I sit on the side of the bed in this cheap motel room. The damaged lamp's wavering light makes long shadows on the peeling wallpaper. The air is thick with the stench of old cigarettes and remorse, and the weight of my own failure. My phone is next to me on the bed, and it buzzes every now and then with notifications that I don't want to see. The screen, which used to be full of messages from family and friends, now seems like a harsh reminder of everything I've lost.
I can't help but notice my old friends and relatives going on with their life when I scroll through social media. My mom's face is smiling in pictures of family get-togethers, and my dad's tight hold around his new wife's waist. I can almost hear my dad's voice saying, "You're no longer welcome here," over and over in my brain.
I shove my fingers into my temples to try to get rid of the memories. My body feels like a stone because of how hard the truth is that I'm facing. I never thought I would be sitting alone in a rundown motel with no money and no one to talk to. I promised myself I would never let go of my pride, but now it feels like something I can't afford.
The only thing left to do is stay alive.
I click on my bank account, and it says zero. As I thought it would be.
I've been moving from job to job, never quite able to stay afloat. A few hundred dollars here and there, just enough to keep me fed and housed for one night. But not enough to stay alive.
I shake my hand when I put the phone down. It makes a buzzing sound again.
This time, it's an email.
I don't know who sent it because the address is anonymous. I click on the email without thinking twice since I'm so curious and desperate.
The subject line is easy: "Temporary Arrangement."
I grimace when I read the message: "I saw your tweet." If you agree to something, I can give you refuge. No questions will be asked. "Please respond to this message if you are interested."
I blink at the screen. There is no name or information in the email, just a cold, empty promise. But the phrases "shelter," "exchange," and the fact that it was direct made me feel like I had to do something right away.
I lean back against the wall, and the weight of this offer settles on my chest. A lifeline? Or a snare?
For a second, I think of just getting rid of the message. But then I remember the nights I've spent alone in this dirty hotel room, and I realize I have nothing left. I don't have any family, any money, or anything else. All I have is my pride, and even that is starting to feel like a burden.
I brush my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath as the phone vibrates again. Another email came from the same address.
"The layout is easy. You can stay here if you give me your company. No strings attached. "Please respond if you're willing, and we'll talk about the details."
I can feel my heart beating fast in my chest as I look at the television. This is it. The option I never anticipated I'd have to make. My pride says to leave and figure this out on my own. But now my instincts for survival are louder and resonating in my thoughts. I need a place to sleep, eat, and breathe.
I'm not sure. I know I should leave. I know this isn't right. But at this point, it seems like my only choice.
And so, I look at the email and feel torn.
I don't know who this person is or what they want from me, but the words "shelter" and "no strings" keep coming to mind. I can't say no to it.
The quiet around me makes me feel like I'm about to die. It's easy to see what to do, but it's not easy. It's a last-ditch effort, but I'm desperate.
"Is it really possible for me to do this?" I don't talk to anyone.
I don't know if it's a lifeline or a trap, but I'm making my choice as the seconds go by. I grab the phone.
I look at the email again, my thumb lingering over the keyboard, and my heart is pounding in my chest. "Company in exchange for shelter."
My finger is hovering.
What am I doing? I can't believe I'm even thinking about this. I'm about to give up my pride to stay alive. It's all I have left. A total stranger offers a place to stay. There has to be a catch, doesn't there?
But then I remember the nights I've spent here, which are awful. The frigid weather. The not knowing. The need for food.
I closed my eyes and took a slow, deep breath. What might go wrong? I'm already living in the worst possible situation.
But do I really want to do this?
I shake my head and look at the clock. It's late, and I've already spent too much time on it. I don't have time. I read the email again. No matter how wrong it seems, it seems like a lifeline.
I put the phone down and then pick it up again. My hand is over the screen. I close my eyes and feel the sweat on my hands.
I can't go on living like this.
How much am I worth?
I almost laugh, but it's not funny. I let myself get to this point. I let them take everything away from me, even my dignity. And now, here I am, ready to give you the last thing I have.
My body. My spirit. To sleep.
I don't sure what I'm getting into, but I click "reply" anyway.
As I type a simple, unsteady message, my heart races: "I'll take it." What are the specifics?
I had my thumb over the send button. Every second that goes by, it feels like the final thread of something I can't quite put my finger on slips away.
I hit send.
I lean back on the bed, my hands sweaty and my head racing. What did I do? What am I going to do?
The phone buzzes before I can even think about it. A new message, nearly right away.
"We'll see each other tomorrow." People will take care of you. I will tell you where to go.
I stare at the screen, and the finality of it hits me. I did it. It's too late to go back now.
I get up and head to the window to stare out at the dark city below. In the distance, the streetlights flicker softly. The world seems far away. So far away.
But this is it. The only way out.
I take a breath to try to settle my rushing thoughts, but it doesn't work. This doesn't help me relax at all.
I don't know who this person is, but I'm about to enter their world. And I don't know if I'll ever be able to get over it.
But I have to do it.
I'm in too deep.
And I'm not sure if I'm ready for what's next.