“Hello!?” he called out. Fuck subtlety. He didn't care anymore.
The door to the main bedroom was wide open and he walked inside. The bed was made up and everything looked fine. Then he saw that one of her suitcases was on the floor, and the fold out tray for it had been knocked to the side. Something nasty had taken place.
“Mischa!” he barked her name, turning towards the bathroom. He could hear the shower running and he stormed in there.
She was curled into a ball, shaking on the floor of the bath tub. He hurried to his knees and reached for the shower knob, turning it off. The water was freezing, almost painful against his skin. He noted that it was the hot water faucet that needed to be turned, and wondered how long she'd been in there, for the water to turn to ice.
“Baby, what happened?” Tal whispered, slipping his arms under her and picking her up. He slowly stood and hiked her up against his chest.
“I was awful. Awful, awful, awful,” she moaned, her teeth chattering so hard, her words were distorted. He sat down on the bed and held her against him.
“You weren't. You're not. Jesus, how long were you in there, Misch?” he asked, examining her pruned up fingers, taking in her almost blue lips. Mild hypothermia wasn't an unrealistic concern.
“Not long enough,” she sighed. He pressed her hand between both of his and rubbed up and down.
“Tell me what happened,” he urged.
“God, it was terrible. It was so terrible. It was so much worse,” she started crying, pulling her hand away.
“What do you mean? Talk to me.”
“Why are you with me!? I ruin things,” she suddenly burst out, shoving at his chest. She was so slippery that he couldn't keep a grip on her and she fell out of his arms, hitting the ground hard on her hip. He went after her, dropping back to his knees, but when he grabbed for her leg, she scurried away and dragged herself backwards into the bathroom.
“What the fuck happened!?” he demanded, following after her. She put both her hands up, stopping him.
“Nothing! Everything! God! Just leave, please, just leave me alone,” she sobbed, waving him away. He retreated and sat on the floor, leaning his back against the bed.
“Can't do that. You and me, remember? I'll always come find you,” he said in a soft voice.
She curled to the side, shoving herself up against the cabinet under the sink. She sobbed for a while, and he watched. Just sat and watched. Let her work out her demons. Let her give some of them to him. Eventually, she quieted to just crying. Then just tears. Then sniffles and the occasional shiver. Finally, after about twenty minutes, she began moving around. Shrugging the straps of her dress off her shoulders and working the cold material down her body.
“What time is it?” she asked, her voice hoarse. Tal glanced at his watch.
“Almost two,” he answered.
“Why are you still here?” she groaned, lifting her hips and pulling the dress away from her legs. She kicked it across the room, then laid down on her side, only wearing a bra and panties. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.
“Because you need me,” he said simply. She closed her eyes.
“I don't need anybody,” she whispered.
“Tough. Because it works both ways, babe. I need you, too.”
She didn't answer, and soon enough he realized she'd fallen asleep. Completely worn out. Tal was careful as he moved into the bathroom, gentle as he picked her up. She wasn't as cold as before, but she was still shivering.
He carried her to the bed and laid her under the covers. Then he got behind her and wrapped his arms around her, draped his leg over hers. Tried to infuse her with his heat. With his soul. With his fire.
What did he do to you? What have you done to me?
Mischa woke up so hot, she was completely covered in a fine sheen of sweat. She sat up, shoving Tal's arm off of her. As it dragged down her own arm, she hissed. Something hurt. She looked down at herself, twisting her bicep. There were four bruises, marching down her skin in a line. Finger marks.
Mike.
What. A. Fuck show. Misch couldn't believe how badly it had gone. How it had gone, period. He'd been so upset, and she'd been so blunt. She should have done it differently. Taken him back to the hotel. Or actually flown home. Something. Anything.
I fuck everything up.
“Are you okay?” Tal's voice was thick with sleep. She shrugged.
“Not really. Sorry I yelled at you,” she mumbled, staring across the room.
“Don't be sorry. Yell at me whenever you want,” he offered, and she felt his hand rub against her back. It felt good, and that made her feel even more guilty.
It was so much easier when Mike didn't know. Then the guilt wasn't real. Not yet.
“You shouldn't be here,” Mischa breathed.
“I shouldn't be anywhere else.”
“I don't deserve this,” she went on.
“Stop it.”
“No. I hurt him so badly. I couldn't even picture it. I had no idea. It was so bad. I don't deserve anything good,” she kept going.
“Stop,” Tal's voice was loud, and the hand on her back stilled. “Yeah, it was awful. Yeah, it hurts like hell. Yeah, you did a shitty thing – we did a shitty thing. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve happiness. You're not Hitler, you didn't kill people.”
“Just someone's soul,” she whispered. Tal sat up next to her.