Nate’s words keep piercing me. I push them away, every hurtful thing he said, try to cling to that quiet space in my brain. I have to stay strong. Solid. Like a boulder. But the tears hit me before I’m done inspecting the paper-thin mattress for bedbugs, and before I know it, my shoulders are shaking, my stomach clenching hard as I try to catch my breath. I sink to the floor and cover my eyes with my hands, crying so hard that I can’t even draw in enough breaths to calm myself. Hot tears slide down my cheeks, each one taunting me.

I’ve never felt so powerless.

I gasp for air and try to stop the sobs, but then it passes. I can breathe. I can survive this. I have to. I push myself up to my feet and drag a sleeve across my face.

Outside the window is a brick wall. I can hear the neighbors in the building next door, their windows still open and less than five feet away from mine. I drag the curtain shut and make my way back over to the bed. The sheets are cool and limp and stained. I flip them back, inspecting between the thin folds, and there are a few holes big enough to stick a finger in, but it’s not the worst I’ve seen. I step inside the bathroom to check the toilet, and when I lift the seat, a cockroach the size of my thumb leaps from the water. I jump back, then flush it down and close the door.

I lie in the dark with my shoes on and it hits me how supremely alone I am. I have no one to call, no one to vent to, no one to help me. When I glance over at the nightstand, there is a phone and a pile of cigarette ashes next to an opened condom wrapper. There is also a pervasive shit smell coming from somewhere in the room, but I don’t know where.

I shift and get inside the covers, wondering if I’ll even be able to sleep, and what dreams will come if I can. Rolling onto my stomach, I almost cry out, but I should have expected it by now: the cramps. I haven’t eaten all day. But food is the last thing on my mind. All I want is sleep, except when I close my eyes, the only thing I feel is the pain.

I jerk awake to my phone vibrating on the nightstand, the abrupt hum piercing through the silence like an iron dagger.

I reach over and glance at the screen. Nate’s name in big white letters. I hesitate, holding my finger over that little green button. I don’t know what he’s going to say. I don’t know what he needs to hear. But maybe he’s sobered up and is thinking clearly again.