Hotel

The hotel was close enough to the bar that Ellen hadn’t needed to think about getting there. Lucky, really. She wasn’t sure she could have handled much more . . . not after the last few hours, not after everything.

Her feet felt unsteady as she stepped inside. Her old suitcase dragged sluggishly behind her, her backpack straps digging into her shoulders.

The hotel lobby was small, dimly lit. A veil of smoke lingered in the air, just above her head, filling the room from wall to wall. Her motion into the room had disturbed the stagnant air, exciting the smoke like rolling storm clouds. A wall-mounted TV buzzed quietly from the corner, playing some old cop drama with the volume turned too low to understand.

The manager barely looked up at first. He was short, balding, wearing a thick sweater with a cigarette tucked behind his ear. The stale, lingering scent of smoke and coffee filled the cramped front office.

Then his eyes landed on her bags.

Ellen felt him staring as she slid the cash across the counter.

Too many bags, she thought.

“You moving in or something?” the manager asked.

She shook her head. “Just passing through.”

His gaze flicked toward the door, as if expecting someone else to come in after her.

“You alone?”

Ellen hesitated.

“Yes,” she said.

The manager tapped a finger against the counter. The silence stretched.

She held her breath, waiting for the room key, for him to just take the money and let her go.

But instead, the man sighed and leaned against the counter. “Look,” he said. “You booked for the night. But it’s morning now.”

Her brain struggled to process the words.

“What?”

“You booked for the night,” he repeated, slower this time, as if she were stupid. “It’s morning now. Room needs to be empty by nine. Cleaners come through.”

Ellen felt something twist in her chest. It was past four in the morning. That meant less than five hours. She had barely made it here. Barely kept herself upright, kept herself functioning. And now she’d be kicked out before she could even properly sleep.

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Her tongue felt thick, clumsy.

“I… I didn’t know,” she said, voice weaker than she wanted.

A noise momentarily sliced between them. It was the sound of barking coming through the ceiling.

The manager sighed staring up as though he could see through plaster. “I knew I shouldn’t have let him bring a dog..” he mumbled. His eye’s locked back onto Ellen. “You can stay until twelve for an extra fee.”

He slid a laminated sign across the counter, tapping the price list.

Ellen stared at it. The extra fee was everything she had left. She ran the numbers again, quickly, her brain sluggish but panicked.

Jack had given her enough to cover the room and maybe stretch a little further . . . but if she paid extra to stay until noon, she’d have nothing left. No food. No emergency money. Nothing. She could already feel the hunger curling inside her, the ache of it spreading like something sinking into her bones.

It had been so long since she’d had a proper meal.

But she was so tired.

She swayed slightly on her feet, vision blurring at the edges.

Sleep.

She needed sleep.

She could worry about food after.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the money.

The manager smirked slightly, like he knew exactly what kind of decision she was making.

She didn’t care.

She just needed the key.

Everything else was just tomorrow’s problem.