Chapter 2 Adrift
1076 Words
The night air was damp, the kind that clung to skin and hair, and every step Lily took made the wheels of her suitcase rattle over the uneven pavement.
She had no idea where she was going.
Her mother’s number flashed again on the screen — then Leon’s, then Margaret’s—one after another. The buzzing in her pocket became unbearable, so she pulled the phone out and switched it off completely—silence at last.
Only then did she realise how alone she was.
Her whole life had revolved around Leon — his routines, his friends, his plans. She hadn’t needed to think beyond the wedding because her future had already been decided for her.
Now that the future was gone.
A bus whooshed past, splattering her coat with rainwater. She didn’t even flinch. She just kept walking, suitcase dragging behind her like dead weight.
By the time she stopped, her feet ached and her throat felt raw from holding back tears. The glowing sign of a cheap motel blinked at her through the drizzle: “Rooms Available – £45 per night.”
It wasn’t much of a choice, but it was all she had.
Inside, the lobby smelled faintly of bleach and stale crisps. The man behind the desk barely looked up from his phone as she fumbled for her bank card.
“Single room, please,” she whispered.
He slid a form toward her. “Forty-five a night. Continental breakfast is extra. Wi-Fi’s hit and miss.”
She nodded, signing her name with a shaking hand. The machine beeped as her card went through.
“Third floor, room twenty-three,” he muttered, tossing her a key.
The lift was out of order, so she hauled the suitcase up three flights of creaking stairs. The corridor smelled of damp and cigarettes. Her room wasn’t much better — narrow bed, threadbare carpet, a single bulb flickering overhead. The heater rattled when she switched it on.
She sank onto the bed, staring blankly at the peeling wallpaper. The adrenaline that had kept her upright since she’d left Leon finally drained away, leaving her hollow.
It hit her then — the full weight of what she’d done.
No home. No job. No fiancé. Nothing to fall back on.
She opened her banking app. £312.19. That was it. Her savings account had been nearly empty since she’d quit her admin job to focus on wedding planning. Leon had promised he’d handle everything financially until after the honeymoon.
Her chest tightened until after the honeymoon.
She laughed bitterly and pressed the back of her hand to her eyes.
After a long while, she pulled out her phone and opened a job board. The listings blurred together — Administrative Assistant, Retail Assistant, Temp Receptionist. Every one of them required experience she hadn’t used in over a year.
She applied anyway, her fingers moving automatically. But each click of “Submit” only made her feel smaller, more lost.
By midnight, her head ached. She stared at the ceiling, wondering how her life had unravelled so completely in less than twenty-four hours.
Tears burned her eyes again. She wanted to call someone — her mum, maybe. But she couldn’t face the I-told-you-sos or the quiet pity.
She needed quiet. Or distraction. Or something to stop the ache in her chest.
The heater rattled again. The walls seemed to close in. The silence felt suffocating.
She grabbed her coat.
Outside, the drizzle had turned into a fine mist. Neon lights flickered from a row of shops down the street — a laundrette, an off-licence, a tiny pub with a flickering sign that read “The Rusty Tap.”
She hesitated only a second before pushing open the door.
The warmth hit her first — then the low hum of conversation, the smell of beer and fried food. A football match blared faintly from a mounted television.
No one looked twice at her. She liked that.
Sliding onto a stool at the bar, she managed a faint smile at the barman. “Gin and tonic, please.”
He nodded. “Coming right up.”
The first sip burned down her throat. It didn’t help.
“Another?” he asked.
She nodded.
By the third glass, her chest loosened slightly. The ache dulled at the edges. She found herself watching the condensation trail down the glass, mesmerised by the way it pooled at the base.
Her mind kept drifting — to Leon’s expression when she’d confronted him, to his voice, so calm and patronising. You’re being dramatic.
She clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms.
The barman returned. “You okay, love?”
She forced a smile. “Do I look okay?”
He chuckled softly, not unkindly. “Rough night?”
“You could say that.”
She finished her drink in one swallow.
The room began to blur. The edges softened, the noise fading into a pleasant hum. Someone started laughing loudly nearby, and she laughed too, though she didn’t know why.
The bartender hesitated when she asked for another. “Might want to slow down a bit, love.”
She waved him off. “Please. Just one more.”
He sighed, but poured it.
By the time she stood to leave, the world tilted. Her coat slipped from her shoulder. She barely noticed. The cold air outside slapped her cheeks, and she let out a small, broken laugh.
Her suitcase was still at the motel, but she didn’t care. The city spun before her, lights and shadows dancing.
She took a few unsteady steps down the pavement, heels clicking unevenly.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket again, but she didn’t look. She didn’t want to see who it was — her mother, Leon, anyone.
She just wanted quiet.
And maybe — if she was lucky — to forget.
But the night didn’t care about her wishes. The rain began to fall harder, cold and unrelenting, soaking through her hair and dress.
She staggered once, steadying herself against a lamppost. Her vision blurred. The ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
“Just one more,” she murmured to herself, not sure if she meant the drink or the breath she was taking.
Then, somewhere in the distance, a car engine revved.
She didn’t notice the headlights yet. She didn’t see the figure watching from across the street, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight, heart in his throat.
- Writer
