Cold Coffee and Stale Cigarettes *on hold*

Chapter 23

“This movie sucks.” Tyler complained, shoving another cookie in his mouth.

                “I know.” I looked up from my sketchpad, where my attention had been focused for the past hour and a half, then to Dalton, who was sprawled out and sleeping on the couch after I had opted to sit on the floor. A crease had marred his brow and every so often he mumbled incoherently about things I didn’t bother listening to. His forehead glistened with a thin sheen of sweat and he turned slightly, the frown deepening. Aren’t people supposed to look peaceful when they sleep?

                “I have to piss.” Tyler announced. “Feel free to let the movie die while I’m in the bathroom.”

                “Yea, ok.” I placed the tip of my pencil against my mouth, resisting the urge to gnaw on the end like I used to do as a kid. He got up, placing his cold, half eaten soup on the table as a convincing prop for Tara’s amusement, leaving the room on silent feet. Dalton let out a low groan, shifting slightly again, a sharp breath escaping his mouth. Glancing at him, I noticed a tremor in his hands. Nightmare?

                A loud bang from the movie startled me, causing my heart to stutter, and Dalton sat erect, a strangled noise bubbling in his throat. He ran a shaking hand over the shiny skin of his face, breathing labored, as if he was running from invisible demons.

                “Sorry.” he muttered at my concerned glance. “Didn’t mean to bother you.”

                “It’s ok. The movie was kind of loud.” I smiled weakly, giving him the opportunity to pass off the unconscious fear with the over-dramatic horror of the movie. His head bobbed jerkily before he laid back on the couch, propping himself up so he could glance over my shoulder.

                “Sketching?”

                “Yea.” I muttered, a wave of self-consciousness crashing on my shoulders. I hated people looking at my drawings. It was one of the few things I thought I was good at and other people analyzing my pieces made me anxious for approval –a desire I despised even more.

                “Sam?” Tyler questioned eyes flickering towards Dalton. “You got the thing, right?”

                “Oh. Yea, I did.” I frowned. How could I forget?

                “Sam bought you something for Christmas.” Tyler grinned, flinging himself back onto the chair. “She’s just late because she had to find a new job and everything.”

                “So Rita hired you?” Dalton’s head dropped back to the arm of the couch, hair splaying across his face. When did this happen? When did you start feeling comfortable hanging out around me? When did I start thinking it was ok for you to be here?

                “She didn’t even wait for Sam to finish asking.” Tyler bragged, causing me to scowl.

                “He’s over-exaggerating.”

                “No, she literally cut her off and was squealing like some sort of friggin banshee in an opera.”

                “Thanks for the imagery.” I muttered, flipping my notebook close, so I could stand.

“When’s you’re next shift?” Tyler wondered.

“Four.” Rising to my toes, I pulled my arms up in a stretch, feeling my shoulders pop and the muscles extend, pulling the tension from my limbs.