Seen (ONC 2024)

Chapter 4: Doesn't Matter Who You Are

When I wake up the next morning, my head is full of rocks.

Heavy.

Muddled.

I stumble out of bed, wearing the t-shirt and pajama shorts I threw on after my jacuzzi adventure, and make my way to the bathroom. The first thing I do is check the medicine cabinet, but I'm out of luck.

Shouldn't ibuprofen be a standard amenity?

After searching all the pull-out drawers and under the bathroom sink, I give up. I splash some water on my face, and then go out into the kitchen.

Coffee will be my only comfort.

Aria isn't upstairs, luckily, so no reason to feel self-conscious about my morning breath or disheveled appearance.

The kitchen has a Nespresso machine and is stocked with a full selection of pods, which I am happy about. Not that it makes up for the complete lack of anti-inflammatories.

I throw in an espresso pod and make myself a double-shot.

It'll be the first of several.

When the machine is done, I pour in a dash of cream and then take my caffeine with me back into my room, where I plop on my bed and open my phone.

Daniel has texted me. Good morning, sunshine! Take any pics yet?

I don't respond.

Instead, I open up the Boston Globe and scroll through the headlines. A bill is deadlocked in congress. The stock market closed down yesterday. There are tensions brewing abroad.

I don't have the brainpower for this right now.

Gulping down the rest of my coffee, I close my phone and then head back to the bathroom. Maybe a nice long shower will do me good.

The water gets hot quickly and soon the small room fills with steam. I stand under the showerhead and tilt my head back. The water pressure is impressive, and it feels good on my scalp.

I close my eyes, but my mind won't relax.

What am I going to do about Aria Sterling?

Do I allow her to crash my vacation? It's not the getaway that I had planned, but it's definitely a change of pace from the daily grind, and that was the goal of this thing, wasn't it?

Maybe she'll leave on her own. She's a freaking movie star. Why would she want to be stuck here with the likes of me? Besides, I bet her management team will get back to her with a plan.

She'll probably be out of my hair in a few hours and this will just be a funny story to tell my colleagues next week.

Will they even believe me?

Maybe Daniel's right. I need to snap a picture somehow.

I tilt my head forward, allowing the water to pound against my shoulders, and I watch my worries go down the drain.

By the time I am out of the shower and dressed–in casual khakis and a loose cotton polo–I feel remarkably better.

But I need another Nespresso.

When I walk into the kitchen, though, I am startled to see Aria crouching in front of the sink, her eyes clenched tight.

Is she crying?

"What's wrong?" I asked, a twinge of panic gripping my stomach. I take two large steps forward and crouch next to her. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

I don't see any blood, which is reassuring.