Betrayed ✔️

Chapter 7: "Comfort"

JAY

SHE'S CRYING.

She's crying and asking for a moment alone.

What should I do?

Logically, the best course of action would be doing what she asked me to do. But is that what she really wanted? People. So confusing.

I slipped into my room and frantically called Nathan.

"Come on, come on, come on," I muttered, biting the dead skin around my nails. Finally, he picked up, "Nate!"

"The hell you want now?" He asked between suffocated yawns.

"The Analyst. She's crying."

"How is that my problem?"

"What do I do?"

"Go comfort her."

"How do I do that?"

"Start with hugs."

"With what?" As if I could do that with her.

I heard him sigh and there was a rustle as he- I assumed- sat up. "Look, Jay, I know you've always been emotionally unavailable–"

"Hey!"

"–but right now, you need to put on your big boy trousers, go comfort her and LET ME SLEEP!"

"Isn't it like nine am for you–"

Beep.

He hung up on me.

He actually hung up on me.

Whatever, I'll spam him during his meeting later as revenge for this affront against my pride.

I put my phone away and tried preparing myself. I huffed out a few breaths. "Okay, okay, okay. I can do this." I stopped when I realised I was doing little jumps on the spot.

I slowly opened the door, clicking my tongue against my teeth as the hinges creaked like old bones being crushed under a pestle. God I regret picking this disgusting hotel. I softly padded over to Wilson, mentally preparing myself for the task ahead.

Wilson was sitting on the half-broken chair, her head resting against the cool platform as she took deep, shuddering breaths. Her shoulder shook with each barely suppressed sob and she squeezed her eyes shut, as if trying to retreat to the depths of her mind.

Tentatively, I stretched my arm, reluctantly uncurled my fists and went to pat her three times in quick succession on the back.

She hiccupped and raised her head to look at me. "What was that?"

I tried to play off my inelegance with a shrug. "Comfort."

"You suck at comforting."

"I am aware." I didn't even bother hiding the truth for once.

Awkwardness crept into the room, broken only by her quiet sniffles filling the air.

"Do you, uh," I cleared my throat and lowered myself in the chair furthest from Wilson- just in case I said something stupid and she tried to hit me. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really." Good, less work for me to do.

"That's a relief. I suck at talking too."

That got a weak laugh. Hey, maybe I don't suck that much at talking.

I glanced at the tarnished kettle standing alone on the small kitchen counter. An idea started forming inside my head- a secure way to outline a temporary truce with the Analyst.