Tears begin mixing with the black ink leaving blotches on the pages. After writing the same variations of words over and over, I don’t feel any better. Instead of continuing, I launch the pen at the wall, followed shortly after by the journal. I curse my therapist for her worthless advice. It’s the first time my emotions have been too strong to finish an entry and it scares me.

Frantically chewing on my thumbnail, the world closes in around me. Experiencing a full blown panic attack, my tunnel vision competes with my rapidly beating heart. I try counting out loud to keep from passing out, even smacking my cheeks to stay present. Nothing works. Instead, I lie in the center of my bed, face down until my body stops shaking. It could be minutes, although it seems more like hours until I settle down. Teeth still chattering, I stretch my arms and legs, releasing the locked muscles. My body as equally exhausted as my mind, I fall into a restless sleep, waking often. Each time I open my eyes I pray I’m in Kipton’s bed, safe and sound. But I’m disappointed when the grungy hotel walls taunt me instead.

I’ll survive today, but I don’t want to do this again tomorrow.

Alone.

DAY TWO WAS MUCH LIKE the first with an overwhelming sense of loss for a family I’ve never had continually gnawing at my heart. My anxiety is at an all-time high, my mind in a constant state of confusion. It’s enough of a struggle to stay present in the moment let alone imagine a life without the only parent I’ve ever loved.

Instead of driving further south, I stayed in bed with the curtains drawn. There’s no money left for a decent meal and my stomach has stopped begging to be fed.

Kipton’s tried to call, but I always respond by text knowing I won’t be strong enough to hide the truth from him otherwise. He doesn’t need to be drawn into my pathetic existence. Not until I get things figured out and have a solid plan.

Since I can’t afford to spend a third day in this hotel, I have to check out before they kick me out. Finally showered, I don’t bother drying my hair. Instead, I toss into a messy bun, change into clean clothing, and turn my key in to the front desk.

Stuffing my bag back into the trunk of my car, I realize it’s the only home I have—the only thing that belongs to me besides the clothing in my bags.

The cars only running for a few minutes before the gas gauge lights up. “No.” Banging my palm against the steering wheel, I say goodbye to the little money I have left. My stomach is silent yet desperate for food. My thirst dying to be quenched. The vending machine snacks have run out and I’d do anything for one more Cheeto.

Desperate enough to try mom’s ATM card before leaving the gas station, I’m expecting it to willingly spit out a twenty. I’m shocked when the account has been closed. Him, he did this. I’m so angry I leave the card sticking out of the machine, hoping someone can make it work and drain the account. Asshole.

Slamming my car door, I kick up the dirt in the parking lot when I pull out. A cloud of dust that’s eerily similar to my mood follows me as I speed down the road. Each turn and mile blend into the next—my drive completed by muscle memory.

An hour later, I make it back to campus with nowhere to go. It’s only Wednesday and I’m not due at Kipton’s until Friday. He would want me to run to him, but I’m hesitant. As much as my wounded heart needs him, my pride is too ashamed to go to him. He has it all, and I have nothing. Eventually, I worry he’ll get tired of loving someone who’s unfixable; someone that holds him back from the happiness he deserves.

But as I sit here wondering where to go, I know Kipton and Cara are my only answers. Against my better judgment, I reluctantly dial Kipton’s number when I can’t come up with any other solution. Without money, my options are limited.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Hearing his voice fills me with relief. “Hi, Kipton.”

“What’s up? I’ve missed you. You’ve been so busy.” I hear another guy’s voice in the background giving him shit about me. Kipton covers the phone with his hand and tells him to shut his trap.

“I miss you too.” So much.

“Hang on, I’m having trouble hearing you over the TV and Eric.” A door closes and it’s much quieter. “I’m back. You sound sad, babe. Are you okay?”

I pause before answering, preparing a more cheerful tone of voice for my response. “Of course I am. But do you think I can come see you earlier?” Please say yes.

“Is it going that bad with your Mom?”

“It’s fine. I just miss you and Cara. It’s weird not seeing her crazy ass every day.”

He laughs and the sound alone is enough to know he’s where I need to be. “I’d tell you to come now, but I’m going to a game with my buddy Eric in a little while. I’ll be all kinds of jealous if I know you’re here and I’m not. How about first thing tomorrow morning? That soon enough?”

“Yeah. That works.” I lose my forced chipper voice as the reality sets in that I’m spending the night in my car. In the cold. Alone. It’s not his fault

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” Where am I going to go?

“Sophie, I’d cancel if I could, but it’s his birthday. You know I’d rather be with you.”

I want him to have fun with his friend, so I lie. “I’m not mad at all. Have fun with your friend and I’ll see you in the morning. Okay?”

“Okay, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you. Call me if you have trouble finding the house tomorrow.”

“I will.”

“Love you.”

“You too.” I hang up as the sadness makes it hard to speak. All I want is to be in his warm arms tonight. To lay my head on his chest and know I’m safe.

There’s a secluded parking lot behind the back entrance of the gym that I drive to. I’m able to stay out of view from the public until I come up with a better plan. Not wanting to waste any gas, I turn the car off and sit in silence. A couple hours of rustling leaves and everlasting silence. Every second feels like a minute, every minute an hour.

When a campus security guard comes to patrol the lot, I take off. But instead of searching for another lot to hide in, I drive to the wrestling house for the simple fact that it reminds me of Kipton’s warmth. Sitting outside his house makes me feel closer to him—closer to someone who loves me. Maybe the only one who has ever loved me.

It’s here I’m reminded of the crazy parties, the alcohol, and the night we spent together in the treehouse. My chilled body has me tempted to check the house for an open window, but I decide against trying to break in. The last thing I need is to be found trespassing. It’s bad enough I’m on the property at all.

Each time a car passes, I watch to make sure it keeps going. No one can see me sitting here, yet I feel like I’m on display for the whole world. In my rear view mirror I spot the treehouse and know that’s where I need to go for sleep.

Expecting it to be empty, I sigh in relief when I find a sleeping bag rolled up in the corner. I waste no time shaking it out and climbing inside. I’m not sure why it didn’t make it down with the rest of the things Kipton brought up, but I’m thankful regardless.

As the sun sets, I lose the light inch by inch. No longer illuminated, I huddle into the corner desperate for warmth. It doesn’t help. Too weak from not eating anything today, I struggle to stay awake. Dozing on and off, too afraid to let my body relax entirely, I focus on happier times—when I wasn’t scared of my own shadow.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I’m startled awake and fight to wake my foggy brain. My eyes struggle to separate the shadow from the night’s darkness. A hand touches mine and I scream. Wrapped inside the sleeping bag, I can’t escape. “Please don’t hurt me. Please,” I beg.