Jasmine
The diner smells like burnt coffee and old grease, the kind that clings to your clothes and follows you home. Not that I have a home to go back to. Just when I’d started making something of myself here in Las Vegas, it all fell to shit at the hands of a man I thought I loved. Who I thought loved me.
I sit in the corner booth because it has the flickering lightbulb overhead, and right now the dimmer it is, the better. Less chance anyone will notice the state I’m in. Less chance I’ll catch sight of myself in the window and see how far I’ve fallen.
My hands shake when I wrap them around the mug. It’s lukewarm, the taste bitter enough to scrape the back of my throat, but it’s something solid to hold onto. Something that reminds me I’m still here. Still breathing. Still running.
The waitress gives me a look on her way past. Her name, Janey-Ann, is embroidered in dark orange thread over her yellow uniform. She’s been pretending not to notice that I’ve been nursing this same cup of coffee for an hour. She probably knows exactly what I am. A girl with no money, no sleep, and no idea what she’s doing. She pauses beside my booth and leans down like she’s telling me a secret.
"I’ll top you up one more time, honey." Her voice is soft, the kind of soft that hits harder than any cruelty. "Then you should get some rest."
My throat locks up. I nod because speaking might break me apart. The coffee splashes into my mug and she moves on like she didn’t just keep me afloat for one more minute.
I stare at the steam curling upward. My reflection blurs in the brown liquid beneath it. I prefer it that way. If I look directly at myself, I’ll see Jasmine who used to have a life. Jasmine who used to sleep through the night without jolting awake at the sound of a car door. Jasmine who believed she could outrun the man who swore to never let her go.
I down the last of the coffee and push the mug away before sliding out of the booth. The few dollars I have left sit folded in my pocket. They’re not enough for anything, not enough for a motel, barely enough for a bus ride. Every option feels like stepping into quicksand.
My ribs ache as I come to fully stand and I clench my teeth against the pain. The bruise there is still fresh. I’m lucky. If he had caught me sneaking out of the hospital, I’d be dead. All because he got mad when he messed up on a job.
I berate myself for the hundredth time. How did I not see what he was when we first met? He was charming and generous. Cagey about his work but I just figured he was in Las Vegas for a vacation, that he decided to stay because he fell hard and fast for me. Like I did him.
At least I thought I did.
I was so fucking blind.
Outside, the night stretches wide and glittering. Vegas hums like a living thing, lights blinking bright enough to drown out every bad decision this city has ever hosted. I stand on the curb and breathe in the cold air. It stings my throat in a good way. It reminds me I’m still capable of feeling something other than fear and pain.
I should go back to the bus station. I should leave this city before he realizes I’m gone and catches up with me. I should be smart.
Instead, I find myself walking toward the brightness of the Strip.
It isn’t long before the sidewalks are filled with people moving to and from different casinos, different hotels. Women wearing glittery bikini’s and great big feathers on their heads offer photographs to everyone who walks by.
I’ve been on the strip before. It’s alive in a unique way. Not just with people, but with sounds and lights and smells. They say there’s nowhere else on Earth like it, and even though I’ve never left Nevada, I believe them.
When the temperature drops further and my bruised ribs ache too much from walking, I slip through the next set of automatic doors. I’m somewhere near the Belagio, having ducked through the crowds who have stopped to watch the fountains.
People stream through the doors in clusters, laughing, shouting, clinging to hope with the kind of reckless optimism I can’t afford anymore. But something tugs at me. Something quiet and desperate.
One spin. One chance. One stupid, ridiculous moment where luck might look my way and tell me I’m not doomed to keep running until I collapse and he catches me.
My heart thuds as I enter the windowless space, checking over my shoulder for the millionth time today as the doors swish closed behind me.
Warm air hits my skin. Lights swirl above me like stars trapped in a glass dome. The sound of machines chiming and coins clattering fills the enormous room. It almost overwhelms me, but I take a deep breath and force myself steady. The noisewraps around me. It makes it harder to hear my own thoughts. Harder to focus on anything other than the here and now.
I take a breath and step further inside.
For the first time in months, I’m not thinking about where he is. I’m thinking about where I might be going. Maybe that’s foolish. Maybe it’s dangerous. Maybe walking into a casino with my last few dollars is the rawest form of self-delusion. Or self-destruction.
Only it’s the first time in weeks, or even months, that I feel a flicker of something small and bright.
Hope.
I cling to it. Even if it is only for tonight. Even if it breaks apart as soon as the last of my money is gone.
I step forward, deeper into the spectacle of lights and sound, and pull the last few dollars from my pocket.
There’s only one slot machine available. I uncrumple the twenty dollar bill as I sit in front of it. I stroke out the crests between my thumb and forefinger, expecting myself to come to my senses, but I don’t.
