Romans & histoires Last Resort

" ᴵ ˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵃˢᵗ ᵇʳⁱᵈᵍᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵐʸ ˡⁱᶠᵉ "

Hers. Finally. Completely. Forever. THE END

My home. Forever. ----- **THE END**

Forever. -------------------------------------------END----------------------------------------------------------------------

Although, if anyone finds it out here, dead and deserted on the side of this long, barren stretch of road, they can have it. About a mile back, I spotted an old, dusty, rusted-out sign for the Last Chance Motel. I cracked a joke as I flew past laughing. Something about how no one in their right mind would stay at such a high-end establishment. All sarcasm as the place looked like it was one dust storm away from toppling. That happened an entire mile of confidence ago. Now it looks like the Last Chance Motel might be my actual last chast. There hasn't been cell service for the last fifty miles.

Let's end this. ***

But maybe tomorrow will. Maybe seeing her face to face. Maybe getting down on my knees and begging. Maybe showing her I've changed. Maybe— I'm grasping at straws. I know that. But straws are all I have left. So I'm holding on. Tomorrow. Hotel Carlyle. 8 PM. My last chance. I'm not going to waste it.

*** When I woke up, Johan was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless and smoking. He heard me move and looked back. A check landed on the bed in front of me. I stared at it. He only said a few words. "I'm bored with you." Something inside me cracked. Like porcelain shattering, sharp pieces cut across my heart. Still, my voice came out calm. I even smiled. "I've got less than three months left. Couldn't you wait a little longer?" Johan frowned. "Yara Yelton, you should know your place."

“Why are your hands so cold? Have you been too tired lately? I will reduce the interest on that debt by another two points for you. How does that sound?” My body stiffened before I forced out a polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Cardea.” Daniel smiled and patted the top of my head. “Good girl. Come home tonight. I want that pot roast you make. Do not keep me waiting.” Home. That villa on the hillside was not home. It was a beautiful place that felt like a prison. I returned to my desk and opened the memo app on my phone. The numbers on the screen represented my mother’s life.