Exhausted

Ellen stood outside, her breath curling in the cold air, a thin, fleeting ghost of warmth against the night.

Her suitcase and holdall sat on the pavement beside her. She wore her backpack, the weight of it pressing into her shoulders, straps biting into sore muscles. Her body ached in the kind of way that no stretch or shift in posture could fix . . . deep, marrow-deep, like she’d been wrung out and left to dry.

The street was empty.

She exhaled, watching the vapour rise and disappear. A useless, fleeting thing.

Somewhere in the distance, a dustbin crashed over. A cat or a rat, maybe. Further still, the faint wail of police sirens stitched through the quiet, distant but constant, like a reminder. The kind of sound that never really went away in this part of the city.

The sky had lightened just a little.

Not quite morning.

Not quite night.

Almost 4 AM, she figured.

Ellen swallowed, her throat dry.

Her stomach felt hollow, a gnawing ache curling low in her gut. It was hunger, but not the sharp, stabbing kind . . . this was worse. The kind that felt like it had been sitting there too long, like her body had already started to accept it.

She hadn’t eaten today. Didn’t have the money.

She needed to stretch what little she had. Not just for food, but for the hotel. For tomorrow. For the next day.

Except now she didn’t have enough for the hotel, not even close.

A lead weight settled in her chest, dragging her down with it.

Jack locked the old glass door behind them, twisting the key in the slot with a practised flick of his wrist. Then he pulled the metal shutter down, kicking it home before wedging his shoulder against it as he locked that too. The movements were automatic, effortless. Engrained in him like a ritual. A special little routine.

His keys clinked as he pocketed them inside his heavy coat.

Ellen barely noticed the band at first . . . just the vague sense of movement and noise as they loaded their equipment into the back of their crookedly parked van. Then, as the side door slid open, a fresh mess of cans, bottles, and candy wrappers spilled onto the pavement, the trash crunching under their boots as they stumbled back and forth. They were loud. Drunk, probably. Their laughter was slurred and careless, bouncing off the empty street.

Then she saw him.

The one who had tried to flirt with her earlier . . . the one who had been standing outside the men’s room.

If she had found him repulsive before, it was nothing compared to now.

He lurched across the sidewalk, his movements lazy, indulgent, dripping with drunken confidence. He was the kind of man who took up space without trying, who expected the world to mould itself around him. His shoulders sagged forward like he was always leaning too close, his body shaped wrong . . . not in the way a man naturally stood, but in the way someone stood when they thought every inch of them was worth looking at.

And on his arm . . . 

A girl.

She was barely standing.

He held her up like a butcher cradling a slab of meat, his fingers wrapped around her wrist, his other hand yanking her hips forward every time she swayed too far away.

Her head lolled against his shoulder. Her legs wobbled, knees buckling every few steps. Her whole body sagged, heavy and loose-limbed, like a doll someone had left out in the rain.

Ellen swallowed.

She shouldn’t be seeing this.

Shouldn’t be watching.

But she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t look away.

The man noticed her staring.

His smirk widened.

And then, he winked. Slow. Smug.

Like it was some private joke, like he was saying: Your loss. This could have been you. He yanked the girl toward the van. She didn’t fight. Didn’t even seem aware of where she was.

The others cheered, whooping like animals, slapping their hands against the metal walls as the door slammed shut.

The engine rumbled to life. The van rolled forward, tires crunching over broken glass, exhaust spitting thick smoke into the cold air before it disappeared around the corner.

Now, it was just her and Jack.

Ellen hesitated.

Her fingers curled, nails pressing into the palm of her hand. She didn’t have enough for the hotel. Not even close.

And Jack couldn’t know.

It would only make things worse. He would ask too many questions. And if she told him the truth . . . if she let him see even the smallest crack . . . he might decide she wasn’t worth the trouble.

She forced herself to move, adjusting the strap of her backpack, gripping the handles of her two bags. “Thanks for the shift,” she said quickly, turning away. “See you tomorrow.”

She made it two steps before Jack’s voice stopped her.

“Hold up.”

Ellen swallowed hard.

Her stomach twisted as she turned back. Jack’s expression was unreadable, carved from shadow beneath the glow of the street lights.

Was he about to fire her?

She had made too many mistakes tonight. Been too clumsy, dropped too many things. She was exhausted, distracted . . . too much happening at once. It was only a matter of time before he decided she wasn’t worth the hassle.

She braced herself for it, for the final blow.

Instead, Jack reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a few paper bills, and held them out.

“Take it,” he said. Firm. No room for argument. “You would’ve made more in tips tonight if you weren’t so damn clumsy.”

Ellen stared.

She hadn’t expected this. Didn’t know how to process it.

Her mind had already prepared itself for rejection, for more bad news, for another night spent trying to figure out what the hell she was going to do next. And now . . . this.

Help.

But not the kind of help that came with sympathy, not the kind that said I understand. It was gruff, unwilling, begrudging. Jack wasn’t giving her anything. He was unbalancing the scales.

Her stomach twisted.

If she took it, she owed him.

Jack sighed, tilting his hand toward her. “Don’t let me catch you doing that again,” he said, voice edged with something harder than annoyance. “It was stupid.”

Ellen swallowed.

Slowly, gingerly, she reached for the money, nodding. “I won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

Jack didn’t let go.

His fingers tightened around the bills, just enough to keep her from pulling them away. “You need to leave Seth alone,” he said.

Her breath caught.

Jack was still watching her, waiting.

She nodded.

His grip loosened. The money was hers.

Jack exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly as if he couldn’t believe what he was doing. “You’re good at your job, Ellen,” he admitted. “I really wanna keep you…”

A pause

Jack had something else on his mind, another hurdle that Ellen would have to jump over to keep her job. “Ellen, I can’t have you confusing Seth. No more talk about moving into his spare room. You got it? I want to keep you working here, but… you understand what I’m saying?”

Confusing Seth.

Ellen felt her pulse spike, a tiny flicker of something sharp beneath her exhaustion.

Jack was treating Seth like some kind of sheltered little thing, someone who needed protecting from her. As if she had some agenda, as if she’d come into his bar looking to take advantage of whatever arrangement Seth had going on.

Like she hadn’t just been grateful for the kindness.

But it didn’t matter what she thought.

What mattered was that Jack had already made up his mind.

So she swallowed it down. Like everything else. “Got it,” she said.

Jack nodded once, tucking his hands back into his pockets. “I can help you out a little until payday,” he said. “But after that, you need to sort your shit out. Get a place. Find an apartment.”

Sort her shit out.

Like it was that easy.

Ellen nodded and tightened her grip on the bills, folding them into her palm. They felt thin and fragile, less than what she needed but more than what she had.

She tried to push the numbers around in her head, tried to piece together how long this would stretch, how much she’d have left after paying for the hotel.

She still had to eat.

Still had to get through tomorrow.

The money, it should be enough . . . just.

A room for the night, a shower, and a meal.

A plan.

She had a plan.

It wasn’t a good one. But it was something. Even if it was just a thin, fragile thread, it was still something to hold onto.

She forced herself to meet Jack’s eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Jack grunted, shifting his weight, already done with the conversation. “Go on, then. Get outta here.”

Ellen nodded once, grabbing her suitcase and turning away.

She didn’t stop walking, afraid that if her momentum stopped she would never be able to persuade her tired muscles to get moving again.

One night . . . Just one . . . One night to figure out what the hell she was going to do next.