The first night passed without anything directly happening. That didn't mean it was peaceful though.

  Every so often, a scream tore through the thin walls—sharp, raw, then abruptly cut off. I y there frozen in bed each time, heart racing, trying to convince myself it was just arguments, or people high out of their minds. Crackheads. Drunks. Anything but what my imagination insisted on supplying.

  I never left my room. Not really.

  Just quick trips to the vending machines down the hall, hoodie pulled tight, eyes glued to the floor. Chips. Warm soda. I missed real food more than I thought I would. I missed chopping vegetables. Standing at a stove. Doing something normal.

  I y on the bed staring at the cracked ceiling, my suitcase still unopened in the corner like a reminder that this wasn't home—this was temporary.

  My fingers absently picked at my scars on my belly, a nervous habit I hadn't grown out of.

  "She's probably looking for me..." I murmured into the empty room. "Won't be long before she tells the cops I'm missing."

  The thought made my stomach churn.

  Would she though? With everything she had pnned... everything she said... calling the police might raise questions she didn't want answered.

  I rolled onto my side and grabbed my phone. The glow lit up the dark room, harsh and unforgiving.

  I'd been texting my aunt and cousin nonstop since I got here, clinging to those messages like a lifeline. Familiar words. Familiar concern. Spanish filling my screen felt grounding, like being wrapped in something warm, even if I didn't understand most of it.

  Mexico felt far—but safer than being chased by Elena.

  Being in the same country as Elena made my skin crawl. Every siren outside made me flinch. Every knock in the hallway made my heart leap into my throat. I couldn't stay here much longer.

  A message buzzed from my cousin Julianna.

  "Just get a flight to Culiacán. You won't have to worry about that crazy vieja anymore."

  My chest tightened. I reread it twice. Three times. I then switched to Google and typed with shaking fingers: cheap flights to Culiacán, Sinaloa.

  Results loaded slowly, each second stretching painfully long. I did the math in my head while the page refreshed.

  Three hundred dolrs left. Minus the Uber to the airport—maybe fifty. That left around two-fifty.

  My jaw clenched. Please. Just one. Something good…

  Then one result made my breath hitch. One-way. Culiacán. One hundred fifty. Tomorrow morning.

  I stared at the screen, afraid that if I blinked it would disappear. My thumb hovered for a second, doubt trying to creep in—check the airline, check the reviews, make sure—

  No. None of that mattered.

  This wasn't about comfort or quality or even safety anymore. This was about escape. This was about putting an insane amount of distance between me and her. About crossing a border she couldn't follow me across so easily.

  It felt unreal. Like the universe had cracked open just enough to give me a way out.

  I booked it immediately, my heart racing as the confirmation screen loaded. When it finally appeared, I let out a shaky breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. My hands trembled as I locked my phone and pressed it against my chest.

  I opened my phone once more and switched back to messages and typed quickly, not trusting myself to overthink.

  "I'm leaving tomorrow. I found a flight to Culiacán."

  Julianna’s reply came almost instantly.

  "That's amazing. Let us know when you're close so we can pick you up! Stay safe, Miguel. See you soon."

  My throat tightened. I blinked hard, forcing back tears that burned behind my eyes. Someone was waiting for me. Someone wanted me somewhere—not because I was useful, not because I belonged to them, but because they cared.

  I set my phone down and y back, staring at the ceiling one st time. The cracks didn't bother me as much anymore. The distant noises from outside faded into background static.

  I took a long, deep breath and closed my eyes.

  I imagined the warmth of my aunt's house. The smell of real food cooking in the kitchen. Hearing Spanish spoken without anger behind it. Sleeping without fear of footsteps or smmed doors. Being allowed to exist without flinching.

  Nothing extravagant. Nothing perfect.

  Just peace.

  Then suddenly I froze for half a second, then completely lost it as I heard the chatter outside.

  If I'd had anything in my mouth, I would've spat it across the room. I cmped a hand over my mouth, ughter bursting out anyway, sharp and breathless, my stomach actually hurting as I tried—and failed—to stay quiet.

  What the actual fuck was that.

  "I'm fucking pheromonemaxxing, mom—" the voice continued outside, loud and painfully confident, "—you wouldn't get it. I'm a real Stacy, unlike you, just a normie."

  I wheezed, choking on air, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. My ribs ached as I curled slightly on the bed, trying not to make noise. This hotel, this night, this universe—none of it made sense anymore.

  Then it got worse.

  "Moids love pheromones, mom. You don't hang around real geniuses like I do on 4chan," she snapped. "Just be quiet and eat your pizza while I starvemax."

  I buried my face in the pillow, shoulders shaking.

  For a moment—just a tiny, ridiculous moment—the fear loosened its grip. The dread. The constant buzzing in my chest. All of it got drowned out by the sheer absurdity of overhearing an argument straight out of the internet, echoing through the walls of the sketchiest hotel I'd ever stayed in.

  I ughed until my breathing finally evened out, until the voices faded down the hallway, still arguing about pheromones and pizza and whatever twisted logic held their world together.

  When the room went quiet again, I wiped my eyes and stared up at the ceiling, a small, exhausted smile lingering on my face.

  It was stupid. It was random. But somehow... it helped.

  Just when I thought it was finally over, the mother's voice cut through the walls like a siren.

  "YOU. ARE. A. FEMCEL! You’re such a chudette!"

  She screamed it with such force that I was pretty sure the entire building heard it. Maybe the street too. I stared at the ceiling, eyes wide, and then absolutely lost it all over again.

  "I know, mom," the girl shot back without missing a beat. "You act like that's an insult. I'm a truecel."

  That was it.

  I ughed so hard my chest hurt, my breath coming out in broken gasps as I rolled onto my side, clutching my stomach. Whatever tension had been coiled inside me all day just snapped, repced with uncontrolble ughter. It was so stupid. So surreal. Like I'd accidentally wandered into a parody of reality.

  After a few more muffled insults and dramatic footsteps, the hallway finally went quiet.

  Silence.

  I y there, still smiling, catching my breath as the echo of it all faded away. The room felt less heavy now. The fear hadn't vanished—but it had loosened, just enough to let me breathe.

  I wiped my eyes and shook my head softly.

  "This pce is insane," I murmured to myself.

  But for once, the insanity wasn't directed at me.

  I pulled the bnket up, ughter still lingering in my chest like an aftershock, and let my eyes close again. Tomorrow I'd be on a pne. Tomorrow I'd be leaving all of this behind.

  ——

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