I have no money for food, not even a pack of gum. My stomach cramps from emptiness, but that’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest. That gnawing, hollowed-out feeling that says I ruined the only thing that ever felt real.
By the time the bus pulls into the downtown L.A. terminal, I feel like I’ve been skinned alive. I step off on shaky legs, too numb to cry, too raw to breathe right. The world around me is a blur of neon signs and exhaust fumes, people yelling and rushing past like I’m invisible.
My hands tremble as I ask the lady if there’s a phone I can use to call a ride. She looks irritated but sets it on the counter for me. My fingers fumble with the buttons until I finally dial the one number that feels like a lifeline. It rings twice.
“Hello?” Tish sounds groggy. Slightly annoyed.
“Tish?” My voice cracks on the second syllable. “It’s… it’s Charlotte.”
A beat of silence. “Charlotte? Oh my God. Where are you?”
“I’m at the bus station downtown,” I whisper. “Can you come get me?”
My voice breaks on the last word, and I have to press my hand to my mouth to stop the sob building in my throat.
“Charlotte?” Her tone flips in an instant, the sleep gone, replaced by urgency. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “No.”
“I’ll be there as fast as I can, I swear. Just hang on. Don’t move.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, barely holding it together.
I hang up and slump against the wall, curling my arms around myself like a shield, trying not to come undone in the middle of a bus station full of strangers.
Tish arrives forty minutes later, skidding to a stop in front of the station like she broke every traffic law to get here. I don’t wait. I run straight into her arms, and she catches me like she knew I was falling.
We hug like it’s been years instead of two weeks. My face presses into her shoulder, and I breathe in the familiar scent of her perfume. It almost breaks me again.
“Come on, babe,” she murmurs, her voice gentle, solid. “Let’s get you home.”
She doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t press. She just drives.
The city rolls past us in blurs of gray and neon, but I barely register any of it. I sit in the passenger seat like a ghost of myself, clutching my bus ticket like it might explain everything I can’t.
When we get to my apartment, I realize I don’t even have keys. I beg the apartment manager to let me in, my voice cracking, eyes burning. It takes a few minutes and a promiseto pay the lock change fee, but finally the door opens, and I step inside.
Only then do I exhale.
The air feels still, untouched, like it’s been waiting for me. Tish steps in behind me.
“You want to talk about it,” she asks softly, “or do you want to sleep?”
“Sleep,” I whisper.
“Okay, babe.”
She doesn’t push.
Instead, she gently takes my arm and leads me to my bedroom. The bedding’s still the same from the day I left. She pulls it back without a word, her movements careful, like I might shatter.
“I’ll be here when you wake up,” she says, brushing a hand down my arm.
I nod, throat thick with everything I can’t say.
Then I climb into bed, curling onto my side, and as soon as the door closes?—
The first sob tears out of me.
