Page 18 of Wallflower

Next to the elevator is a door. It’s nondescript, but the way the lights flash off and on between the cracks is a sign if I’ve ever seen one.

I’m supposed to go this way.

Twisting the cold metal knob, I push it open. The lights stop flickering immediately, and I cautiously follow the metal stairwell down to the next level.

Opening the heavy door, I poke my head out slowly. The numbers across the hall start in the six hundreds. This isn’t the floor I need. Quietly, I shut the door as I re-enter the stairwell.

On bare, aching feet, I descend two more flights. The light lapping of the waves the only sound to be heard. Coming up on the door for the 400 level, I swing it open. The lights flash chaotically. Off then on, off then on. This is the wrong floor, again.

In front of me, high on the wall, sits the camera lens. I hold up my pointer finger, mouthing the words “One second.” The bright lights stop strobing, Sam giving me the ‘okay’ to carry on. I wait a moment for my vision to clear the floating, blinking lights, then quickly and quietly, I pad down the hall.

Door 437 appears, and I drop Chelsea’s shoes on the carpet in front of it. Knocking lightly, I alert anyone awake inside, then take off back toward the stairwell. The sharp corners of the heels knocked into my thighs with every step down the stairs, becoming a hindrance to carry. I won’t need them if I’m face down in Sam’s bed anyway.

There’s no flickering lights as I swing the metal stairwell door open this time, and I wonder if Sam has made his way to the room I’m headed for.

Without the loud clacking together of the heels, my final descent is silent. Anticipation burns through me as I approach the metal door. Is he there? Waiting for me on the other side with that smirk pulling at his lips? Or is he already in his room,waiting with bated breath for me to approach the door just so he can ask me what took so long?

The door creaks as I slowly pull it open and step out. It presses into my back as I splay my fingers against the chilled steel, attempting to close it as silently as possible. Holding my breath, I wait. There isn’t a sound to be heard except the ocean mixed with the mechanical humming of the ship.

There’s a black sign hanging from the ceiling above, gently swaying in time with the rise and fall of the vessel on the waves. Gold-written directions stating the screening room is down the hall ahead, and that rooms 310 to 399 are behind me.

Odd.Considering the other floors start at the beginning.

I make my way in that direction, following the labyrinth of hallways searching for room 306. Maybe the sign is old or a misprint.

By my third time around, my eyes are aching from the zig-zagging carpet design. I realize the room doesn’t exist at all, and this has been some sick fucking joke.

I march over to room 310, looking down the hallway at the way the numbers ascend. Even numbers on the right and odd on the left.

Spinning around, I observe the dark heavy doors before me. Five on the left, and five on the right. They’re unnumbered, missing the brass plaques the other doors have. But the impression of them is still there, each wooden door sporting two matching screw holes from the number plates. So, there were originally 300 rooms… but not anymore.

Sam’s lucky I’m smart, because this is too much effort for a fucking dick appointment.

Moving down the hall, I walk by what would be room 308 if the pattern continued. Stopping to stand before the door I believe to be 306. I heave in a breath, quelling my annoyance at Sam for this ridiculous charade.

I raise my hand to knock.

The air shifts unnaturally around me, charging with something unknown, and I pause.

Suddenly, an arm bands around me, trapping mine at my sides. I’m yanked backwards, hauled into the darkness of the room behind me.

307.

Sam’s ruckus laughter belts out from behind me as the door slams, and the heart that was beating out of my chest starts to return to its usual rhythm. His warm lips land against my cheek as he embraces me from behind. “Oh, I scared you good,” he taunts through a chuckle.

“Fuck off.” I’m about ready to punch him right in the dick for that stunt.

“Why? If I had to hazard a guess, I’d bet your sweet little cunt is dripping from the fear.”

I’ve been revved up and ready this entire time, but I’m not about to give the bastard the satisfaction. “I’m dryer than a nun in church.”

Sam’s hand skims down my abdomen, disappearing beneath the hem of my black dress. Slipping easily between my wet thighs, his fingers slide through my slit. The sound that escapes him is ravenous and tortured, making something deep within me pulse harder with need. “Such a terrible liar,” he rumbles. “Turn around.”

I obey in an instant, watching with eager eyes as he raises his fingers to his mouth. The sinful smile painted upon it doesn’t falter as he pauses his movement, changing his mind. “Open up,” he directs, free hand coming up to grip my jaw, “taste how much you fucking want me.” As if in a lust-induced trance, my lips part, allowing Sam to slip his fingers in, brushing them against my tongue. “Suck.” Sealing my lips around his digits, he thrusts them to the back of my throat, and holds them there. “You’re so perfect, Rosie. It’s unfair this thing between us doesn’t get to last longer.”

My eyes widen in shock, surprised he seems to be feeling the same things I do. I nod, agreeing the best I can without the ability to speak.

“You feel it too?” he breathes, and I hum my reply. He abruptly pulls his fingers from my mouth, then crashes his lips against my own. Sam’s kiss is hungry, world-rocking, and so thick with emotion I could choke on it.