She woke, and it could have been because of the shuffling sounds of Samir in the bathroom, but more likely because of the burning, tearing pain of her body. Eve turned onto her side, sucking in harshly, fingers curling into that ugly, brown and pink coverlet so she could muffle her scream.

Too much magic. The human body wasn’t built for magic. She’d channeled it, at least, used a medium. Without that shitty speaker, there wasn’t a chance she’d still be alive now.

Those shitbags.

If they were going to trap her in a body like this, they should have taken away her ability in its entirety. Human emotions were such finicky things. Handle them the wrong way, and they’d destroy her body from the inside out. They’d probably been counting on that. She couldn’t live without them after all.

Fed on them.

Another scream wrapped around her throat. A whimper escaped in its stead.

The door to the bathroom blew open, so the sound must have been louder than she’d expected. Samir. He was shirtless, and still wearing that same dirty pair of dress pants, but clearly freshly showered. She tried not to let his presence fluster her, and made a valiant effort to sit up. The man only watched her with narrowed, suspicious eyes, one hand still on the bathroom door handle.

His hair was pushed back from his forehead, wet, and he looked even better like this.

Better than what?

Eve didn’t allow herself to linger on that thought for too long.

“What on earth are you doing?” he asked, and his breezy voice did little to calm her clattering heartbeat. She was weak. Too weak, right now, to allow this near stranger to suspect that anything might be amiss.

“Stretching,” Eve managed after a pause and pushed herself to her feet. With great determination, she took several unsteady steps forward. Her organs throbbed as though they might rupture. Still, she succeeded, and looked up at Samir with a weak, satisfied smile.

He seemed much bigger up close, broad-shouldered and golden-skinned, smelling like soap and soft, amber musk. There was a tightness in his arms, as though he was fighting not to touch her. Hit her, maybe. He could kill you right now! Her brain supplied helpfully as it forced another shudder through her limbs.

“Don’t lie. You’re shaking like a leaf.” His skin is cool - or maybe hers is feverish - and then he’s tugging her forward with surprising care. Eve fell against his chest. His long fingers slotted into the curve of her waist and a palm pressed against her forehead, practiced, methodical. “And you’re burning up.”

“S’ok,” Eve chattered from behind clattering teeth. “Happens.”

“Often?”

“No.”

“Eve.” Samir’s voice is low, dangerous, and Eve tried not to think about how he sounded angry about this. “Often?” He repeated.

“Sometimes,” Eve acknowledged, nodding. His touch slid from her forehead but remained firmly on her waist, holding her upright.

“Why?” Samir asked curtly. Eve didn’t look at him nor answer. Instead she shook off his touch, and he allowed her to do so. She succeeded in walking another three steps to pour herself a glass of water and chug it, as though that might somehow help her cool down. She even put it back down on the table, although her sight had gone fuzzy and there was no way to be certain of where the table was, exactly.

The room swam muddily as she turned back.

“Shit,” Samir muttered when she swayed and he leapt to catch her. “Don’t die on me. I don’t want to deal with your corpse.”

“Not gonna die,” Eve gasped, knowing that tears had begun to streak down her face. At least she wasn’t screaming. Though there was some strange sound nearby, like an animal in distress. It sounded terrified, injured, as though it had been stepped on, or maybe hit by a car. And then Eve realized that these sounds were coming from her, and she shut her mouth so hard her jaw ached at the impact.

The world tilted and tipped, feet coming clear off the floor as Samir swung her up and into his arms. It lasted only for a few moments, so that he could lay her on the bed, and the warmth would have been comforting if she wasn’t already so damn hot. He didn’t make a sound as he peeled back the covers on his own bed, then transferred her over. The duvet cover settled heavily across her limbs, and practiced hands pressed it in around her body, effectively cocooning her in its warmth.

“You must have had siblings,” Eve managed to blurt out, squirming, sticky with sweat. The effort wasn't very impressive, and she curled into herself as spots danced in front of her eyes, fingers flaring out in a spasm. Samir grunted and caught her hand in his. It was different from the way he’d held it earlier that day - gentle and teasing as he’d pressed it to his lips. Firmer. More steadying now.

She clutched at it as though his hand alone could save her amidst this storm, and he let her.

The laughter that trickled out of Eve was wet and broken. She could see her fingers, nearly white with the strength with which she clenched at him, and Samir had hardly flinched.

Eve could sense the man below them. Lust. The receptionist, a hundred paces away. Boredom.

But this man - only silence. Not a single emotion. Not one tell-tale hint of the way the man felt, tickled her mind.

And when she touched him like this, that emptiness was all she could sense.

Eve was so tired.

“Sleep,” Samir ordered.

And she did.

-

The daylight greeted Eve with hollow, cloudy, emptiness. She stirred, loose-limbed and sticky, blankets whispering as they fell wholly off the bed. Samir was nowhere to be seen.

Small mercies.

Gathering the vestiges of her broken pride, Eve padded into the bathroom to take a second shower, not even bothering to tie her hair out of the way. It needed another rinse as well. Her reflection stared at her, somewhat accusingly, as she combed through the cleansed strands.

“Urgh,” She said to it, forcing her eyes away. “Cut me some slack.”

Her body still ached far too much for restricting clothing today, so she pulled on a soft, cream colored dress lined in violet and let her wet curls drip onto the fabric. They left an unpleasant dampness in the small of her back, but it evaporated quickly in the afternoon heat.

Having brought herself into somewhat acceptable shape, Eve surveyed the motel room. It was empty. Too empty. Samir’s ruined suit jacket still hung over the back of the chair, but not a single other trace of the man remained. The second bed was pristine, untouched, and the furniture was positioned exactly as it had been the previous day. Her lips turned down, Eve stuffed her dirty laundry back in the plastic bag, and reached instead for her sack of supplies, tossing it atop the tiny round table.

A piece of paper was the first to come out. She proceeded to shred it, thoroughly and methodically, atop the water-stained tabletop. Then she swept it up into a neat little pile, scooping it into her palm. Her senses expanding outwards, Eve found exactly what she was looking for. A pensive sort of monotony, several doors to her right. She inhaled deeply, allowing it to fill her body, limbs going lax and stiff all once. A sort of brainless languidness, the kind that sets in when too much time has passed in front of a television set. The sensation flowed through her in a smooth arc, trickling into the shredded paper, and she opened her palm, blowing part of the boredom out with an exhale of breath.

From atop her hand, half of the tiny scraps of paper burst through the air, arcing a neat line from the tips of her fingers and out the door.

Leaving the plastic bags laying atop the table, Eve followed the trace out of the motel room, the door scraping on its hinges as she yanked it forward. From the terraced hallway she could see out to the parking lot. It was humid outside, hot enough that her hair began to frizz immediately, pulling up and off her scalp. The trail fell to the floor, and energy returned to her body, a familiar sort of sensation similar to the snap of a rubber band.

The car was gone.

Of fucking course.

Samir had taken the car, and he had left her stranded here.

Eve supposed that she’d been in worse situations in the past, but somehow, they had never stung in quite the same way. Humans were rarely grateful for her help. Despite that, Eve had to admit that is exactly what she had tried to be.

Helpful. To Samir.

Fat bit of good it had done her.

Closing her eyes and wishing that there were even a little bit of air moving and stirring the folds of her dress, Eve cast her senses out again, in a wider net this time. Lust, again. A common sensation. More boredom from the hallway. A faint anxiety, somewhere down the block. And directly beneath her -

Fury.

Disdain, mixed with bitter jealousy. Her lip curled with the strength of that sensation, utterly misplaced in her waking exhaustion, but making her muscles go rigid nevertheless.

Eve swallowed, leaning against the stucco wall, struggling to stay upright with the strength of the sheer dislike flowing into her mind.

Yes, she shuddered. This would do.

She blew the rest of the paper out from her hand, and again, it burst through the air, out towards where the car had been parked then further towards the road, confirming her suspicions.

Samir had left.

It was almost cruel, the disappointment that shuddered through her, the printer paper fluttering like sad, corporate confetti to the earth.

Alone again.

She supposed that she could always go see her client in New York next, although the prospect of her daytime scam reading fortunes was slightly unappealing. At least the motel could call her a cab.

Stiff and aching, Eve shuddered her way down the stairs, one hand clasped firmly on the railing. The temperature felt even more stifling downstairs, as though the air had grown entirely stagnant, suffocating. Gasoline and cigarettes lingered in her nostrils.

Ashes scattered across the tops of her sneakers. She kicked them off, scowling, and turned to face the man leaning against the wall beside the lobby, just beneath the staircase heading up to the second floor.

He had a cruel, entirely disinterested look in his eyes as he pressed the cigarette back between his lips. The color of his hair was similar to hers - a crimson, but clearly artificial bright red. It swung down into his face, long enough to be tied into a short ponytail, but short enough that it didn’t quite touch the tops of his shoulders. A tattoo, indecipherable behind the collar of his shirt peeked onto his neck.

Eve did her best to ignore him, feeling the irritation in his very soul as he watched her walk by.

Fate didn’t seem interested in cooperating.

“The fuck you looking at?” he asked, exhaling a low curl of smoke. It hovered without dissipating around his face for several seconds, obscuring the rigidly straight line of his eyebrows.

Eve snorted but didn’t respond, dodging around the rigid lines of the man’s glare. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrists, shoving her backwards where she’d tried to step around him to enter the motel lobby. Eve frowned, wincing slightly at the strength of that man’s grip, and proceeded to kick him firmly in the shin.

The redhead hissed out a string of curses but only grabbed her other hand, pinning her against the crumbling motel wall, pain weeping into the dislike she’d already been struggling to wade past. This was precisely why she disliked humans. Such frivolous bravado - such useless opinions for strangers that had nothing to do with them.

As though the man had sensed her string of thoughts, he leaned in, close enough that the man’s words left a thin sheen of disgust tracing along her skin, hips and legs lined up with the front of her body.

“You,” he breathed. “Trash like you drew bosses' attention? Why?”

Eve snarled, slamming her head against the stranger’s, ignoring the ringing in her skull in favor of swinging her knee up and up, between his legs.

The stranger howled.

His grip on her wrists loosened slightly, but not for long enough that Eve could slip out.

When he regained some sense of self, the strength of his grip dug into her wrists with strength enough to bruise, twisting the skin there.

“You,” he said again, the word taking on some unfamiliar darkness. “Looking for a second lease on life?” Eve snorted.

If only he knew.

Eve was not afraid to die.

She supposed it was some strange sort of miracle that she had held on for this long. At times like these, existence felt more like a punishment. For a brief moment, the woman wished that the stranger would kill her. Put her out of her misery and absolve her of this responsibility she felt. Perhaps then, she could rest, and the weight upon her soul would finally grow - if even slightly - lighter.

Anything to feel less heavy.

The man spit the cigarette to the ground, grinding his heel into it. The ember’s glow winked out but seemed to linger briefly amongst the strands of his hair. She almost wanted to tell him to quit smoking. That life was too short for humanity to waste it on such useless pleasures.

“Get out of my way,” is what came out of her mouth instead.

The stranger only held on tighter, a scowl pulling at the folds of his lips, drawing them into a single, harsh line. “No can do. Leader said you were not to leave.” He was pretty, Eve supposed. An angular sort of face that she expected to see in a magazine, and not in the middle of nowhere amongst fields and fields of vegetables.

“Screw you and your leader,” Eve cursed. She didn’t want to use any magic if she didn’t have to. There was still so much pain and exhaustion still coursing through her limbs that frankly, she wasn’t sure how well it would go over.

“Spunky. But Samir wouldn’t like it if I let go of you now.” She began to struggle in earnest at those words, the lingering sting of humiliation hanging at the corners of her consciousness. Of course it was Samir.

What did he want to see her for anyways?

“Let go,” She bit out, and the man only pressed closer, smelling of tobacco and resentment.

“No.”

“This is harassment,” she hissed into his ear. “I’m going to kick you again in a minute.”

“You’re welcome to do your worst. I don’t have a single clue as to why the leader was so concerned with you leaving. It’s pretty clear that you’re not going anywhere as long as I don’t want you to.”

Gathering her courage, Eve looked up at the man, resisting the urge to flinch in the face of his angular, furious gaze, and spit at his eyes.

He sputtered, grip on her wrists bruising, causing her to hiss. Her legs kicked outwards on instinct, to no avail. He was taller, and as much as she hated to admit it, stronger. And now, angry as well.

“You bitch,” the man hissed, blinking the mess from his eyes and cheeks.

“Call me that again,” Eve dared, the heel of her sneaker connecting with the first of the bruises she’d left along the man’s shin. “I’ll make sure you thoroughly regret it.”

“Arman,” cut in a low, commanding voice, simmering with fury. “Remove your hands before I rid you of them entirely.”