Days bled into weeks, and the motel room became my entire world.
It was a world of beige walls, the smell of burnt grease from the diner next door. I moved every two days, just like Daniel said. I wore a heavy hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low, keeping my eyes on the pavement as I walked from one anonymous brick building to another.
I was a ghost, but being a ghost was lonely. It gave me too much time to think.
Every night, I sat on the edge of a different lumpy bed, staring at the burner phone. It sat on the nightstand like a silent judge. No calls came. No more cream-colored envelopes appeared under my door. The silence from Daniel was a heavy, suffocating blanket that made it hard to breathe.
I spent my hours watching the news on a tiny, flickering television. It was the only wa
