Rain Ch. 4

CHAPTER FOUR

"You've got to be kidding me!" I exclaim, coated in a thick layer of annoyance. The freak storm that started minutes ago, pounded hard outside and I could hear its pit-a-patters on the Motel's roof. I lean on the front desk, so my arms rest on the smooth wood.

"Sorry, darlin but there's no rooms left, a couple of fellas came right before you and took the last one." The sleazy, I assume, desk-clerk says, a southern accent hinted in his voice.

I knew exactly who he was talking about. Sam and Dean. They had gotten out of the Impala and into the motel quicker than me, easily avoiding the sudden rain that had started pouring once I opened the car's door. Becoming soaked in the cold rain, I had run towards the entrance, watching as the boy's laugh at my misfortune before grabbing a pair of room keys.

"You look good," Dean had joked, a smirk playing on his lips and agreed to meet up in the morning.

Now here I stood, water dripping from my soaked clothes and onto the stained carpet of the lobby. Wandering how in the hell did a place like this become booked.

"Fine," I say in resign, "Where's the nearest motel from here?"

"Ten miles, east." Now you're just pulling my chain, I think.

"Are you serious?" The desk-clerk nods his head, clearly starting to lose interest as he pulls out a magazine. I pick up the duffle bag at my feet.

"Thanks." I say sarcastically walking out of the lobby and back into the rain.

The Impala stares at me, parked calmly against the rough and angry down pour. I look at it feeling like it was taunting me with its warm seats and I glare back at it.

"Shut up," I say finally towards the car. Left with no other options, I haul my bag with me towards one of the motel rooms and knock. In moments, the door swings open, Sam leaning casually against it.

"Natalie? What's up?" He asks, opening the door wider motioning for me to come in, which I graciously accept.

"I was wondering if I could," I begin as Dean walks out of the bathroom in an old band t-shirt and boxers, drying his hair with the towel in his hand. And I shift my attention back at Sam, "Uh, I was wondering if I could stay here with you guys. The place is booked and it's raining and I didn't even want to ask but—"

"Hey, it's cool." Sam says cutting off my excessive rambling and I breathe.

"Okay, thanks." I almost look over at Dean, I'm sure he definitely wasn't cool with me staying but instead I just set my duffle bag next one of the beds. I tuck my cold fingers into my damp pockets trying to ignore the awkward silence that was soon enveloping the room.

"Uh, I'm gonna go take a shower." I say suddenly and walk quickly towards the bathroom before anyone could reply.

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When the water splashes over me, I feel a pleasant warm shiver spread down my spine. Erasing the cold numbness. I close my eyes, savoring the feeling, washing the white soap along my arms and shoulders. After ten minutes, I reluctantly step out of the shower. My stomach sinking as the chill air hits me and I wrap a white towel around myself.

I look at the smudged window, my blue eyes looking solemnly back at me contrasting against my pale skin and dark brown hair. I see how my curls have already started to dry and bunch up in tight ringlets. Suddenly, the door clicks open and I stumble back, surprised.

"So, I thought,-" Dean says as he walks in and I almost slip on the wet floor, using the edge of the sink to steady myself.

"What in the hell, Dean?" I yell at him and he turns his head,

"I'm-I'm sorry, uh, I thought you might need these and uh…" He pushes the clothes he was holding in front of him and I grab them quickly, heat rushing involuntarily to my face. "Okay, good." He scratches the back of his head and I tighten the towel around me, as he's standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Bye," he says in quick and closes the door hurriedly, behind him. I glance at the clothes in my hands,

"Bye," I whisper back to him, unable to rub off the annoying heat coming from my cheeks.

John Miller walks out of the stuffy museum full of prestigious wannabes and unnatural blonde, housewives. Which coincidentally were his best friends but the tight suit his wife had stuffed him in, tug reluctantly at his shoulders making it difficult to breathe. Making the night, nearly unbearable. So, when he was finally left alone, he jumped at the chance to get some fresh air. He now stood under a fancy awning in front of the museum that probably cost more than his tickets to this gallery. Watching the hard, unexpected rain pelt down in sheets. He breathes deeply before swiftly pulling out a cigarette and a slick blue lighter. A habit he told his wife he'd quit.

"Mind if, I join you?" Said a smooth, feminine voice from behind him causing him to turn around, in mild surprise. A woman in short black dress, with legs most men would kill for stood in front of him.

"Help yourself." John said, extending the pack he held in his hand, out to her. But, that only made her smile as she passed the cigarettes, walking so close to him that if she flinched, their noses would be touching.

"I'm not really one for smoking." She told him, his mind couldn't think about nothing but the way her voice sounded like angels singing. It started to make his head spin.

"Actually," She continued, her voice in a whisper, "I'm kind of hungry."

He smiled "You know, there's a restaurant a couple of blocks from here. We could go." He barely registered what he was saying, all he knew was that he wanted, needed, to hear that angelic voice of hers. And he'd do anything to hear it again.

"I was thinking, of eating in." He began to smile again but he was stopped by black claws pulling at him from all edges. He wanted to scream but he couldn't as she whispered to him in his bloody ear, to not. Quiet tears, fell down his cheeks as rain poured down beside the museum filled with giggling, clueless guests. With walls, now stained with John Miller's blood.