle knock on the door. I got up and opened it. I found a tall, dark-skinned woman with short red hair. She was wearing a short, dazzling purple dress. I swear its sparkle nearly blinded me. Her bare shoulders in this severe cold made me feel puzzled. Her lips were stained (or 'dyed') with a blood-like red, and she looked at me with her black eyes, which prompted me to check and tighten my robe's belt. I said to her, "Yes, Miss? What do you want? Do I know you?" I watched her rush inside, then she reached out her hand to my robe's belt to open it. I quickly pulled her hand away and said, "Miss, who are you?" She laughed, audible laughs with different ringing tones, and entered the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. I was shocked that this strange woman had the audacity to enter my room like this. Anger began to creep into me, and my adrenaline surged. I said firmly, "Lady, get out now." She crossed one leg over the other, looked at me, tilting her neck to the right, and said, "You call me to your room, then pretend you don't know me? This is improper behavior." What kind of disaster have I fallen into? This woman must be crazy. I tried to calm down, thinking maybe she had mistaken the room, and said, "Lady, I never called you to my room. Please, leave this room." Then she stood up and faced me directly, saying, "I understand. You like playing the role of the decent man whose room a naughty girl invades. Ooh, this is really exciting." She reached out her hand to touch my face and approached further, trying to kiss me. I held her by the shoulders, my patience about to run out, and said, "Miss, I'm not playing any role here. I didn't call you, and I'm sure of that. Tell me now the room number and the name of the man who called you." A look of confusion appeared on her face, and she said, "Mr. Harris Brandon, room number 114." I knew there must be a mistake, so I tried to regain my composure, smiled slightly, and said, "Yes, Miss, this room number is 144, and I'm not the one you're looking for." I turned to open the door for her when I felt her hand from behind pulling the belt to open the robe completely. I gripped the robe with my hands, trying to retrieve the belt she held between her hands, playing with it in a provocative way. I headed directly towards her as she began to retreat with quick steps until her back hit the wall. I placed my hands on the wall, trying to corner her there, and leaned in, whispering into her ear, "Are you trying to play with me?" Her harsh perfume pierced my nose, and her full lips called me to devour them, like a soldier calling his homeland intensely. Her hot breath hit my neck, announcing the start of a war where everyone would lose. I saw how she surrendered like a small stray cat, and how her sharp glances turned into those of a child submitting to her father's punishment. I ran the tip of my thumb across the corner of her lips, which she parted to let out a small moan. My semi-naked body pressed against her slender body. Finally, her hands were released, and she let go of the belt, which fell to the floor like a martyr. She began examining my chest with touches that hit me like an electric shock. This body hadn't been touched by a woman's hand in years. I was like a ticking time bomb waiting for someone to pull its red wire to explode with an uncontrollable force. She whispered to me in her exciting voice that made my heat rise, saying, "Enough torture. I need you to give me what I want. I can't wait any longer." These words were like a lit matchstick in front of a fuel truck. I began devouring her lips like a hungry tramp who hadn't eaten for a long time. My hands tried to discover every part of her body I had been deprived of touching before. What I was doing wasn't normal, as my body had turned into a werewolf who couldn't control himself under the full moon. I ripped her dress with my hands and let my body claim its deserved bounty.
Hours passed that I don't know the number of, during which I fought battle after battle until her pleas for me to stop didn't make me surrender. The knocking on the door, which continued for minutes, couldn't stop me from this pleasure. I was grateful to Mr. Ringdon or Brantson, I don't remember his damn name, but he truly gave me a gift I desperately needed.
Finally, I fell onto the bed, taking my last breaths like a hero who fought for an entire nation. All my stored strength was consumed. It was like aged wine waiting to be uncorked for tasting. The redhead was lying naked on the bed, immobile. I could hear her breathing, which seemed almost nonexistent. The marks I had left all over her body were stained with different shades of red, blue, and purple, announcing that this war had been fierce. Then she turned to me and smiled with her swollen lips, from which all trace of red had vanished, and said in a weak, barely audible voice, "I don't know where you came from, heaven or hell." I replied to her as I tried to get up from the bed, "There is no place for the likes of me in heaven." Then I went to open my wallet in the drawer. I took out 200 dollars, then added another 100 dollars, for she deserved it for this excellent performance, and placed it on her bare thigh, saying, "Thank you, you naughty girl." But she jumped off the bed, gathering her lost strength, and said, "When will I see you again?" I smiled at her and said, "Soon." I entered the bathroom and left her watching me with eyes trying to understand what this "soon" time was, and stood under the shower again, which was unusually not cold this time.
I came out of the bathroom to find the room empty and immersed in silence after its walls had witnessed an earthquake. I realized she had left and abandoned the scattered bed as a witness to her presence. Then I spotted a small piece of paper on the nightstand. I read it without the trouble of picking it up: "I loved you, you savage, and I won't shower tonight to keep your scent lingering on my body, which misses you already." Then her phone number and her name at the end: "Suzy." I dried my wet hair with a white towel and called the reception. The attendant answered, "Hello, yes Sir, what do you need?" I said to him, "I want to ask about the clothes you were tasked with buying." The attendant replied kindly and said, "Yes, Mr. Simon, an attendant did come to your room and knocked more than once, but you didn't open, so we placed your bags here until you are available." I felt a small sense of shame and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I was sleeping." What a silly lie, knowing that our loud voices exposed my fabrication. The attendant replied, believing me or perhaps pretending to believe, "No problem, Sir, we will send your things now." I hung up the phone, and after a few minutes, I heard a knock on the door. I opened it, and the hotel attendant was standing there, smiling, holding a large paper shopping bag with the logo of a local store.
"Hello, Mr. Simon, here are your purchases."
I nodded and allowed him inside. He placed the bag and the shoe box on the counter. "I chose quality and comfortable essentials for you, as you requested. Some cotton shirts, jeans, black sweatpants, comfortable sneakers, a woolen sweater, underwear, and socks."
I opened the bag. The choices were practical and suitable. "Excellent, thank you very much for your effort." I pulled out an amount of cash much more than the expected value and handed it to the attendant. "Keep the rest for yourself, as a bonus for the quick and excellent service."
The attendant thanked me and left.