My name stops me.
I turn, and he’s walking toward me now. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just deliberate. And suddenly I’m not sure whether he’s my mistake or my warning. “I was wondering if you’re up for it,” he says, almost casually. “A little escape. I want to show you something.”
A little escape.
Those words have ended badly for women in every true crime documentary I’ve ever watched. I should say no. I really should. But there’s something in the way he says it. Not pushy. Not rehearsed.
Just certain.
And certainty is dangerous.
“Just so you know,” I say, lifting my arm slightly, “my sister implanted a tracker in me. She can see my location at all times.”
His mouth twitches. “That’s… concerning. But also impressive. I’ve never met a walking GPS before.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” I say.
The words sit between us longer than they should. He steps just a fraction closer, not enough to crowd me, just enough to shift the air. I catch a trace of his cologne. Clean. Subtle. Uncomplicated.
“Meet me here at five,” he says. “Get some sleep. Get ready.”
“Ready for what?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. That almost-smile again.
“An adventure,” he says. “Trust me.”
Trust. That word shouldn’t feel sharp. But it does. He walks away like he already assumes I’ll show up. And I hate that he might be right. Upstairs, the elevator doors slide open with a quiet chime. The hallway is long. Carpeted. Muted. Room numbers line the walls in clean, brushed metal. 102, 104, 106. I drag my suitcase behind me, the wheels sounding too loud against the thick carpet.
108.
I slide the key card in. The light blinks green. For a second, I just stand there, hand still on the handle. Inside is temporary. Neutral. No memories yet.
I push the door open. It smells staged. A space designed to be occupied, not inhabited. I drop my bag near the desk and kick off my shoes without looking where they land. The city hums faintly beyond the window, distant and uncaring. I lie back on the hotel bed and stare at the ceiling.
It’s perfectly smooth. No cracks. Untouched. There’s a stranger downstairs offering me something undefined and there’s a man back home who already shattered something I can’t put back together.
One is a risk and the other is a guarantee.
I can go downstairs with a man I barely know, a man who could ruin me in ways I haven’t even imagined or I can go back to the one who already has. Those are my options. And somewhere between recklessness and humiliation is me. Trying to decide which damage I’m more willing to survive.
My hand drifts to my ring. The gold band catches the faint light from the lamp beside the bed. I stare at it for a long moment.
Once upon a time, that ring meant something simple. I remember Dominic in our kitchen on Sunday mornings, flour on his hands becausehe insisted he could make pancakes better than any restaurant. I remember the way he used to pull me toward him while I was trying to cook, spinning me around the kitchen like we were dancing.
The way we laughed when the music was too loud and we couldn’t hear each other, shouting the wrong lyrics anyway. I remember long drives with the windows down, his hand on my thigh while he sang terribly to songs on the radio. The way he used to look at me like I was the only person in the room.
We were playful once. Careless. Happy.
My chest tightens so suddenly it steals the air from my lungs. The ache spreads slowly, like something heavy sinking through my ribs.
It feels like drowning. Like you’re sinking deeper and deeper under dark water, your chest burning for air while the surface grows farther away. And for one quiet moment you almost wish death would come, just to end the panic, the pressure, the endless sinking.
But it doesn’t. You just keep drowning. The pain doesn’t stop. My chest is burning with screams. A sob rips out of me before I can stop it. I grab the pillow and press it over my mouth, trying to swallow the sound, curling into myself until my knees pull up to my chest.
The tears won’t stop. They shake through my body, harsh and broken, until my throat hurts and my eyes burn and the room blurs around me. I cry like that for what feels like forever. Until exhaustion finally drags me under.
And somewhere between the sobs and the silence, I fall asleep.