CHAPTER 8

Rock Bottom

The cold seeped through my clothes, settling deep into my bones, even with the thin blanket I'd pulled from a thrift store's donation pile. My breath hung in the air, proof that another freezing night was setting in. The car—my last shred of shelter—smelled like stale air, old fast-food wrappers, and failure. I rested my forehead against the steering wheel, exhaustion pressing down on me like a weight I couldn't shake.

How did it come to this?

That question had been haunting me, creeping in like a fog I couldn't escape. Just months ago, I had a real life—an apartment, a job, a plan for the future. Now I was parked in some alley, hidden from a world that had pushed me out. My stomach growled, the sharp pang reminding me it had been too long since my last meal.

"You did this to yourself," a voice whispered in my head. "You let them take everything. You were weak."

I clenched my jaw and slammed my fist against the dashboard, the impact stinging my knuckles. Weak? I had fought. God, I had fought so hard. But the world didn't care. It knocked people like me down, then laughed when we couldn't get back up.

A sudden knock on the window made me jump. My heart pounded as I wiped at the fogged glass. A man stood outside, half-hidden by shadows cast from a flickering streetlamp. My fingers tightened around the key in the ignition, ready to bolt.

"Hey," his voice was rough, edged with something unreadable. "You okay in there?"

I hesitated. No, I wasn't okay. But admitting that would make me vulnerable, and I had learned the hard way that vulnerability was dangerous.

"I'm fine," I lied, pulling the blanket tighter around me.

He exhaled, nodding like he understood. "You don't look fine. There's a shelter a few blocks away. They take people in, no questions asked."

I almost laughed. No questions? There were always questions. And I had no answers worth giving.

"I'm good," I muttered. "Thanks, though."

He didn't leave. "I've been where you are," he said after a moment. "It doesn't get better alone."

I looked at him then, really looked. His jacket was worn, his boots scuffed. He carried the weight of someone who had been through hell but was still standing. I envied that strength.

"I'm not a charity case," I muttered, more to convince myself than him.

He smirked, but there was no pity in it. "Neither was I. But rock bottom doesn't care who you are."

I swallowed hard, something bitter rising in my throat. He wasn't wrong. The world didn't care that I used to have a life, that I was still trying to hold on.

I turned away, staring at the cracked dashboard, hoping he'd take the hint and leave. But he didn't.

"If you change your mind, the shelter's on 12th and Grant," he said finally, stepping back. "Don't let pride kill you."

I waited until his footsteps faded before I exhaled, my body sagging against the seat. Don't let pride kill you. The words settled over me like a heavy blanket, pressing down harder than I expected.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep. But the past clawed its way to the surface.

I saw my boss, cold and indifferent as he slid the termination papers across the desk. "We're downsizing," he'd said, like that made it better.

I saw my so-called friends, their smiles fading when I told them I was struggling. One by one, they'd disappeared, like my problems might rub off on them.

I saw him—James—his betrayal still fresh, his last words slicing through me. "I can't do this, Celeste. You're too much. Too broken."

Too broken.

A sob tore out of me before I could stop it. I pressed my fist against my mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it was too late. The dam had cracked. Everything I'd been holding in—rage, grief, humiliation—spilled out. My body shook with it, the weight of months of pain crashing down all at once.

I had nothing. No home. No family. No future.

Maybe James was right. Maybe I was too broken to fix.

The thought curled around me, suffocating. I could disappear tonight, and no one would notice. No one would care.

The idea was tempting. Too tempting.

But then… I thought of the man at my window. "It doesn't get better alone."

Maybe I wasn't the only one barely hanging on. Maybe there were people who understood.

I wiped my face with my sleeve. My hands were shaking, my heart unsteady, but something unfamiliar flickered inside me.

Hope.

I looked at the key in the ignition. I could stay here, let the darkness swallow me whole. Or I could take a chance. One last chance.

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

With a deep breath, I turned the key.