The Prince and the Punk [EDITING]

Chapter 11

Janice

I wake up wrapped in warm sheets and sunken deep into a soft mattress. It's night still, and the room is pitch black. At first, I stretch, groaning and shifting my position in an attempt to burrow deeper into the bed. My cheeks sting from the cold air seeping through the windows and creeping into any skin I have exposed.

Suddenly, I remember that my bed is not this comfortable. Confused and disoriented, I bolt upright, only to hiss in pain as the bruises covering my stomach protest the abrupt movement.

"Janice?"

I recognize Xavier's voice, and the events of the day come rushing back.

"Yeah," I reply. "Sorry. I sort of forgot where I was." I lie down again, eager to dive back into the snuggly warmth that is his bed. "What time is it?"

A phone screen illuminates his face a few yards to my left. "4:30," he says.

"Damn. What are you doing up? It's late as fuck—no, early as fuck." I pause. "Wait, where are you?"

"The floor," he responds, answering both my questions.

"Oh. Sorry, I didn't mean to steal your bed. It's cold out—you've gotta be freezing."

"No, it's fine. It's always cold in here, anyway. Downside of living in a house this big. I'm used to it." I can almost hear him shrug.

"You don't have to be so selfless, you know. I'm happy to give up the bed. Or we can share it."

There's a really awkward pause as I realize what I've just suggested.

"Shit, I didn't mean—"

"No, it's fine." I'm relieved to hear only amusement in his voice. "Try and get some more sleep and we'll figure something out in the morning."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Alright, well... goodnight," I say groggily. "Or, morning."

"'Night, Janice."

It doesn't take long for me to drift back to sleep.

- - - -

The sun wakes me up a few hours later. Xavier is still asleep on the floor, and in the light, I can see that he's lying on a single blanket and a pillow. He's clearly out cold, so I let him sleep.

Tiptoeing around him, I make my way to the bathroom. I barely recognize my bruised, scabbing face in the mirror. I try splashing some water on it, which helps a bit.

I check my forearm where the Dic cut me. A faint line of blood seeps through the gauze taped around it, making the outline of the Anti-Dictator symbol. I find more gauze in Xavier's medicine cabinet and swap it with the old, bloody stuff. The bleeding has stopped, and nothing vital seems to be severed. I change the Band-Aids on my arms and knees before getting dressed.

I sigh, needing a shower but not wanting to overstep my bounds as a guest.

I sit back down on the edge of the bed, looking around Xavier's room now that the daylight allows for visibility. This one room is three times the size of my apartment, and a trillion times more elegant. The ceiling is high, the walls a light, neutral grey. It's decorated but plain, without much to actually reflect Xavier.

A mahogany desk sits in one corner. On it, a small stack of papers is overshadowed by an advanced and expensive-looking computer setup. Huge windows run from the ceiling to the floor, and behind their maroon curtains, there's surely a gorgeous view of the city.