Hostel.
Tuesday January 20, 2009
The door was open when I got there. The guy on the bed was moaning something fierce and it didn’t matter what language it was he was speaking. What he was saying was pretty clearly no, no, get off. I had no idea what the girl was saying, or what language she was saying it in. Her hands were on his shoulders and she was leaning over him, her stringy dark hair curtaining his face, her voice a low guttural mutter.
“Hey,” I said. “Hey!” She looked up, sat up. Her bare tits bounced a little, and she looked drained of color under the harsh fluorescent light, except for this savage-looking hickey all liver-brown and blue bitten just over her right nipple. Must have been one bruiser of a kiss. “You gotta keep it down,” I said. “We’re getting complaints.” The guy on the bed I could see was naked, and I didn’t want to figure out what was in the look he was trying to give me.
“Is okay,” said the guy behind the door, and if I hadn’t had that second beer I might have been quick enough to clock him before I figured out he wasn’t trying to clock me. He didn’t flinch at the jerk of my arm, though. “Is my brother,” he said, hands up, smiling.