Page 6 of Cara

So terrified that when I spotted that neon vacancy sign flashing, it didn’t matter where I was. Xavier would’ve told me to get off the streets, so I do just that, pushing my shuddering legs up crooked steps coated in colorful chalk.

The old man behind the counter has his bare feet on the mahogany surface, a beer chilling his hand. A boxing match holds his attention, even as I fumble through what little I know of his language to ask if there’s a vacancy. He doesn’t understand that he’s one of the first people I’ve spoken to in months who isn’t a complete monster. He doesn’t understand how difficult it is to be alone in this room with him.

He responds in English, not bothering to turn down the television. “You pay upfront.”

I nod, handing over a wad of euros, hoping it’s enough.

Silver eyebrows slant with intrigue as he takes his time counting the bills, his eyes drifting from the money to my hand gripping the hell out of the side of the counter.

My legs are going to give out.

“That should be enough for a week,” he says eventually, taking in the bruises peeking out from under my hair, the scabbed cut on my lip. For a moment, I’m waiting for him to toss the bills right back in my face, knowing I'm not worth the trouble I could cause.

But instead, he reaches under the counter and stands up. Barely containing my relief, I watch him produce a room key, telling me to follow him. “Volume stays under ten. Any more, and you’ll definitely get complaints. Don’t ask for towels or extra toiletries unless you wanna be charged more.”

“Bien.”

The stairs creak as we climb to the second floor.

The striped wallpaper is peeling from the ceiling, water damage spreading in brown spots.

I'm too exhausted to feel, let alone care about where I’ll lay my head tonight.

Anythingis better than where I was yesterday.

“This will be your room.”

Room 5C has a forest-green door that’s peeling as badly as the walls. My eyes linger on the peephole as we enter. Another thing Xavier would have focused on. The first overwhelming stench is food—days-oldfood that’s seeped into the walls.

The old man starts the air conditioning unit with a slam of his knee. “If you need something, come to the lobby. The phone in this room doesn’t work.”

It doesn’t matter that I’ve been swindled.

Not even Xavier’s voice of reason, a voice that houses protection itself, insisting I leave to find a decent place to stay matters now.

I just want this stranger to leave.

The door closes.

Dead silence fills the space.

My side cramps, forcing me to keel, digging my fingers into my flesh. Whether it’s my ribs or some other broken place inside of me, I'm not sure. It’s been a constant ache. Pushing past it, I grab a note secured to the side of the mini fridge, removing the tape. I place it over the inside of the peephole, testing out the lock underneath it.It’ll do.

My back molds to the door as I take in my surroundings in the darkness. The lamp over the poor excuse of a kitchenette is off. There’s a two-seater table, a twin-size bed covered with outdated bedding, a television against the wall, and a leather loveseat facing it. Nothing else.

A strange room in a strange place.

Maybe it’s some kind of coping mechanism—the way my mind transforms the room around me into one of comfort. I envision porcelain china on the table, bouquets of wildflowers accented by white lilies by every window, a lived-in wool suit thecolor of seashells draped over the end of a chair, a white Polaroid camera resting on a nightstand beside a dozen photos taken in fits of laughter.

I can still hear us echoing around me as the mirage of my newlywed home dissipates into mere memory.

My world was never wholly beautiful. Beneath the grandeur lay a plethora of corpses that paved our way of life. Even as a married woman, free from my father’s temper, those corpses followed my husband, too.

It may have not been beautiful every day, buthewas.

Although I swore I never would, I feel the sting of regret in my gut.

You should have let him take out Victoria.