𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

07. sexually transmitted diseases.

S E V E N

sexually transmitted diseases.

He found it. The fucker found it. The Royal Merchant. A tale that most people rolled their eyes at, and decided the person talking about it had a few screws loose.

After the initial buzz of excitement wears off, the exhaustion of the long day kicks in.

John B retires to his room, and Pope and Kie take the pull-out bed.

JJ sits outside on the verandah, watching the water rippling with fragments of moonlight dancing on its surface. Every few seconds a ploom of smoke is deposited in the air from his lungs, and the end of his final cigarette of the day burns a bright orange.

I shift in my seat, not fully relaxing due to the burning sensation on my back.

"What's wrong?" JJ breaks the comfortable silence. We sit on the same sofa, a respectable distance apart. I'm sure nowhere near far enough for Rafe

"Am I getting a rash—like a real rash, not a badly covered up lie about sexually transmitted diseases," I ask, shifting to look away from him and out to the house sat abandoned in the plot next to The Chateau.

"Mabel, what the fuck?" He says.

"'What the fuck,' what?" My hand blindly goes to feel the damage, some automatic reaction. Like squeezing a cut on your finger, or grabbing a bone you think is broken. Is it helpful? Probably not. But JJ grabs my hand before I make contact.

"You've got a cut on the back of your shoulder, it's not a rash." He explains what he can see, and I was unaware of it.

"Oh. I don't know if that's better or worse. It can't be that bad, I didn't bleed out." I try and brush it off.

JJ gets up and I turn around to see what he's doing, "Get up, you need to clean that out, it's probably got particles of Olivia in it."

I cringe at the thought, we walk quietly through the house, and into the storage room, JJ chucked a bed in and declared it his bedroom. He riffles through drawers and pulls out a shirt, and then tries handing it to me. I don't take it.

"Yours is covered in blood, dirt and probably bits of Ol—"

"Let's not talk about that aspect of the night," I tell him.

"I'm just saying you probably want to change, that's all." He rephrases.

"It's all good, I think I'll just call my brother and crash at his, I'll borrow clothes from his wife." I turn him down. "I should probably call him now," I speak mostly to myself, trying to find my phone, and praying it has enough charge.

He doesn't look discouraged. "No, stay here, Rafe will expect you to go there. You can take my bed, I'll sleep out there." He offers, pointing out to the living room. I scan his face, once again trying to find out what his angle is. I'm definitely overthinking this. "I can show you the bathroom, you can take a shower." He continues after I don't say anything for a second.

He extends his hand out again with the shirt, urging me to take it. I do. "Where's the bathroom?" I ask.

"Right." He walks me through the house, then opens a cupboard and searches through it. "There doesn't seem to be a clean towel, but this seems absorbent." He pulls out a blanket and inspects it intently.

I can't help but grin as I take it from him, "I guess we'll find out."

"There's everything you need in there, so, yeah." He walks down the hall and leaves me with a blanket and one of his shirts.