Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Glancing around, I see a couple having cocktails on the couch, but otherwise, thank God, I don’t have an audience for this humiliation. “That’s not a problem,” I whisper, keeping my voice down like my head as I dig through the purse tucked between my hip and the heavy coat I’m wearing. She peeks up at me every few seconds as if I can magically produce another credit card. Fortunately, I can since I grabbed the stack from my dresser.
She’s typing on a keyboard. I’m sure she’s making a note that I’m a delinquent guest. Ugh. I tap the counter with another card, then hand it to her. “There’s no credit limit on this one.”
Her fake smile vanishes quickly as she snatches the card and slides it down the card reader. We both wait in painful silence while our eyes volley between each other’s and to the machine for the card to clear. “I’mmm sorry. This one has also been declined.”
“What?” I rapidly blink a few times. “But there’s no limit. It’s limitless.” I hate the way I sound like a fool who can’t shut her mouth. The woman knows without me having to explain. “Do you mind trying it again?”
“Of course, Ms. Stansbury.”
Was that loud or just my embarrassment kicking in? Does the entire city need to know I’m being rejected repeatedly?
A throb in my head matches the heavy beats in my chest when I pretend to scratch an itch on my shoulder using my chin. I peer around the place for any eyewitnesses to my utter humiliation. Fortunately, it’s not busy at this hour. Sure, the couple drinking glance at me, but I don’t think they can hear what’s happening across the lobby. I exhale to relieve the pressure, but embarrassment is already strangling my neck.
“Ms. Stansbury—”
“Oh God.” I startle, protectively covering my heart with my hand. “Yes?”
“Are you alright?” There’s no concern in her eyes, but there is impatience.
“Depends on if that card goes through or not,” I joke, but I’m unable to laugh. “I appreciate you trying these for me.” My voice isn’t louder than a mouse as I press against the counter, hoping no one else can hear me.
She sets the card down beside the keyboard on top of the other, and I swear I see a devious glint in her eyes when she looks back at me. “Declined.”
It’s then that I realize, this is by design with my father as the architect. He knows I’m gone . . . fear rattles through me as I pull out another card for her to try. There’s no hope, but a lot of mortification tied up in me asking for one more chance.
“Declined as well.”
I can’t hold my chin up anymore. My cheeks are flaming hot, and I’m close to tearing up when I offer one more card to run through the machine. “I’m so sorry for wasting your time.” I have more cards, but the outcome is obvious, so there’s no point in making either of us continue this suffering.
“You will need to pay for the nights you’ve stayed.”
Ironically, I haven’t stayed. It’s only been a landing place for my belongings until I figure out the next steps. I hand her my debit card, which swipes just fine, but my cash is limited, unlike what that card was supposed to be. I sign the receipt and set the pen down. Knowing I don’t have the cash on hand to stay here and cover months of rent and living expenses, I say, “I’ll need to check out, please.”
As if she were waiting for me to admit defeat, she replies, “Already done. Have a nice day, Ms. Stansbury.”
My face begins to cool despite the shame that overwhelms me as I walk to the elevator. I keep thinking I have things under control, but then something new hits me sideways. Should I have expected this to happen? Yes. But how did they find out I was gone for good?
Gregory. The betrayer.
The elevator opens, and a bellman enters with me. It’s still tempting to cry and get it out of my system, but tears won’t wash away the shame that’s settling inside. What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go? How do I tell Keats that it’s only day three and I failed? I take a deep breath, but a stifled sob catches in my throat.
The man tugs a tissue from a new pack and hands it to me. “It will be okay. You’re young, and you’ll recover, and whatever happened back there will just be a story you tell or not, and nobody has to know but yourself.”
“I can only hope.”
“Well,” he says just as the elevator comes to a stop. I step off and turn back. “You’re lucky. They usually cut the cards in half.”