The Plummet
1379 Words
GWEN
TW: Suicide ideation / emotional crisis (handled responsibly)
I’m not sure how long I’ve been here.
The new hotel room smells like dust and cleaning spray pretending to be lemon. It’s bigger than the last one, cleaner, nicer — but wrong. Wrong in that way where your body knows you’re not safe even if the sheets are white and the lamps all work.
I sit on the edge of the bed, burner phone in my hands, turning it over and over. My only lifeline. The only piece of the world they haven’t stolen.
I thought I was clever switching hotels. I thought staying somewhere farther, quieter, would buy me an hour or two. Maybe three. But Jason works for an empire. And empires have eyes.
My phone buzzes — again.
Jay.
Jay.
Jay.
Andrew.
I can’t answer. I can’t breathe. My chest feels like a collapsed building. I toss the burner onto the pillow and slump forward, elbows on my knees.
I’m alone. Again.
No one to call.
No one I trust.
No one who’s actually on my side.
The room is too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your heartbeat sound like a countdown.
I walk to the door and check the chain. Secure. Then the window. First floor. Small, but not impossible. I test it, and to my shock — it opens. Only a few inches, but enough.
My lungs seize with hope.
A knock detonates against the door.
I freeze.
The knock comes again, slower, heavier. Deliberate.
I approach the peephole with dread buzzing under my skin.
Jason.
He’s just standing there. Hands loosely at his sides. Expression blank except for the faintest twitch of impatience.
He shouldn’t know I'm here. He shouldn’t know where I am. I’ve been careful. I took side streets. I bought the burner phone with cash. Didn’t walk directly from anywhere. There’s no way—
He pulls out his phone. Dialing someone. I press my forehead to the door, barely breathing.
“Security confirmed her entering,” he says quietly. “Send the footage to my phone.”
Surveillance.
Of course. LA is always watching.
My stomach plummets as I stagger back from the door.
“Gwen,” he calls, voice muffled. “I know you’re in there.”
I don’t answer.
“I’m not here to hurt you.” His tone shifts — patient, coaxing. “I just need you to come back. Calmly.”
I press my fist to my mouth, fighting the scream rising in my throat.
“I don’t want to make a scene,” he adds. “But I will go through that door if I have to.”
My pulse spikes. My eyes dart to the bathroom. To the window. I run before I’ve even decided to.
I slam the bathroom door and lock it, backing up until my spine hits the sink.
Think. Think.
The window. That’s it. My only chance.
I climb onto the counter and shove the window open farther, metal scraping loudly. Please don’t let him hear. Please.
The alley outside is empty.
A bang echoes through the room—
Jason slamming the outer door.
I swing one leg through the window, then the other, twisting, angling, scraping my ribs on the frame. My hoodie snags once, but I wrench myself free.
I drop to the ground, knees cracking on the pavement, but I don’t stop. I sprint down the alley, burner phone bouncing hard against my thigh.
Behind me, faintly—
“Five… four… three…”
He’s counting.
I shove myself around the corner, lungs burning, vision shaking. The street ahead glows with neon signs and headlights. People. Noise. Chaos. Cover.
I run.
Through parking lots. Across sidewalks. Past crowds of night shoppers spilling out of stores. It feels like moving underwater, every step too slow, every sound too loud.
By the time I see the Target sign glowing red in the distance, I’m sobbing with relief.
Inside, no one looks at me. No one recognizes me. No one cares.
I buy new clothes — leggings, a hoodie, shoes not falling apart. I buy cheap earbuds. Food. Water. Things I think a free person might need.
And I breathe again only when I step back outside, fully changed, new skin over old bruises.
My burner phone vibrates in my pocket.
I pull it out.
Jay — eight missed calls.
Andrew — three.
I shouldn’t answer.
But I’m tired. God, I’m tired of feeling like a ghost.
I call Jay.
He picks up immediately. “G?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “What do you want?”
“I was checking to make sure you’re safe.”
I laugh. Bitter. “You sound like you’re working with the agency.”
“What? No—”
“I’m leaving, Jacob. I’m going home. You can come or stay, but I’m not going back there.”
“Gwen—”
I stop walking.
Because he’s right in front of me.
Jay stands on the sidewalk, breathless, pale, sweat beading on his brow. He must’ve run. Or maybe he drove. Or maybe he followed the same camera trail Jason did.
Either way—
He found me.
I end the call. Slowly.
“G,” he says softly, stepping toward me. “Listen, I didn’t mean what I said earlier. I was jealous. And stupid. And scared. But I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
I shake my head. My throat tightens. “Jay…”
“I broke up with Caleb,” he rushes. “It’s done. I flew here to show up for your award ceremony. I just need to sign a few papers at the agency and then—then I’m free. We’re free.”
The way he says agency makes my vision go white.
“No.” I step back. “No, Jay. I’m not going back there. Not for you. Not for anyone. I’m done.”
His face crumples.
“I trusted you,” I whisper. “All my life. And when I needed you most… you weren’t there. You didn’t help me. You didn’t protect me. You didn’t even believe me.”
He says nothing.
Because he has nothing to say.
I turn to leave—
And freeze.
Jason’s now in front of me.
Standing perfectly still. Watching me like I’m already in cuffs.
Jay doesn’t warn me. Doesn’t even look surprised.
Something breaks so hard inside me, I feel it physically.
“Jacob Layne Caster,” I choke out, tears blurring my vision, “I don't want to see you. I don’t want you in my life. I don’t—”
My voice gives up. My heart does too.
I turn away from both of them.
And I see the street.
Wide. Bright. Fast.
Cars blur past in streaks of red and gold. The wind from them hits my face like a promise.
Just one second of not hurting.
One second where no one can catch me.
I run.
Straight into the street.
Screams explode behind me. Horns. Brakes slamming. Someone grabs for my hoodie but I twist free. Asphalt blurs. Light blurs. My lungs burn.
For a single heartbeat—
I feel weightless.
Free.
Then—
Arms.
Strong, brutal arms slam around my waist and lock tight. My feet lift off the ground as Jason drags me backward with impossible strength — back toward the sidewalk, back away from the blur of headlights that could’ve swallowed me whole.
“LET ME GO!” I scream, kicking, clawing, thrashing. “LET ME GO!”
He doesn’t.
Not when a car skids past where I stood a second ago.
Not when my sobs go hoarse.
Not when I bend forward trying to slip out of his grip.
The burner phone digs into my hip, still there. Still mine. Still something they haven’t taken.
Jason pulls me fully onto the sidewalk, chest heaving against my back, arms wrapped like steel bands.
He will not let go.
Jay stands a few feet away, shaking, tears streaming down his face — useless.
Something in me shatters.
Completely.
Quietly.
Finally.
I’m not free.
Not yet.
But the phone is in my pocket.
My heart is still beating.
And I will escape again.
I will.
No matter what it costs.
- Writer
