by Maren Smith
Chapter 7
Ommin lay beside Britney in her bed, because it was a lot more comfortable than the floor. She was naked. So was he now. After carrying her to bed and laying her down, he’d tried to be stern with himself. He’d tried to be respectful, but he just couldn’t make himself leave the room so she could sleep in peace.
There were no chairs in her bedroom. There were chairs in the kitchen he could have relocated to her bedside without any difficulty, but he hadn’t wanted to be gone that long. So, he told himself he’d just sit beside her, just so he could watch her sleep. Just in case she woke up and decided that everything that had happened in the laundry room had been a mistake after all. If she did and he was just sitting at her bedside, then at least he won’t have compounded his sins.
But sitting by her had proved impossible. Not when lying beside her was an option, so he could be right there, watching her sleep from mere inches away rather than feet.
So, he’d lain down. On top of the covers, to keep it respectful.
At first.
But slipping under the covers so he could share her warmth taunted him with its proximity.
If he kept his clothes on, then it wouldn’t be as terrible as if he were naked and they were skin to skin. That would have been too much. That would have invited disaster and he was already fairly certain he perched on that particular cusp as it was. Because he was him; and she was her; and she could have had anyone she wanted, and he’d fucking cried after having sex. He was pretty sure when that made it to the ten o’clock news, his superhero status would be permanently revoked.
But it wasn’t on the ten o’clock news yet, and even as he carefully folded back the sheets, already he’d been kicking off his shoes.
Because nobody got into bed with their shoes on.
And then it was weird lying down in someone else’s bed with socks still on.
And since he was now every bit as naked as she was, that pretty much said everything it needed to about his willpower where holding Britney was concerned. He was done giving himself edicts about what he would and wouldn’t do in regards to her.
So, he lay there, skin to perfect skin, watching her sleep in a way he was pretty sure any sane person would find creepy as hell, and wanting nothing more than to will every detail of her face to memory. Just in case.
He was gently brushing her hair back from her face so it wouldn’t tickle her nose when his cell phone rang. Crap. He wasn’t even sure where his phone was, but he never got the chance to shut it off before her eyes snapped open. He froze, but they were stomach to stomach and face to face. There was no way she could not have noticed him.
“Hey,” Britney said, her initial startled expression melting into a sleepy smile.
Melting himself now too, he almost smiled back. “Hey, yourself.”
His phone rang again.
“Who is it?” she asked.
Someone who was about to get their head bitten off for disturbing this.
Rolling over, he threw the blanket aside and searched the mess he’d made of his clothes on the floor until he found his phone.
She wolf-whistled when he bent to pick it up.
“Hello,” he said into the phone, giving Britney a Look. It was hard to pretend to be annoyed when inside he was this tickled.
“Is this Mr. Jones?” the woman on the other side said.
And there went pretending.
His hackles immediately rose. “Yes,” he said, having every expectation this was another reporter. In which case, he really was going to bite someone’s head off. Maybe even literally. Sharkman style.
“Hi, I’m a nurse at Kaiser hospital. We have a Mr. Jim… Liquidman here and he’s ready to go home.”
Ommin blinked, abruptly robbed of his annoyance as he tried to puzzle out why he ought to care. “Jim’s ready to be picked up?”
“The police gave us your number,” the woman on the phone said, as if that should make a difference. She then followed it up by saying, “We can’t release him except in the custody of a family member or friend.”
Oh God. Ommin didn’t quite roll his eyes, but he did sigh and glare at the ceiling. “Right,” he said.
Well, the guy had brought him coffee and croissants.
Plus, the only reason he’d been hit in the first place was because he’d offered to take him to Britney’s and spare him the cab ride.
“All right,” he said heavily. “I’m on my way.”
Disconnecting the call, he looked at his phone, wishing he’d never gotten the silly thing.
Now he had to put his clothes back on and leave.
“What’s wrong?”
Turning, he saw Britney sitting up in bed, the sheet wrapped so it concealed all the parts of her that he wished weren’t covered, hugging her knees to her chest. “Remember that guy I told you about?”
She mimed popping like a balloon, complete with finger waggles that simulated a water-droplet shower falling all over the bedspread.
“That’s the one,” he said, trying not to smile. “He’s ready to be discharged from the hospital.”
“Oh.” She brightened. “Okay, I’ll drive.”
“You don’t have to. I can take the bus.”
The last time someone had offered to drive him somewhere, he’d been hit by runaway bank robbers. But she was already rolling out of bed in search of fresh clothes.
“I don’t mind,” she cheerfully argued. “It’ll give us more time together. Plus, I’m faster than the bus, and we can get burgers on the way. I’m starving.”
Burgers did sound good.
And she was right, even with a stop at Causwell’s for food, he definitely got there faster than the bus. They even picked up an extra burger and fries for Jim.
“Because hospital food sucks,” she said, and Ommin paid for everything. He wasn’t about to let Britney drive and pay for him too. And Jim had got breakfast that morning, anyway.
Within forty minutes of the phone call, they pulled into Kaiser Permanente parking garage. Busy as the hospital was, they circled the lot five times before they found a freshly vacated parking space. Inside the emergency room, it was even worse. Standing room only, with more than forty people waiting to be seen, filling up the waiting room chairs and resting on gurneys that lined the hallways. Fortunately, they were just picking up.
“You’re here for the weird guy,” a nurse on duty said when they stopped at her desk to ask for directions. “Yes, I know where he is. Through these doors and straight down the hall. Last room on the left.”
Ommin could feel the look she gave their backs as they walked off in the direction she’d pointed. That didn’t bode well. On the other hand, how often did this (or any) hospital receive patients capable of spontaneously bursting into puddles? He supposed he could forgive her reserve regarding the unexpected ‘weirdness’ that was Jim.
Crowded as the place was, they found Jim by himself in a medical examining room meant for three. Hooked up to an IV drip, he was also on a heart monitor with a bright red, flashing display and some pretty strange readings. Ommin wasn’t a doctor, but he’d seen pulse patterns on TV before and none of those looked anything like Jim’s. Still, whatever was wrong with his heart must have been normal for him, because they’d shut the volume off and no one was hovering over his bedside in a panic.
“Hey,” Ommin said, as he and Britney walked in.
Jim lay where he was on the examining table, a puddle of drips on the floor all around his bed. His clothes and the white paper beneath him were visibly wet. He stared at the television mounted on the wall opposite of his bed, the station turned to the news but the volume muted.
“How you feeling?” Ommin tried again.
By way of an answer, Jim picked up the remote attached to his bed and turned the volume on the TV on.
“This is just amazing,” the male broadcaster was saying to his female companion.
“It sure is, Mike,” the female replied. “For everyone who hasn’t yet
seen it, the footage we’re about to play is that of local superhero, Ommin the Sharkman, when earlier this morning he stopped two men fleeing the scene of a bank robbery…”
With a click, Jim shut the volume off again. Staring nowhere but at the TV, he sighed. Heavily. Through his nose.
“I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with that,” Ommin said, while the news footage of him yanking open the already crashed car door just as the police showed up played across the television screen.
“No,” Jim said calmly. “No. I know you didn’t. No more than I did, anyway. It’s just…” Brow furrowing, he rolled his head on the wet examination paper, casting a frustrated glare to the ceiling. “It’s just not fair, you know.”
Ommin started to nod, but Jim cut him off.
“Don’t,” he said sharply. “Don’t pretend that you know, because you don’t. I lost my bike today.”
Yeah, Ommin could see bits of it on the footage currently being shown on the news. It was scattered all over the street, including underneath the car where, in the black of the shadows, he could just barely make out movement—Jim slowly pulling himself back together again and gargling.
“I lost my bike,” Jim sadly repeated, “and I got splattered into a million droplets all over the pavement, six cars, nine bystanders, and you. And you ate me.”
Ommin wasn’t looking at Britney, but he could feel the force of her incredulous stare switching from semi-liquidy Jim to him. He didn’t look at her either, but very subtly shook his head. He’d feel guilty about lying to her later. Right now, it was far more important that Jim not see him lying and that she not know he’d eaten another man’s toes.
Or that one had crawled back up out of his stomach.
If Jim saw the lie, he didn’t show it. Covering his face with both hands, he groaned before throwing his arms despairingly up in the air. “What is wrong with me?” he demanded, almost tearfully.
From one dude who cried to another, Ommin felt for him.
“Is he okay?” Britney whispered, sidling closer behind him.
Ommin nodded, but Jim was not okay. Not visually—he was starting to take on a slightly translucent look, the drips were falling faster, rolling off the table onto the floor like a gentle rain, and he seemed to be having trouble maintaining his human shape. Not emotionally, either.
“No one will ever mistake me for a superhero,” he sniffed. “I was right there, and no one even saw me. They’re not going to arrest me for streaking,” he said, looking at Ommin again. “Did you know that? The officers came in to tell me that about an hour ago. Apparently, there are witnesses willing to say that car hit me so hard it knocked me out of my clothes. Like that makes so much more sense than what actually happened. Do you believe that?”
Ommin opened his mouth.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jim muttered, without waiting for an answer. “I’m not a superhero. I’m not a sharkman. I wouldn’t even make a good villain,” he said morosely.
“Oh, you don’t know that,” Britney offered helpfully.
“Yes…”
“No.” Edging closer to the bed, she hesitated only a little before patting his arm. She only did it once, then stopped, looked at her hand, wiped it surreptitiously on her pants, and then looked to Ommin for help.
“Yes, I do know,” Jim argued. “I’ve tried, but this curse”—he gestured to all of him—“it’s not good at anything. Can you see me trying to rob a bank?”
“No,” Ommin assured at the same time Britney said, “Yes.”
She said it with more confidence, winning a tentative smile from Jim in turn.
“Thanks, but you’re just trying to make me feel better. I know how useless I am.”
“You’re not useless,” Ommin said, but Jim scoffed.
“How would that work, exactly? What am I supposed to do? Puddle myself under the bank vault door, and then what? Puddle the money off the shelf? Puddle it back out again?”
Britney snapped her fingers. “No prison could hold you. It’s true,” she said, when Ommin frowned at her. “Your villainous schtick could be, like, well… Houdini. No place can hold you for long, bwa-hahaha, and all that.”
Ommin’s frown deepened. “I don’t think this is what we should be encouraging.”
“It wouldn’t work, either,” Jim added.
“Sure, it would,” she told them both. “It’s against the law to keep anyone in a place without basic plumbing. If worse came to worst, you could always flush yourself down the toilet.”
“Britney,” Ommin warned.
But Jim only said, “Trust me, it’s not as glamorous as it sounds.”
If anything, he wilted even more, at which point Ommin decided he’d had enough.
He held up the Causwell takeout bag, with its forgotten food inside. “We brought you a burger and fries.”
“Oh,” Jim perked, though if anything his tone softened, sounding even sadder than before. “How kind. I’m so hungry.”
“Then snap out of it,” Ommin ordered. “What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t even be a villain,” he mocked, giving them both identical reproving stares. Britney had the grace to blush; they were definitely going to revisit this conversation when he got her home tonight. If she was sitting without wincing by Sunday, then he will not have been the Daddy Dom he was determined to make her believe he was. “Pull yourself together, man. If you want to eat what I brought you, then stop dripping so we can get out of here without creating a slipping hazard with every step.”
Blinking, Jim said, “Is there ketchup in the bag?”
Ommin had no clue. He looked. “No.”
Jim blinked again, then shrugged. “Fine. I’m hungry anyway.” He held out his hand.
There was a special place in hell for people who did what Ommin did now, but he held the food just out of Jim’s reach and said again. “Get up. Stop dripping.”
Dropping his hands, Jim whined, bouncing in bed and slapping his thighs, spattering bits of himself that immediately turned right around and tried to come back to him. He had a leg’s worth of water pooling restlessly under the wheels of his table.
“Nope,” Ommin said sternly. “Stop whining. Use your words.”
“I can’t stop dripping,” Jim whimpered. “They gave me saline.” He squirmed and the bed squished, wet paper tearing. “It’s not gelling with me very well. “
Stifling a sigh, Ommin relented, but only a little. “You still have to get up. Come on. You’ve got an entire mini me waiting for you on the floor.”
Jim rolled over far enough to look at the floor, sloshing water as he did so. “So there is.” Heaving a sigh, he sat up with his legs dangling over the side and touched a foot to the floor.
“Oh my God,” Britney said as the water rushed through his clothes to become a part of him again. She quickly covered her mouth, but the damage was already done. Jim had heard her.
Ommin glared, and she winced, but Jim only sighed again.
“It’s okay. I’m used to it.”
Taking the takeout bag from Ommin, shoulders slumped, he walked, squishing at every step, to the discharge desk.
***
“So,” Ommin said from the front seat of the Britney’s car. “Where should we take you?”
From the backseat, takeout containers rustled. “Right here’s fine,” Jim said around a mouthful of fries.
‘Right here’ was along a busy commercial street where there were no houses or apartments. In fact, Britney was just pulling up to the red light. She looked around too, but he could tell she was thinking the same thing when she slipped Ommin a sideways glance.
Twisting in his seat, Ommin looked at Jim over the headrest. “We can take you home, Jim. We don’t mind.”
“Oh, okay.” Jim ate another fry. “Take a left at the next light, then.”
They drove in silence, with Jim periodically giving directions. Busy downtown gave way to semi-commercial districts, then semi-residential districts, and finally, just as
they were passing along the historic building complex of Aquatic Park, Jim said, “Home sweet home. We’re here.”
The next left took them onto Beach Street where they drove slowly along the historic park until they finally just pulled in as close as they could get to the cove and parked near the curb. During the day, the museum, the beach, the bocce ball courts, all of it here was a mecca for tourists and residents alike. It was dark now, however, so while there were still a few joggers, people walking dogs and in groups along the beach and pier, there were a lot of homeless now too. Ommin could tell by Britney’s open dismay that was where she was looking. He was looking across the grass and beach at the ocean.
“Jim,” he said carefully, twisting in his seat to look at him again. “Are you homeless?”
Folding the top of the takeout bag to save the rest for later, Jim managed a smile for both their benefits. “Well, you know… it’s kind of hard to maintain a job when you can’t stop leaking. It’s not so bad, really. I just find a quiet place to puddle and no one bothers me while I’m sleeping.” Popping the door open, he started to get out, then paused long enough to say, “Your seat’s a little wet. Sorry about that.”
Britney held it together long enough for him to get out, but as soon as the door closed, her jaw dropped. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “That poor guy!”
It was worse than she knew. That ‘poor guy’ had bought him coffee and croissants. With money he’d gotten from who knew where and which he surely couldn’t afford to spend. But he’d shared it with Ommin, and Ommin hadn’t even appreciated it. Not really. Not like he was appreciating it now.
“We can’t let him leave like this,” she whispered.
Ommin was thinking the same thing, but it was killing him. Jim might say he was fine, but there was no way Ommin would be able to let him walk off onto the beach to sleep in a tidepool somewhere, just so he could take Britney home, spank the hell out of her, and then spend the rest of the night pounding her into her mattress. He’d never be able to live with himself if he did.
He let his head fall back onto the seat, stifling a groan, rubbing his face, knowing what he had to do and already regretting it.