The seams of the dress rip as I tear it off of me, and I smash it down into the trashcan in my bathroom.

I crank on the shower, setting the water near scalding before stepping under the spray. My lower lip trembles while my skin burns. No other way to cleanse a memory like that from your soul other than scorching it off.

By the time I finish, my whole body has tinted pink. I return to my bedroom in only a thong. I crash down on my bed, rolling onto my back and staring at the coffered ceiling without putting anything else on. There isn’t a point. They just proved the clothes never mattered.

21

FOSTER

I end up on the streets of Prague at two in the morning.

After fucking with Chase—I add an adorable heart border to my message because he only deserves the best—I need a full reset.

Most of the times I’ve walked around this late while in Europe have centered around a bar or club or party. None of them allowed me a chance to notice the contrasts, but the city doesn’t disappoint. Shadows cast by streetlights rather than the sun are softer around the edges. The sounds that are typically masked with voices and bustling emerge.

When I get to Wenceslas Square, the foot traffic picks up, but nowhere near how it was during the day. A couple pubs remain open, and a few muffled bass beats mix together from the clubs. I dodge people spilling out of one, drunk and happy. I follow a flicker of flames to a food vendor, taking advantage of the nightlife. The fire’s behind glass while a spit rotates above it to bake trdelník. The chimney cakes spin, and the scent of caramelized sugar brings people leaving the clubs in.

I sign into Wanderer before I head toward Old Town in the off chance I can get paid for my little excursion. They announced the updated options for tours yesterday with a pop-up. I had a bite during the day. Lydia Song in Oregon wanted to see Lennon Wall. I laughed when I pieced that near-rhyme together mid-tour.

The buzz beneath my skin has somewhat settled by the time I get to the square. I’m not far from the vague destination I thought of when leaving the flat, though, so I keep going.

It only takes about ten minutes for Charles Bridge to come into view. I smile. Exactly what I wanted. Not a damn soul is on the bridge when I walk to the middle and stop. It almost feels eerie, like no one else exists.

Except someone does, and as I watch the water, my favorite Wanderer notification hits my phone.

SaintR wants to wander!

The only one I’ll willingly share my bridge with.

She requested right where I am. I accept the tour, then I lean back against the railing and show her the view.