On Her Own

Celeste had never left home alone like this before.

The few times she'd wandered out, it was just to the bookstore, and even then, the streets felt different during the day—bustling with purpose and hurry. But now, it was night.

The roads were still crowded, but there was a kind of relaxed energy in the air as if everything had shifted into a slower, almost dreamlike state. The cars no longer raced by in a hurry; their headlights cut through the darkness lazily, and the sounds of the city had softened into a low hum. 

In the shadows of the sidewalk, Celeste walked lazily. She had been walking for hours, slowly losing speed as she half-sprinted away from home. But now, as she left the suburbs behind and entered the city, her mind started to scream at her about what she had done. Worse, her heart was chewing her out for abandoning her family. 

There was no telling how this would end for them, but if she had run away, the blame would fall completely on her. Hopefully, Erickson's wrath wouldn't be too severe, Celeste thought, realizing, as the anger subsided, that she had no idea where to go.

Celeste glanced around, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the world around her.

The shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally, curving and moving in a way that made her feel like she was being watched. The tall trees lining the suburban streets outside her neighborhood had never looked like this before—like they were closing in on her, their branches twisting in the corners of her vision.

Celeste wasn't used to this feeling—the way the night wrapped around her, whispering secrets in the spaces between the distant streetlights. But she didn't have the luxury of fear right now. She had already made her decision. 

With a deep breath, she flagged down a cab. The driver barely glanced at her as she climbed in, but she didn't care. In the silence, she gave him a piece of paper. 

"City center, please." 

"Sure thing, miss," he said, then started driving again. 

Just like she'd asked, the cab dropped her in the center of the city, and it was a stark, intoxicating contrast. 

The streets were alive with energy, the bright lights flashing off shop windows and the hum of conversation filling the air. Restaurants produced delicious smells and spilled laughter out onto the sidewalks. High-end stores stood with extravagant window displays, their lights casting shadows over the perfectly manicured streets.

People moved in a rhythm of their own—stylish, confident, but something about them unsettled her. Women wore tight, glittering clothes that clung to their bodies, their laughter too loud, their steps too quick. Men in sharp suits glanced around, their eyes lingering on strangers like they were on the hunt.

Celeste opened her phone and looked for the cheapest motels in the city, usually wedged in strange, hard-to-find corners. A good place for her to rest while she thought about where to go next.

She had a few good ideas of what she could do: janitorial jobs that offered a room in the school, live-in maid, contracted factory worker, or if she went east, tea leaf picker. They all offered some kind of accommodation along with the job. As hard as it would be, it couldn't be harder than living in constant fear. 

With a map showing her the direction, Celeste started walking toward a motel called Dovey's Love Cabin, which she found rather strange, but it was the closest and cheapest she could find.

Celeste continued through smaller alleys, where waitresses, chefs, and live band musicians stood smoking on their breaks. Their eyes followed her as she walked past them.

It was almost three in the morning when Celeste finally found the small motel hidden in the red brick wall. Dovey's Love Cabin looked nothing like a love cabin Celeste had imagined.

It looked more like a small insurance office, with blacked-out windows, a single commercial black door, hundreds of cigarette butts scattered around a full-standing ashtray, and broken glass on the door fixed with duct tape. 

The only indication that it was a motel was the small pink neon sign that hung crookedly from a nine-inch nail.

The light inside was dim and hazy, casting the entrance in an eerie glow. The window beside the door was cracked, and she could just make out the outline of a small lobby, barely illuminated by power-saving bulbs.

Celeste swallowed, then pushed the door open. The bell above it jingled softly as she walked to the reception. The air inside was stale, and the faint smell of old cigarette smoke lingered, mixing with the musty scent of cheap carpet. She looked around, her eyes adjusting to the dimness. 

Behind a worn-out counter, a sleepy-looking man stared at her from under the brim of a hat. His eyes were heavy as if he'd seen too many late-night visitors come through. 

She didn't say anything, just started writing on paper and waited as he typed something into the register. His movements were sluggish, his attention far from sharp.

"Room 5," he mumbled after a moment, sliding a key across the counter.

"One hour or two-hour stay?" he asked, his tired eyes closing for a second too long before opening again, only looking up when Celeste didn't answer. 

"Are you here to see someone?" he asked, which made Celeste blush. She shook her head. No wonder the prices were so cheap. She handed him the paper.

"Can I stay for a night or two?"

"No. It's an hour or three max." 

"Please, I don't have anywhere else to go and I don't have that much money," Celeste wrote quickly. The man behind the counter leaned back as if she had asked him to plow a rice field alone. He glanced at the clock mounted on the wall behind him, then glanced at Celeste. 

"Fine. But before ten, you need to be out of here. Don't make me regret helping you." 

Celeste nodded, her throat tightening, and quickly handed him a few bills. Her fingers brushed the cold metal key as she took it, the weight of it suddenly feeling much heavier than it should. She turned, her heart pounding in her ears, and stepped into the hallway behind the counter.

As she made her way down the narrow corridor, she glanced at the other doors. Each one looked the same: worn, and neglected, like they hadn't been opened in months. And yet, she heard strange groans and moans coming from them—sounds she had never heard before. So, before anyone could come out, Celeste quickly walked to Room 5 and slid the key into the lock. The door creaked open, and she stepped inside.

The room was small, just big enough for a bed and a battered wooden dresser. The dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling buzzed softly, flickering occasionally, casting eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper. The air was heavy with the faint scent of sweat and… man. A thin, lumpy mattress sat in the center of the room, its white sheets tangled and crumpled. The curtains, a faded floral pattern, were open, but she still couldn't see anything through the black tint.

There was no water or any sort of amenities, only a few packs of condoms—some open, the used items thrown in the bin. Celeste stepped back in disgust when a sound came from the door.

"Room service," a male voice said. 

Celeste frowned, slowly walking to the door as if the stranger could kick it down at any moment. She tried to look for who it was, but there was no peephole. 

There was silence, then he said: 

"So you don't want the water and peanuts? Standard delivery for every room, Miss," he explained.

Celeste's heart loosened. "Oh," she thought.

Celeste opened the door, taken aback when three men stood there, their faces carved by shadows from the dim light. Even from where she stood, they reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. She moved to close the door, but the man in the front was faster. His large body pushed through, sending her sprawling to the ground. 

Celeste staggered to her feet, her hand reaching for her phone, but a hand grabbed her ankle and pulled her back. She tried to scream just as an elbow pressed heavily against her throat, sending blood rushing to her head. 

Celeste thrashed, and kicked, her hands reaching out to claw at the man's face. His elbow pressed harder against her throat as she felt hands touching her body like tentacles. She pushed her knees together as hard as she could. 

Then, suddenly, a hard blow landed on her cheek, sending a sharp sting radiating across her face. Her vision blurred at the edges. 

Celeste's head throbbed, and for a moment, she thought she might throw up from the shock and pain. But it wasn't the worst thing—though that was bad too—it was the sudden wave of emptiness that slammed into her chest. 

Her mother's face flashed in her mind, the way her dark hair had always fallen softly over her shoulders, her gentle smile, the warmth that had once made everything feel safe. The memory of her laugh, now a ghost, twisted in Celeste's mind, pulling her back to a time when things hadn't been so broken. 

She could almost hear her mother's soothing voice, calling her name softly, as if to keep her grounded. But the memory was fleeting, slipping away as the darkness closed in and dragged her to nothing.