Tetris in Red

02: Tetris in Benadryl

02: Tetris in Benadryl

Rhys

My lungs seem to stop pumping oxygen into my body. Tears burn my eyes. My shoulders shake as I cough out the specks of dust gathering in my throat. I hold my hand up to say that I need a second as another wave of sneezes stroke my stuffy, swollen nose.

I can't even fathom how embarrassing this is as I struggle to breathe out of my mouth. There's no way the air can weave through the mucus accumulating inside my nostrils.

"This is so original and your acting was phenomenal indeed." I hear him say. "But if you would please kindly stop this nonsense right this second, I would truly appreciate it."

Here I was, fucking dying, and this bastard still thinks I'm playing? How do you even fake snot?

I exhale two more coughs before inhaling a huge gulp of air. My voice is dry as I say, "B-Benadryl... I n-need... Benadryl."

The bastard rolls his eyes. "I'm not falling for it. Try again."

I begin to grit my teeth in frustration—

My mouth opens involuntarily as my nose prepares for its next attack.

Then something happens. Something I don't—for the life of me—predict when I was planning to sneak into his room. I sneeze, so hard, some mucus on my nose retreat back to my throat while a huge bead of it runs down my nose and sticks to my lips. It's so green and extremely solid that I'll run in mortification if I'm getting enough air.

Instead, the tears welling up in my eyes fall down my cheeks, as mortification seizes my whole being.

"Oh... my... god..." I breathe. "If y-you... don't want... death i-in your ha...nds." I close my eyes as my nose threatens another series of humiliation. "Benadryl."

The incredulity in his voice is apparent. "Holy hell. You're serious."

I'm going to punch this guy, I swear to God.

"Hold on a sec."

His feet shuffle in alarm before he runs out of the bedroom. I take calming breaths, trying to avert my mind from my current situation. Goddamn filthy rich dust mites living under a thousand-dollar bed.

He comes back in less than a minute. The fire in my lungs hasn't settled yet. My nose, however, isn't as itchy but it still hasn't allowed me to breathe. My mouth remains partly open to do the task.

He leans down in front of me and awkwardly hands me a tissue. Well, he does it with a grimace and a soundless ew. I know it's disgusting but I still fight an eye roll as I clean myself.

"Here."

I take the Benadryl capsule from his hand without hesitation and snatch the glass of water before he can offer it.

I can't read his face, but the way his eyes soften and his guarded stance gone, it seems like he's not in a rush to throw me out. "Bet you could use more tissues as well."

Muttering a 'thank you', I grab the stack of tissue from his hand and blow my nose in a very unladylike manner. In front of him. Alec MacSweeny. The most coveted Rock Star. This is the worst day of my life. Swallow me whole, ground!

I inhale and exhale several times, but there are still a lot of them in my nose. It takes a healthy amount of minutes, when it becomes a little bearable, a little short of annoying.

I sigh in relief as my back leans against the side of his bed, trying not to cringe as what happened in the past few minutes keeps replaying in my mind. "Thank you."

No response.

My eyes flutter open to see him staring at me. There's a crease between his brows and his mouth is formed into a thin line. I can almost see the wheels working inside his skull, placing me somewhere in his memories but comes up short.

My stomach plummets yet I'm glad that he doesn't recognize me. Why will he? He must have seen millions of faces in the short amount of time we'd been apart. I don't even care if I'm exaggerating. Besides, how many days did we even spend together? Two? Three? One?

My eyes start to droop as the silence continues, my limbs drained of energy. I try to stand, wanting to leave when he put a hand on my shoulder, "You can stay."

Alec

I'm insane. Officially, certifiably insane.

I just offered an unknown, Benadryl-induced woman to sleep in my room. It's reckless of me. Dangerous.

I know if someone is hearing my thoughts right now, they will probably judge me as arrogant. But I've had enough experiences of unknown women coming to my hotel room that can last a lifetime.

It's horrendous.

I can't even put into words how dehumanizing most of those moments are. A lot of them I found naked on my bed after I returned from a concert or a recording session, trying to get me to fuck them so that they had something to tell their friends. Some of them tried to get through my things or just hide somewhere, wanting to find something scandalous or catch me in a compromising position, for a couple of bucks.

It's annoying, objectifying, my life.

I look at the redhead who is fast asleep in my bed. Her nose and cheeks are still red, and the skin under her eyes is swollen. Yet, even though she looks like a mess, her hair and clothes askew from hiding under my bed, it's clear that she's a beautiful woman and very much familiar. Too bad I can't place her anywhere in my mind, though.

Her skin is pale and freckles are spattered on her cheeks and on the bridge of her little, button-up nose. She has downturned lips that I bet will make her whole face bloom when she smiles. Her ginger hair is cut in a short bob, just an inch above her slim shoulder. She's a doll.

But why is she here? What did she want? Who the hell is she?

I gather her in my arms and gently place her on the bed. She doesn't even stir. A sigh leaves my lips as I study her again. I probably need to change my hotel room. No way will I sleep in here with a strange woman, praying the whole time that she's not a serial killer.

I find my phone resting beside her sneaker-clad feet. Grabbing it, my fingers immediately dial Holland. Loud music blasts in my ears before his voice reaches the speaker. "Where are you? Don't tell me you ran away with that blonde. She didn't even sign an NDA yet—"

"I need to change my hotel room."

A pause. "Why?"

I look back at the woman, but her breathing remains even. "There's a woman in here. She'll probably need medical assistance as well."

The pause is longer. He clears his throat when I didn't reply. "Red light?"

Red light is a code we use when we don't have time to explain or we need to talk about something that no one should hear. We have three—yellow, green and red. It's something the band came up with when we needed to take action fast and talk later. "Yes."

"Pack your things and wait for me in my room. I asked the concierge to give you a keycard. It should be above the drawers beside the door."

"Thanks, Holland."

I hang up and pack my things.

Somewhere in my gut told me that I should stay...

I leave the room anyway.