Lila's POV
The room was quiet. Too quiet.
The faint hum of Neon City outside bled through the curtains, muffled car horns and the occasional drunken laughter of someone stumbling home. The neon glow filtered in soft blue and pink across the bed, painting the sheets where Jack still slept. His chest rose and fell slowly, steadily, lost in dreams.
Lila Myers sat up, her long dark hair tumbling in a mess around her shoulders. Her lips were still swollen from his kisses; her thighs still trembled faintly from the way he had taken her again and again last night. The warmth of his skin still lingered on her own, as if the mattress had branded her with his presence.
And yet,her heart twisted painfully.
"This was a mistake," she whispered to herself, fingers curling against the sheets.
Her pulse thudded in her ears as she stared at Jack's sleeping face. He looked so… innocent like this. Younger, even. Vulnerable in a way she doubted he would ever let anyone see while awake. His messy hair, the faint lines of exhaustion under his eyes, the steady way his lips parted with each breath.It should have made her smile. Instead, it broke something inside her.
She had promised herself, years ago, never to fall into this kind of trap again.
The memories surged, cruel and uninvited.Her parents had died in a robbery gone wrong.
She saw herself at seventeen, still in the orphanage. She could smell the starch of the sheets, the mildew in the corners of the old building, the cheap perfume the caretakers wore to mask the stench of hopelessness. She remembered staring out through rusted bars at the city lights, promising herself she would never let anyone chain her down, never let anyone make her feel worthless again.
Not after the first man who sweet-talked her, used her body, and tossed her aside. Not after the second, who made her believe in fairy tales and then shattered them. She'd survived betrayal, loneliness, and the grind of working the motel desk every night while pretending her life was perfectly fine.
And yet here she was, lying in a stranger's bed. Jack's bed.
Her body ached with satisfaction, but her soul ached with dread.
Her gaze drifted over the room;the cheap motel furniture, the slightly faded wallpaper. She thought about the things Jack had said last night, how awkward and shy he'd been at first, how he admitted it was his first time. His nervous hands, the way he panicked when she took control for a moment. He was so unpolished, so raw, but there had been a sweetness in it. A hunger, too,one that had made her body burn hotter than she ever thought it could again.
And that was what terrified her.
Because Jack wasn't like the others. He wasn't smooth, or manipulative, or calculating. He was… sincere. And sincere men were the most dangerous of all.
Her hand drifted unconsciously to her lips, remembering the heat of his mouth, the way he had whispered her name like it meant something.
"Don't do this, Lila," she told herself. "Don't you dare."
But the memories flooded in anyway.
Flashbacks flickered through her mind.
She saw herself, seventeen again, laughing too loudly with a boy who swore he'd take her away from Neon City's grime. He'd called her beautiful, kissed her under the streetlights, then vanished the moment another girl smiled at him.
She saw herself, twenty, standing in the rain outside another man's apartment, mascara running, after discovering she was never anything more than a toy for his nights of boredom because he was playing with his real woman when she dropped by at his house.
And she saw herself, twenty-four, staring at the cracked motel mirror, whispering, "No one will ever love you, Lila. Not for real. Not for you."
So why did Jack's touch feel different? Why did his arms feel like the first place she'd belonged in years?
Because it wasn't real. That was the answer.
It was lust, not love. A desperate boy and a lonely woman colliding in the dark. And when the fire burned out, he would see her for what she was just a body, just a distraction, just another regret.
And she couldn't let him regret her.
Her chest tightened as she stood quietly, slipping out of the sheets. The cold air kissed her bare skin, and she shivered, reaching for her clothes. Each piece of fabric felt heavier than it should, like shame was stitched onto the cloth. She pulled on her bra, her blouse, her skirt; mechanical movements, avoiding the mirror, avoiding her reflection.
Her suitcase sat in the corner. She'd brought it to Jack's room earlier after he had slept;She had packed it before she had ever went to Jack's room. Part of her must have known this would happen, must have known she couldn't stay.
Kneeling, she opened it again. The fabric inside was worn, some frayed at the edges. A couple of faded dresses, her old work shoes, a comb mis diffsing teeth. At the very bottom, carefully tucked into a folded scarf, lay the only thing she'd never left behind: a photo of her mother.
The edges were cracked, the colors faded, but her mother's smile was still bright. Lila pressed the photo to her chest, tears stinging her eyes.
Her mother had warned her once. "Never give your heart away too cheaply, Lila. Men will take it, break it, and never look back."
She had thought she'd grown past that lesson. But last night proved she hadn't.
Jack stirred in his sleep, rolling onto his side. Lila froze, suitcase half packed, her heart hammering. For a moment, she thought he might wake, might see her like this half-dressed, half gone, tears streaking her face.
But he only murmured something incoherent, brow furrowing slightly, before settling again.
Relief washed over her. And guilt.
She swallowed hard and turned back to the suitcase, shoving the last of her things inside. The zipper rasped loudly in the quiet room, and she winced, but Jack didn't stir again.
Good. She couldn't face him.
She couldn't face the look in his eyes if he woke and asked why.
Her mind whispered cruel things as she pulled the handle up.
He'll never love you.
You were just convenient.
He'll find someone else,someone better. Younger. Cleaner. Not broken.
Her stomach twisted. The truth was, maybe Jack could love her. Maybe he could see something in her no one else had. But she wouldn't give him the chance to try, because the risk of being wrong of being left again;was unbearable.
Better to leave now, when the memory was still sweet. Before it soured. Before he could look at her with pity.
The hallway outside the room was dim, the carpet threadbare, the hum of a vending machine filling the silence. She pulled the suitcase behind her, every wheel squeak sounding like thunder.
Her chest ached as she passed the front desk,the desk where she'd spent countless nights, answering phones with rehearsed cheer, greeting strangers with plastic smiles, pretending she was fine. That desk had been her shield, her stage. And now, she was walking away from it all.
She pondered leaving a resignation note. What would it say? "Sorry, I slept with a guest, and now I can't look at him without wanting to cry." But she knew she had to leave a note.
Her gaze drifted to the desk in the corner of the room. There was a notepad and pen lying beside the motel's telephone.
For a long moment, she hesitated. She had planned to vanish without a word. That was always safer. Cleaner. But the thought of the motel staff.People she had worked alongside, people who expected her to show up again tonight,made her stomach twist.
She couldn't leave like a thief in the night. Not completely.
Her hand shook as she picked up the pen, staring at the blank page.
The words came slowly, haltingly.
To whom it may concern,
I'm sorry to leave this way. I can't stay here any longer. Please consider this my resignation. Thank you for giving me a place to belong, even if only for a little while. I wish you all well.
Sincerely,
Lila Myers
She stared at the letter for a long time, her chest heaving. It was pitiful, maybe even cowardly. But it was the best she could do. She folded it neatly, weighed it down with the motel room key, and placed it on the desk.
That was her farewell.
She reached out, brushed her fingers against the desk, and whispered, "Goodbye."
Then she walked on.
No. It was better this way. Disappear. Let the city swallow her whole.
When she pushed open the motel doors, the night air slapped her face, cold and sharp. Dawn hadn't come yet; the streets were quiet, but Neon City was never truly asleep. A few drunks staggered past, a stray dog nosed through garbage, neon signs flickered above shuttered shops.
Her suitcase wheels rattled over cracked pavement as she walked faster, away from the motel, away from Jack, away from the mess she'd made of her heart.
Tears blurred her vision, and she wiped them angrily. She wouldn't cry for him. She wouldn't cry for anyone.
But the ache in her chest betrayed her.
She turned into a side street, then another, until the motel was far behind, swallowed by the glow of Neon City. The buildings here leaned close together, their paint peeling, their windows barred. A rundown neighborhood,perfect for disappearing.
She stopped finally, breathless, and leaned against a graffiti-stained wall.
Her suitcase sat at her feet, her whole life crammed into its small frame. She hugged herself, biting her lip until it hurt, whispering to the night.
"It was just for the moment. Just a mistake. That's all."
But the hollow echo in her chest told her otherwise.
She had left a piece of herself behind in that motel room, in Jack's arms. And she doubted she'd ever get it back.
And so, without waiting for dawn, Lila Myers walked deeper into the shadows of Neon City alone and dissappeared.
Her footsteps faded, swallowed by the hum of the sleeping city.
And somewhere, far behind her, Jack still dreamed, unaware that when morning came, she would be gone.