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The guy sitting behind the chipped and battered reception desk doesn’t look up as I approach. He doesn’t look like he’s been out of college very long, his interest more on the video playing on his phone rather than in checking me in. Thankfully, this means he wants me out of his way, so the process is quick and efficient.
But it also means he doesn’t know who’s coming and going.
Great. Now I’m even more creeped out than I was before.Give me a true crime documentary or have me go toe to toe with a grown man and I’m fine, but the second I watch a horror or a thriller movie, I’m as nervous as a cat in a room full of rockers, and this hotel gives me the heebie-jeebies.
I hurry to my room, shooting a text off to Jack with the details of where I’m staying. Taking in the dirty, stained walls, the faded carpet of the hallway and the loud noises that seem to come from every other room I pass, I pick up my pace, praying that I’ll at least be able to get a decent night's sleep.
A high-pitched scream echoes around the elevator as it moves between floors and I grip the handle of my suitcase a little tighter.Well, this gon’ be fun.
When I arrive on my floor, I stick my head through the open doors, looking from left to right before darting out of the elevator. The signage on the wall in front of me ensures I head in the right direction.
It feels like a layer of grim has fallen over me by the time I let myself into my room. Even the door handle is sticky and I can only hope that this is where the stickiness ends. If I had any other choice, I wouldn’t be staying here.
Flicking on the light switch, I determine that my room ain’t much better than the public areas. The overhead light flickers with a low buzz sounding, before righting itself. I need to find somewhere else to stay tomorrow. My skin feels dirty just standing in this space.
The sheets on the bed look more brown than the white I’m certain they’re supposed to be. The furniture looks battered and bruised and the walls look like someone might have started small fires at random places in the room.
Using my suitcase to prop open the door, I do a quick sweep of the space. When I’m certain there’s nobody hiding out, I close the door pulling over the chain and locking myself in.
I don’t want someone finding my dead body here in the morning. The dark stains spotted around the carpet, mixed with what looks like holes made by fists in the plaster, tell me that I wouldn't be the first person to be murdered in here.
Calm down, Savannah. It’s not that scary.
I throw my suitcase on the stand next to the dresser and spin on the spot, biting my lip as I look around. I really need to go back to Will’s and pack up the rest of my stuff at some point, but I don’t exactly want to bring it back here. I think I’ll wait a week before I do that. Maybe once I’ve found somewhere a little more permanent to live. Hopefully he’ll be at work when I do go, so we can avoid any more drama.
I’m lost in my thoughts when I unzip my suitcase and flip open the lid.
Oh no.
An array of lingerie and sweats surround my family photos. Smiling faces of Mama, Dad and Jack look up at me among the silk and lace of some of my more fancier sets.
Sucking in a breath, I blow it out of my mouth before I move to the bed, precariously perching on the edge as a laugh bubbles up and spills from my lips. Could this day get any worse? It feels like anSNLskit or something.
I need a good night’s sleep and then tomorrow I can figure out a plan of action. Moving to the suitcase, I rummage through the contents in the hope that there’s some actual clothing inside.
Stripping down, I walk into the bathroom, turning on the shower that’s hanging over the off-yellow bathtub. It’s a small miracle when the water runs clear and steam starts to coil around the bottom of the tub. The overhead light flickers, much the same as the bedroom, as I look at the bruises forming on my arm. Already, you can see the distinct marks where his fingers gripped me. I’m mesmerized by the imperfection on my usually flawless skin.
When the mirror fogs up, I turn away from my reflection and step into the shower to wash away the grime of the day. It’s not quite the bath I’d wanted, but there’s no way I’m lying down in this.
The water runs over me, drenching me from head to toe, my muscles slowly relaxing as I close my eyes. It’s in the semi quiet of the bathroom, with the water drowning out the noise of other residents that I can finally take stock of the day.
So much has happened in such a short space of time. I’ve lost my main job, my boyfriend, and my home. If you can even call it that. It didn’t feel like my home.New York hasn’t felt like my home. I feel like an imposter every day. As if I’m barely existing.
A single stray tear slides down my cheek and I swipe at it angrily.
It’s all I’ll allow because I refuse to cry over all this.
Thisdoesn’t get to break me.
I’m not weak.
Distracting myself from wallowing in my self-pity any longer, I squirt some of the hotel shampoo into my hand, lathering it together before I massage it through my hair.
Almost immediately, I regret using the cheap stuff provided by the hotel. It smells like chemicals and has my hair forming in dry clumps as I massage it through.
As if my day couldn’t get any worse.
Rinsing the shampoo out, I hold my breath as I pick up the conditioner and hope for it to at least smooth out the dryness that the shampoo seems to have caused. I finger-comb it through, twisting my hair around into a loose knot on the top of my head then scrub my body clean with the body wash provided before rinsing myself from head to toe.
