“What are you doing here?” I ask.”And what the hell are you on?”
He waves his hand at me, making a “Pfft,” sound. “It doesn’t matter.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash and slaps it on the table. My eyes widen.
“What the hell is that?” A sick feeling builds in my stomach.
“Your money,” he replies.
“What?” The sick feeling in my stomach only builds and my temples heat. “What did you do to get this?” I take his chin in my hand and force him to look at me. He blinks again.
“I didn’t steal it,” he says, and pulls out of my grip. “I earned it fair and square.”
I clench my teeth. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. “What did you do?”
“It’s not so much what, as who,” he says, and then giggles and burps again.
“Fuck,” I snarl at him. “You idiot, that money was a gift. You didn’t have to…” I run my hands through my hair. “I didn’twantyou to pay me back. Especially not like that.”
He frowns. “I don’t like owing anyone, and like I said, I don’t take handouts.”
“So you fucking sold yourself to get me my money? You really think that’s what I’d want?”
He stands, and sways again. “It’s all there, minus the money I had to use to pay for an Uber. I’ll let myself out.” He moves unsteadily towards the door but I grab his arm. He jerks away from me so fast he stumbles and lands on his ass.
“Asshole,” he snarls.
“Shit, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I say. I reach for him again out of instinct, but he holds his hands up and backs away.
“Look, I’m not trying to scare you or hurt you,” I tell him. “I just wanted to help you up. You seem a little unsteady.”
“I’m fine,” he says, and pushes himself to his feet, tottering.
“Stay,” I blurt out before he can take a step.
“What?”
“I don’t want you to go back out there. You're drunk and obviously on something, and you need rest and for someone to watch over you. Please stay.”
“I don’t do—”
“Handouts,” I interrupt. “I know. Tell you what, if you are feeling well enough in the morning, I’ll let you cook breakfast. How’s that?”
He blinks again and then nods and I feel the knots in my stomach loosen a little. I’m still mortified that he slept with a total stranger to pay me back, though. What the hell was he thinking? My blood boils at the thought of someone taking advantage of him, him feeling like he doesn’t have a choice, like he has to resort to prostitution because he’s so convinced he can’t let anyone do something nice for him.
“Down the hall,” I say, gesturing. “This way.” He walks in front of me and it’s only then that I realize something is missing.
“Where’s the stuff I got you?”
“Outside,” he mumbles.
“Bedroom is on the right,” I say. “Second door. First door is the bathroom.”
He stops just outside the second door and I go in front of him, turning the light on. It’s not much but it’s got a queen-sized bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a chair in the corner, plus a closet.
“It’s all yours,” I say, and gesture with my hand for him to go inside. He just stands there for a long moment, taking the room in, and then glances at me before stepping over the threshold and making his way over to the bed. He sits on it like it’s made of porcelain or something, and runs his hand over the comforter. I swear I hear his breath hitch, but when his eyes meet mine again his face is stoic.
“You should sleep,” I say. “I’ll bring you some pajamas.” He doesn’t say anything, so I go down the hall to my bedroom and grab a sleep shirt of mine for him to wear. It’s going to be huge on him. I’m guessing he’s around five-foot-five, and all of one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. Oh well. At least the shirt is comfortable and clean.
I make my way back across the hall and hand him the shirt. He takes it from where he’s still seated on the edge of the bed. It’s almost as if he’s afraid to move or touch anything.