Jackie

The fluorescent light above the bed flickers, casting long shadows across the stained comforter. My hands shake as I hold my phone, the screen's glow illuminating tear tracks on my cheeks. He took the car, the last of our cash, and left me with nothing but this cheap room and the clothes on my back. Why did I trust him, why did I let him make me feel special. I pull up the browser, my thumb hovering over the search bar. My stomach churns with shame, but the alternative—the cold, unforgiving streets—is worse. I find the sub-reddit, my heart pounding. People actually post things like this. Maybe... maybe someone will see it. With trembling fingers, I start typing, deleting words, then retyping them. "Hi..." I begin, the word feeling pathetic and inadequate. I force myself to continue, laying out my desperation piece by painful piece. When I hit "post," I throw the phone onto the pillow as if it burned me, curling into a ball and waiting for a reply that could save me, or damn me further.