Bloodred Senseless- Chapter 4: Doorways
Without stumbling, Sydney and Vaughn made it to the elevator that would take them to the inn. Vaughn pushed the up button, feeling Sydney's eyes burn his hand. The doors opened seconds later, which threw both of them off guard before they stepped in. Sydney looked at the buttons and laughed. She pointed and read aloud, "Restaurant or Inn?"
Vaughn laughed and replied, "There isn't a 'None of the above' option?" Sydney shook her head. "The inn's fine, then. Unless you're still hungry."
She pushed the top button, and it lit up. The doors closed; she turned to Vaughn. "Definitely not. The food was so great; I don't think I'll eat for a week." She smiled and leaned back—and suddenly turned, feeling something too cold for a warm elevator.
The entire back wall of the elevator was a glass window that gave them the perfect view of Nice at night. Sydney sighed, placing her fingertips on the glass. "If there was one place that I wish I could live without being watched, it's definitely Nice." Vaughn made a sound of agreement and added, "I came here as a kid with my parents. You should see it in the summertime—it's positively filled."
"I'd like to see it sometime."
There was a silence as they watched the city shimmer in the night's darkness. Vaughn broke it, asking, "Does it feel like this is taking too long?"
"Yeah," she replied, dazed and still looking outside.
Just as she spoke, the car dinged and a recorded message played. "Merci du choix pour rester à Rousseau. Nous espérons que votre séjour sera bon."
The doors opened. They stepped into what looked and felt like an American five-star hotel. "If this is an inn..." Sydney started, trailing off as the lush surroundings finally got to her.
Beside her, Vaughn read a sign. "Rooms forty through fifty are at the end of this hallway."
They reached the room in less than a minute—but it might have felt longer because of the combination of anxiety and wine in them. "Here it is. Room forty-eight." She waited for Vaughn to open the door. He pulled the key out of his pocket and unlocked it, motioning for her to go first. She pushed the door open and flipped on the light switch.
It was like walking into a world of gold. The window treatments, the wallpaper, the bedcovers—everything had a golden glow about it. Sydney placed her coat on one of the armchairs in the room, Vaughn put his on a different one. They sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing; contemplating. Vaughn was sweating in his black shirt, but he wasn't quite sure it was for that reason. After a few minutes, Sydney looked up and said, "I dont think wine would help this situation at all."
"I agree." He took a deep breath, as if building up the courage for what he was going to say next. "Okay, since we're both drunk—"
"Tipsy," Sydney interjected.
"—drunk," he repeated, "I'm going to say something I usually wouldn't say at all."
"I think I know what you're saying." She smiled and slid closer to him.
"So what do you say?"
"You mean, you really want to—"
"It's completely up to you. We'll stop when you say."
"You're serious?"
He smiled. "You realize that's the second time you've said that today."
"Then I have the same answer." She gazed into his eyes.
"Really?" He had to make sure it wasn't the wine speaking.
"Yes." It was. "But can we do this over?"
"Do what over?"
"Coming into the room?"
"Whatever you say." They left the room. Confused, Vaughn pulled the door shut and they stood outside, awkward no longer. "So..."
"Turn the knob, but don't open the door."
"Okay—" Before he finished the monosyllable, she was upon him, crushing his mouth with hers. He staggered, struggling to regain his balance as they fell through the now open doorway.
-
The door slammed open without notice. Sydney stepped out from the bathroom, a towel still in her wet hair. Three men dressed in black came in, each holding a machine gun. She pulled her towel off and whipped the first attacker, throwing him off balance. A few swift kicks put him and another down; Vaughn got the last one. They picked up the guns and fired at the two others that followed. Three more appeared when the second group went down. Sydney picked up two new guns and fired. The new men fought back, but they too joined their comrades on the floor in a matter of seconds—no match for a woman with the guns and the know how.
A trickle of blood started flowing towards Sydney. It stopped a foot away from her and started forming a little puddle. A bloodred puddle. Of naught but blood.
Sydney fell to her knees, staring the pool of blood, clearly shocked. She threw the guns off to the side, ignoring the loud smash she heard when they hit the wall. She spoke to no one in front of her, looking out the cleared doorway. "I didn't—it wasn't supposed to happen that way—"
Vaughn dropped beside her, taking her in his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder, crying. "They weren't supposed to die," she sobbed. "I didn't mean to kill them."
"Shhh. You're trained to stay alive, whatever you have to do." He rubbed her back, attempting to comfort her but failing. "If not for yourself, stay for me."
The tears streamed steadily on both sides.
-
for some reason this chapter seems a little weird to me... i don't think i'm as good as this as i am with the angst. (and my french is definitely rusty, but the translator told me that the above meant: Thank you for choosing to stay at Rousseau. We hope your stay is nice.)
Without stumbling, Sydney and Vaughn made it to the elevator that would take them to the inn. Vaughn pushed the up button, feeling Sydney's eyes burn his hand. The doors opened seconds later, which threw both of them off guard before they stepped in. Sydney looked at the buttons and laughed. She pointed and read aloud, "Restaurant or Inn?"
Vaughn laughed and replied, "There isn't a 'None of the above' option?" Sydney shook her head. "The inn's fine, then. Unless you're still hungry."
She pushed the top button, and it lit up. The doors closed; she turned to Vaughn. "Definitely not. The food was so great; I don't think I'll eat for a week." She smiled and leaned back—and suddenly turned, feeling something too cold for a warm elevator.
The entire back wall of the elevator was a glass window that gave them the perfect view of Nice at night. Sydney sighed, placing her fingertips on the glass. "If there was one place that I wish I could live without being watched, it's definitely Nice." Vaughn made a sound of agreement and added, "I came here as a kid with my parents. You should see it in the summertime—it's positively filled."
"I'd like to see it sometime."
There was a silence as they watched the city shimmer in the night's darkness. Vaughn broke it, asking, "Does it feel like this is taking too long?"
"Yeah," she replied, dazed and still looking outside.
Just as she spoke, the car dinged and a recorded message played. "Merci du choix pour rester à Rousseau. Nous espérons que votre séjour sera bon."
The doors opened. They stepped into what looked and felt like an American five-star hotel. "If this is an inn..." Sydney started, trailing off as the lush surroundings finally got to her.
Beside her, Vaughn read a sign. "Rooms forty through fifty are at the end of this hallway."
They reached the room in less than a minute—but it might have felt longer because of the combination of anxiety and wine in them. "Here it is. Room forty-eight." She waited for Vaughn to open the door. He pulled the key out of his pocket and unlocked it, motioning for her to go first. She pushed the door open and flipped on the light switch.
It was like walking into a world of gold. The window treatments, the wallpaper, the bedcovers—everything had a golden glow about it. Sydney placed her coat on one of the armchairs in the room, Vaughn put his on a different one. They sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing; contemplating. Vaughn was sweating in his black shirt, but he wasn't quite sure it was for that reason. After a few minutes, Sydney looked up and said, "I dont think wine would help this situation at all."
"I agree." He took a deep breath, as if building up the courage for what he was going to say next. "Okay, since we're both drunk—"
"Tipsy," Sydney interjected.
"—drunk," he repeated, "I'm going to say something I usually wouldn't say at all."
"I think I know what you're saying." She smiled and slid closer to him.
"So what do you say?"
"You mean, you really want to—"
"It's completely up to you. We'll stop when you say."
"You're serious?"
He smiled. "You realize that's the second time you've said that today."
"Then I have the same answer." She gazed into his eyes.
"Really?" He had to make sure it wasn't the wine speaking.
"Yes." It was. "But can we do this over?"
"Do what over?"
"Coming into the room?"
"Whatever you say." They left the room. Confused, Vaughn pulled the door shut and they stood outside, awkward no longer. "So..."
"Turn the knob, but don't open the door."
"Okay—" Before he finished the monosyllable, she was upon him, crushing his mouth with hers. He staggered, struggling to regain his balance as they fell through the now open doorway.
-
The door slammed open without notice. Sydney stepped out from the bathroom, a towel still in her wet hair. Three men dressed in black came in, each holding a machine gun. She pulled her towel off and whipped the first attacker, throwing him off balance. A few swift kicks put him and another down; Vaughn got the last one. They picked up the guns and fired at the two others that followed. Three more appeared when the second group went down. Sydney picked up two new guns and fired. The new men fought back, but they too joined their comrades on the floor in a matter of seconds—no match for a woman with the guns and the know how.
A trickle of blood started flowing towards Sydney. It stopped a foot away from her and started forming a little puddle. A bloodred puddle. Of naught but blood.
Sydney fell to her knees, staring the pool of blood, clearly shocked. She threw the guns off to the side, ignoring the loud smash she heard when they hit the wall. She spoke to no one in front of her, looking out the cleared doorway. "I didn't—it wasn't supposed to happen that way—"
Vaughn dropped beside her, taking her in his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder, crying. "They weren't supposed to die," she sobbed. "I didn't mean to kill them."
"Shhh. You're trained to stay alive, whatever you have to do." He rubbed her back, attempting to comfort her but failing. "If not for yourself, stay for me."
The tears streamed steadily on both sides.
-
for some reason this chapter seems a little weird to me... i don't think i'm as good as this as i am with the angst. (and my french is definitely rusty, but the translator told me that the above meant: Thank you for choosing to stay at Rousseau. We hope your stay is nice.)