Chapter 1
Here I am… leaving.
Why? Because I’m 18 now. Old enough to take care of myself. I don’t need my parents babysitting me anymore. Or at least, that’s what I believed when I was a small, naive little angel. But now, as I walk away from everything I’ve known, I’m beginning to see how cruel the world can be.
The first thing I did after leaving was visit every community I could think of, hoping to find an apartment—which, by the way, is nearly impossible these days. So in the end, I had no choice but to book a hotel.
That was the biggest mistake of my life.
When I arrived, I wandered around trying to find my room. After what felt like hours, I finally located it. I stepped inside and took it all in: a surprisingly large room with a single bed covered in crisp white sheets. Beside it was a small nightstand with a lamp and a few books—probably a Bible. There was a compact bathroom near the door. I dropped my luggage on the floor and collapsed on the bed, which was unexpectedly soft and inviting. Before I knew it, I was asleep.
I woke up around 2 a.m. to the feeling of something—or someone—on top of me.
My senses kicked in all at once, and I tried to push the person off. I tried. But whoever it was wouldn’t budge. When he finally rolled off, I realized he was a he—a full-grown man.
A total stranger.
Heart hammering, I shoved with all the strength I had. “Get off me!”
A low groan. He didn’t move. Not much, anyway. Just shifted, half-asleep.
I scrambled out from under the covers, grabbed the nearest thing I could use as a weapon—a bedside lamp—and stood at the foot of the bed, panting, heart in my throat.
“Who the hell are you?” I hissed.
He blinked awake slowly, groggily, eyes glassy in the dim light from the hallway bleeding under the door. For a second, he looked like he was trying to place where he was.
Then he sat up, squinting at me. “Wait... this isn’t Room 204?”
“No! It’s my room!”
“Oh... crap.” He ran a hand through his messy brown hair, clearly still drunk. “I—I’m sorry. I thought this was my room. The doors… they all look the same.”
“You broke in?”
“No! I didn’t—well, I didn’t mean to,” he said quickly, stumbling off the bed. He wore jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt, his jacket still half on. “The door was unlocked. I swear, I didn’t know someone was in here.”
I stared at him, breathing hard, lamp still raised like a bat. “You just crawled into bed with a stranger?”
He looked away, guilt flickering in his features. “I didn’t mean to. I… I had too much to drink. Had a crap night. I honestly just thought I’d made it back to my room.”
Silence fell. I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to call the front desk. Part of me wanted to scream. But another part—an unsettlingly calm part—was just exhausted.
He seemed harmless. Embarrassed. Miserable, actually.
“You smell like a bar,” I muttered.
“I was at one,” he replied sheepishly. “Alone. Bad idea, clearly.”
We stared at each other. He wasn’t that much older than me—maybe early twenties? His eyes, under all the confusion and hangover, were kind. Tired.
I lowered the lamp. “Okay. Fine. You can crash on the floor. Just—don’t come near the bed again.”
His eyes widened. “You’re serious?”
“I’m not dragging your drunk butt out to the hallway at 2 a.m. Just… stay on your side. And no funny business.”
He nodded quickly. “Yeah. No, of course. Thank you. And… I’m really sorry.”
He grabbed one of the extra pillows and the blanket from the closet, then laid himself out beside the dresser like a guilty dog. Within minutes, he was out cold again.
I lay back in bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling.
What a start to adulthood.
Who was this guy? And why, of all the hotel rooms in the world, did he have to stumble into mine?
