Chapter 33

Sliding my cash across the counter, I don't bother smiling at the hotel clerk who's ringing me up while paying more attention to the tiny TV he has under his counter.

"Okay, great. Um, you can have room thirteen. First floor, corner room."

He slips a key, an actual metal key with a keychain, through the slot at the bottom of the plastic divider and gestures back at the door where I came in.

I'm not expecting much in the way of service for an eighty bucks a night hotel with available hourly rates, so I just take the key, sling my bag back over my shoulder, and leave.

Still, I'm a bit shocked by the state of the place. My phone had alluded to a typical Motel 6 or Red Roof Inn type of place, but this…it's like a bomb went off.

Went off years ago and then mold grew over the remains.

I hurry to my room and sneak a quick glance back at my car to be sure it's still parked where I left it.

The atmosphere of the neighborhood doesn't bode well.

"It's only for one night," I murmur to myself as I open the room door with a hard shove. "Then you'll go to Regina's."

That's the plan, at least. I would have headed over right away, except…I wanted time alone. To think and wallow without someone trying to cheer me up.

I adore Regina, and I'm endlessly impressed by her ability to raise a child on her own—something that's hitting me harder right now—but I'm not ready for solutions.

Sulking, that's what I want right now. Just an evening of brooding that'll allow me a minute to process.

Finally taking a look around the room while I set my duffle on the floor, I notice the yellowing paint, the rough, scratchy-looking carpet, the broken and then reinstalled lock on the door, and the several cigarette burns on the comforter.

"Awesome."

I close the door behind me, doing my best to secure the lock.

I'm not really satisfied with the hold, so I stuff the one chair in the room in front of it, pushing one of the legs against the tiny dresser in some vain attempt at security.

It won't do shit against someone trying hard to get in, but it's better than nothing, I guess.

Besides, you paid with cash and drove in circles before you randomly picked this place. You're okay.

Except, of course, I'm not. I'm real damn far from okay.

Shaking my head, I move away from pushing the chair into place at the door.

"First things first."

I walk around the hotel room. I look for strange holes or cracks. I cover up the mirror and a vent with the two provided towels.

When I see the footprints at the bottom of the shower, I reaffirm my decision to avoid it altogether, and then I go to the windows.

Pulling the shutter down, it clicks into place, and I slide over the thin drapes in front of that.

There's an air conditioner underneath it, and the thing is whining and moaning with every attempt to cool the room.

It's working. Sort of. Still, the entire room smells like mildew, and humidity hangs thick in the air.

Beyond that, it's just so quiet. At least, I think it is for a split second when I perch on the edge of the full bed.

But then the noises from outside begin to filter through the walls, and I hang my head in my hands.

A dog is barking, someone chasing after it, and several cars pull in and out of the parking lot for the restaurant next door.

The restaurant that looks like it's in far better shape than the hotel, with a more robust clientele.

Most of the time, people take their shoes off to sit or lie in a bed. I don't.

I keep my sneakers on, my scrubs and jacket, too, as I sit there—alone.

Not moving for the better part of ten minutes, a new noise starts up from the room right next to mine.

Fake moaning and a headboard hitting the wall over and over.

"Ugh, great."

After probably another ten or so minutes, I'm nearly ready to get food across the way when the noises next door stop.

"Oh, thank God."

But then I hear the negotiations over price, and my heart sinks all over again.

I'm not surprised it was a hooker and her john, but I'll admit that haggling wasn't something I thought was a big part of the process.

Eventually, the raised voices die off, the two of them eventually agreeing, and I'm left to the sound of cars and a shitty air conditioner.

My stomach rumbles. I'm not sure if it's hunger or nausea.

It's getting hard to tell at this point.

I'm very aware of the symptoms of early pregnancy, and they're all occurring at once with little relief to be found.

With all the exhaustion and desperate need to cry, I'm starting to understand why everyone seems to hate this part.

My hand comes over my stomach without thinking about it.

A bunch of cells are joining together in there, carrying out their programmed destiny to grow a human.

No heart, no brain, no nerves yet. Just cells, and still…

It could be a human. It could be my human.

"And I still don't know if I want that."

Letting myself fall backward onto the bed, I curl up into a ball. I try not to smell the cigarette smoke and mildew.

Regina has raised a kid alone. So, I know it's technically possible. Hell, lots of people have done it, so it's very possible.

But I'm not sure how many of them were single doctors in their residency.

And that's a big part of the problem. My job and relationship status isn't exactly conducive to raising little kids right now.

Maybe if this would have happened down the line, it would have been an easy decision.

I'm not there, though. I'm still just a resident with crazy hours and no guarantee I'll make attending at the hospital where I currently work.

The hours are insane, and I have to push myself as hard as possible to keep up. I'm working toward a cardiac specialty, for fuck's sake, and having to call off because I have a newborn is…

You're obsessing.

Sighing, I pull my knees tighter against my chest. According to the test results, I'm less than a week along.

I have time to decide what I want to do.

Hormonal brains are assholes, though, apparently, because just when I think I might be able to fall asleep, I see a vision of Luke behind my lids.

He's smiling, holding a baby in his arms.

"Fucking hell."

I roll over, trying to dislodge the image by changing my position. It goes away, but I'm still left with the thought.

I think I might have liked raising a family with Luke.

I might have loved it.

But he's not in the picture now, so that's obviously not going to happen, and as much as the image did seem nice, the one where I lose my job to care for a baby does not.

Nor does the one where I raise a kid who hates me because I subconsciously resent it or because I'm not home enough because of my career.

As seems to be the case, my thoughts don't help me. I'm no closer to knowing what I want to do after several more rounds of what-ifs.

The room gets darker as the sun dips behind the buildings. I don't bother turning on a light.

Sleep is really the only thing I do know I want right now, so I let the darkness lull me into unconsciousness.

I still have work in the morning. And Beth's surgery the following day. Life goes on, and it's not slowing down so I can make a decision.

My tension eases, my limbs grow heavy, and I know sleep is just a few more moments away.

At least I can count on that.

* * *

A scratchingsound at the door stirs me out of my restless sleep.

I've heard nearly every noise a person could imagine as I lie here, and I know I'm going to need all the damn coffee when morning officially arrives.

But when the scratching sounds again, I realize it's much closer than the other dozens of unfamiliar noises keeping me up.

There's something faintly…plastic about it, so I get up from the bed and start walking around the room.

The bathroom and the small counter just outside of it are clear. Nothing funky coming from in there.

As the noise stops, I turn and face the door. That way?

My heart is in my throat, pounding away as my stomach clenches.

I slowly stalk toward the exit, grabbing the large flashlight I brought with me as some kind of weapon.

A smell creeps in from somewhere, and I put my hand over my mouth. It's vaguely sweet but not right; there's something overly chemical about it.

Oh no.

Then my head starts to spin.

It's slow, and I can track my surroundings still, like being on laughing gas.

As my heart rate skyrockets, panic taking me, I try to find something I can cover my mouth with.

I pull my scrubs top over it and my nose, but it won't be enough. I know that much.

The Cobras have fucking found me, and I've got nothing but a flashlight and the extreme need to pass out.

I stumble to the ground, my hand only just catching me so I don't smash my face right into the floor.

That's when I see it. A small tube that's been inserted through the minuscule gap beneath my door.

There's some kind of gas filtering out of it, and my heart sinks.

I'm done for. There's no fighting this.

The threat of death clarifies my mind, if only for a moment, and I try to see my phone.

But nothing makes sense right now, and the fear is too strong.

I'm going to die. These men are going to fucking kill me, and…

And all I want in the world is just to find Luke—to make this work with him, whatever it takes.

A low thud sounds by the door, the lock ripping from the poorly attached metal plate. Legs come in through the darkness, shoving the chair out of the way.

They close in on me, and all I can do is lie there. My eyelids flutter closed as the drugs seep into my system.

The last thing I hear is a whisper near my ear.

"Got you, bitch."