I was drying off with the bathroom door open when I heard the door’s lock click open. I scrambled out of the bathroom and onto my knees in front of the bed, hair still slick with moisture, body freshly scrubbed. I smelled of soap and shampoo instead of the stale interior of Ronnie’s sedan.
The door swung open and I realized belatedly that anyone else in the hallway was going to get an eyeful. It was too late to move without looking ridiculous though, and a part of me wanted to show off anyway. For just a moment, I fantasized about what Ronnie could make me do if the hotel had room service, the sort of special tip he could make me offer.
I shook it off and wondered if those impulses had been there before my brainwashing, if a part of me had always been so slutty, or if it was another change inserted seamlessly into my personality by some faceless technician.
Either way, it was only Ronnie, a plastic bag of takeout in hand. He raised an eyebrow at my pose, and nudged the door shut behind him without taking his eyes off of me. As it clicked locked again, he asked, “I take it you’re feeling back to normal, then? All your memories right where you left them?”
“Yes Sir,” I watched as he set the bag down and slipped out of his shoes, then said, “Everything is very clear now. Everything that matters, anyway.”
He peeled off his own shirt and asked, “What minor details aren’t?”
“What you’re going to do with me after our little road trip,” I looked at his feet instead of his face as I asked, “I take it that you didn’t steal me for yourself?”
“Not so much, no,” Ronnie chuckled softly and replied, “But that’s for the best. I think you can do better than seeing every convenience store in the Continental United States. Besides which, you won’t remember me in another day or two. Trust me,” he unbuttoned the fly on his jeans, “Some things are better in small doses.”
He seemed amused by the notion, more than anything else.
As he dropped his pants around his ankles, I asked, “So where am I going to end up?”
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