Chapter 72: Aidan Wilson’s Guide to Being Played Like a Fiddle
Micah slept through the day, buried beneath layers of soft hotel bedding. Enjoying the cool air conditioner breeze, he didn’t even stir as sunlight brightened the hotel room through the gaps in the curtains.
When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself in an unfamiliar room. His mind, sluggish and disoriented, took a second to realise where he was. Rolling to the side, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and winced at the time.
"Past two..." he muttered. "Damn..."
The moment he sat up, his stomach let out a monstrous growl. "Ah, I haven’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch!"
Dragging himself to the edge of the bed, he picked up the room service menu and ordered half of it.
When the food finally arrived, Micah devoured it like a man possessed. He didn’t bother with manners, forks clattered, soup splashed, and ketchup stained his fingers. Only when the plates were emptied and the tray resembled a battlefield did he lean back with a satisfied sigh.
"Uugh..." he burped, rubbing his stomach with one hand. Accidentally touching the bruise, he winced.
"Shit. I should buy some ointment," he mumbled.
Feeling alive again after sufficient sleep and eating his fill, he stood up slowly. Tousling his hair, Micah slipped his phone and wallet into his pocket and stepped out of the hotel.
The air outside was warm and sticky, filled with the scent of roasted peanuts and fried dough from nearby vendors. He wandered until he found a pharmacy tucked between a noodle shop and a toy store.
A bell chimed as he stepped inside. Micah walked toward the shelves, grabbing the first anti-inflammatory and pain relief ointment he saw.