Mania (Fever Dreams Collection #1)

6. Mr. Ambrose

Chapter 6

Mr. Ambrose

The sound of crying rouses me. With my eyes still closed, I turn to my back in bed, the thin sheet already pushed off my bare chest because of the summer heat. The balcony door is cracked open and the crying drifts into my room once more.

It takes me another few seconds to realize where the sound is emanating from. I spring up in bed, now wide awake. My gaze immediately lands on the double-sided mirror, finding Miss Fortune in a state of distress, stuffing her clothes into her suitcase.

I can only hear a few subtle notes of her misery from here, but I can easily see it etched on her face. When I realize she’s reaching for the hotel room door, I jump out of bed.

Quickly unlocking the door, I run out into the corridor in only my briefs. Miss Fortune, with her tear-streaked cheeks and reddened nose, barrels into my arms as I intercept her. She lets out a high-pitched scream, clearly not expecting me.

“Miss Fortune, it’s me,” I say softly but urgently.

My fingers dig into her arms, her eyes wide with terror as she peers up at me. I should feel concern—empathy even—but I can’t focus on anything other than her body so close to mine.

Touching.

“Mr. Ambrose,” she whispers, almost incredulously, before bursting into tears. It’s a heavy sob, full of anguish and fear. She tries to distance herself but I resist her tug. “Let me go!” she says in near hysterics. “I have to leave. I need to leave. I can’t stay here.” The words come out in one quick breath, brisk and resolute as her body shakes against my grip.

“Miss Fortune,” I say again, commanding her attention. My voice softens, my thumbs stroking the soft skin of her arms. “What happened?”

I coax her backward and into her room so we can move away from potential prying eyes. This time, she follows with a lot less resistance, and I prop her gently onto the foot of the bed after taking her bags away from her.

I crouch in front of her, trying to meet her gaze, hoping to comfort her somewhat. She has smoothed away a lot of the previous anguish from her face, but the roaring ocean behind her brown eyes tells me she’s only just slipped back into herself.

“You need to tell me what happened.” My voice is stern, and her eyes snap to mine at the tone, gaze wide and worried. I clear my throat. “Please.”

She stays silent for an uncomfortable amount of time as her breathing slows down, studying me. My palm patiently rests over her bouncing knee.

“I’ll die if I don’t leave,” she finally says, her voice cracking over the last word.

“Maeve,” I say with some authority, and her eyes widen ever so slightly at the sound of her first name on my lips. “Speak clearly.”

I have a few theories as to what occurred. But I need her to speak the words out loud for me to even dare consider any of it.

Her eyes turn glassy, her bottom lip trembling. “I — I can’t explain it.” A single tear falls. “What if I imagined it all?” It’s almost a whisper, her voice painfully human, brimming with agony.

Her eyes drop down to her wrist as do mine, and I notice a small cut. “What is this?” I hiss.

She swallows a sob, her eyes closing while she shakes her head as if trying to deny it all, her body shaking anew. “It’s nothing.”

I take her wrist in my hands and inspect it further. It looks fresh, barely closed, but at least it doesn’t seem deep. “Where did you get this?” She’s still violently shaking her head, eyelids tightly pressed shut. “Maeve,” I say forcefully, using her first name again as I try to snap her out of it. Her eyes fly open and focus on mine. “Did you do this?” My voice is gentle this time. I stroke the skin beside the small cut with my thumb and hope my question won’t be perceived as an accusation.

Her small sigh sounds equal parts pained and defeated. She bites her bottom lip as her eyes brim with unshed tears. “I don’t know.” Her voice is barely a squeak.

We stare at each other while the silence returns between us until I suddenly become hyper-aware that I’m in nothing but my briefs. In her room. On my knees. My thumb digs into her wrist at the realization, but I quickly let go and stand up. Clearing my throat, I drag my palm over my face before looking to the door, then back.

“Where were you trying to run to at this time of night?” I can’t help but ask the question, knowing full well it’s none of my business. Her eyes turn sorrowful, her bottom lip trembling as she shrugs in defeat. We stare at one another, the silence speaking her fears directly into my ear. “You should go back to bed,” I finally say, “Get some sleep, I’ll be right next door.”

I turn away from her but her voice quickly pierces the silence.

“Wait!” Slowly, I turn back to face her. Her vulnerability is painfully clear on her face as she chews on her words before finally saying, “Can you … can you stay with me?” Her voice cracks. “Hold me?” A single tear falls down her cheek, and I track its descent over her lips and then down her chin before nodding once.

Her smile is barely a smile at all, but my heart still squeezes with affection at the sight. Abruptly, she turns to her hands and knees, crawling up the bed and shimmying under the single white sheet, still fully clothed in shorts and a tank top.

The words almost slip out of my mouth, but I swallow them down before incriminating myself. That she could get more comfortable if she wanted to, that I’ve seen her in all states of undress in the past four days since I made her change rooms.

I should feel ashamed. But I think feelings like shame and guilt died within me many, many years ago. So I say nothing and turn off the lights before slowly making my way to the other side of her bed, slipping my body beside hers under the thin sheet.

Miss Fortune curls herself into my chest as I wrap my arm around her back. Her body presses into me, and I can hardly breathe. My heart sings with a feeling I can’t quite place … of an aching yearning for her to feel safe in my arms.

After a few long beats, her voice rises up into the darkness surrounding us. “I like it when you call me Maeve,” she whispers.

I’m not quite sure what it is about her statement that makes me want to pin her to the bed and ravish her, but I resist every dark urge snarling in me and allow my fingers to trail up and down her back.

“I can call you Maeve if you like,” I say slowly, my voice full of restraint and an octave lower than usual.

“I’d like that very much, Mr. Ambrose,” she responds softly, her head tilting upward to meet my gaze as her hand reposes warmly over my chest.

Silence lingers.

“You can call me Hazel,” I whisper into the dark room.

I feel her body still for the smallest of moments before nuzzling closer into the crook of my neck. “Hazel,” she repeats as if wanting to test the name on her tongue but says nothing more.

Soon after, her breathing slows, and I listen to the soft sounds of Maeve falling asleep in my arms. I lay awake for quite some time afterward. Ruminating on how I’ll ever let her go, now that I’ve felt the weight of her body pressed into mine and her soft puff of breaths on my skin as she sleeps.