I barely slept last night.
It wasn’t the room. The room was comfortable. The mattress was a hell of a lot softer than the back seat of my car, and the room was warm, clean, lived-in. A strange tightness settles beneath my ribs. Comfort feels unfamiliar, almost suspicious, like something I’m not meant to touch for long.
Beyond the steady patter of rain against the windows, the apartment sat in complete silence.
Last night, when CJ had shown me the room, I noticed it overlooked the bay. I still don’t know why I said yes. A stranger offered me a bed for a few nights and expected nothing in return.
In my experience, that was wrong.
Adrian always expected something in exchange for every act of kindness, and it usually ended with me getting hurt. For most people, the best night’s sleep they’d had in a while would be comforting.
For me…
It was terrifying.
Terrifying because it felt…safe.
My pulse spikes. My fingers curl into the blanket, gripping it as if it might anchor me. Safety shouldn’t feel dangerous, but it does.
I woke half a dozen times during the night.
Nightmares ripped me awake, screams trapped in my throat, sweat clinging to my skin. My heart hammered so violently I thought it might bruise my ribs from the inside. Every shadow in the room looked like a threat.
Once, I woke convinced Adrian had found me. Another time, I couldn’t remember where I was at all.
By five-thirty, I’d given up.
I drag a hand down my face and stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out the quickest and politest way to leave. A hollow ache spreads through my chest. Leaving feels safer, but the thought of stepping back into the world alone makes my stomach twist.
I need to keep moving. Need to get to my car. CJ insisted I come home with him last night, which, in the light of day, I probably should have followed him.
I don’t know him, or what he wants. My breath shortens, as the uncertainty presses against my ribs, sharp and unwelcome. And I definitely don’t understand why he offered me this room.
My gaze drifts around it instead. Soft grey walls. Framed photographs, some of places around Campbell River I actually recognize. I’ve been here nearly three weeks now, never staying in one place long enough to draw attention.
There are personal items around the room A bookshelf; A couple of plants beside the window.
They look fake. I reach out and brush a leaf with my fingertips. Nope. Real.
The softness surprises me. A quiet warmth spreads through my chest, small but real, like a reminder that gentle things still exist, and a smile tugs unexpectedly at my mouth.
If they were mine, they’d already be dead. I can’t keep plants alive to save myself. That’s why I never had pets. Adrian always said that if I couldn’t manage a houseplant, there was no way I could handle the responsibility of an animal.
I’d love a dog, though; Maybe one day I can get one.
The thought hits harder than it should. A quiet ache settles beneath my sternum, the kind that comes from wanting something you’ve never been allowed to have.
I climb out of bed and pull the curtains open.
We’re not right on the waterfront, but I see the bay stretches farther than I can see. Forest-covered mountains rise in the distance, their peaks swallowed by low clouds where flashes of snow peek through.
The water lies calm beneath the overcast sky, blue-grey and endless, and my lungs expand fully for the first time since yesterday. The view feels like breathing without fear. Fishing boats bob quietly beside the harbor while men move back and forth along the piers, loading gear for the day ahead.
It’s breathtaking.
The apartment remains quiet as I pull on my jeans and sweatshirt. I shove everything back into my duffel, ready for a quick exit. Pausing, I listen.
Nothing.
