Now
I checked into the East Hollywood hostel in a shared dorm room where I would be staying for the foreseeable future. It was all I could afford until I got a job. I had a small savings that I reserved for an emergency such as this, and it would probably only get me by for about a month if I only ate Top Ramen for every meal. And then I would be homeless. I figured that was better than staying in New York City, where I would constantly be reminded of Michael and where he would probably end up finding me once he got out of prison. I didn’t want to know what he’d do to me if he saw me again.
There were three bunk beds with only one space available on a bottom bunk by the window. The place wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be—it was clean, the staff was friendly, and there were a lot of amenities like free breakfast and a common room with couches, a TV, and computers with WiFi. But I still had to share a room with five other women and question if my belongings would be safe in the little locked closet I had. I had been robbed of things in some of the many hostels I stayed in before. My room almost reminded me of my stay in a “teen mental health hospital” when I was sixteen, right before I ran away. My foster parents decided that my sneaking out and partying with friends meant I had psychological problems. I knew that I had problems, but the least of them were my drinking and partying.
I made myself comfortable as I lay in my bunk, applying for any job I could find. I hoped my extensive restaurant history, especially in New York City, would take my resume to the top of the candidate list.
And then my mind wandered to Elliott. I wondered where he lived. Probably somewhere like Beverly Hills or somewhere nice in the valley. And of course, I had to google him. I easily found his website where his picture popped up, his bright blue eyes staring into mine. He was clean-shaven and looked extremely professional, a stark contrast to the relaxed, natural demeanor I saw at the airport. I decided to check Instagram; maybe I could find out more about his life on there. I found him again but his profile was private. Damnit . It was probably best though; I had an obsessive, addictive personality, and I needed to stay away from him. I couldn’t let myself get close to anyone. I would never be able to trust anyone anyway.
I had a couple of calls the next day for interviews. I took the bus to each interview and reminded myself that I needed to get my license if I was going to make it in LA. A couple of days had passed, and there were still no callbacks. I started to panic. Why couldn’t I have just stayed in New York? Sure, everything there reminded me of Michael, but I could have just moved to a different neighborhood. I didn’t need to move across the country, did I?
I hadn’t had a drink in several months. I had tried countless times to quit on my own, even going to rehab a year before, but inevitably, I relapsed. There was still nothing else that could take away that dull ache in my chest. And being back in California felt lonely as fuck—I didn’t know a single soul out here. I needed to mingle. Fuck it, I’m going to a bar .
There were a lot of bars within walking distance in the neighborhood I was staying in. I found a cute little retro bar only about a three minute walk away. It gave classic Hollywood vibes; the 1920s Art Deco style was evident in the light fixtures, the bar backdrop, and even the sign for the place itself. There was a DJ playing modern music on the side, and in the crowd were a mixture of people: younger, older, hipsters, professionals. I made my way to the bar and looked over their menu as I sat on a stool. I was immediately approached by the bartender, a gorgeous blonde with matte red lipstick. She reminded me of Hana. My heart stung at the reminder of Michael again.
“What can I get you, babe?” she asked, a warm smile spread across her face.
“Um.” I looked back down at the menu, its extensive cocktails making my head spin. “Can I just get like, a vodka seven?”
Her friendly grin grew wider. “Of course!” She walked away and started on my drink.
I grabbed my phone out of my purse and scrolled through apps, wondering whether or not to sign up for another dating app. You fucking moron–look who you met last on a dating app . I shook my head at myself. I was trying to work on talking nicely to myself, something I had worked on in therapy, but it was hard to focus on that when I was stressed and living in a place that felt foreign to me now.
“Your vodka seven, my dear.” The bartender put my drink down in front of me. “Do you want to open a tab?”
I looked around and wondered how long I’d be staying. “Sure.” I shrugged then dug for my card in my purse.
“Where are you visiting from?” she asked as she waited.
“Uh.” I laughed. Am I that obvious? “I just moved here from New York City, but I grew up here,” I explained.
“Oh, nice! Welcome back!” She walked away with my card.
I sighed heavily to myself as I took a gulp of my drink. Fuck, the burn down my throat to my stomach was such a nice feeling. I tugged on my sleeves, a nervous habit, always highly aware of the horrid scars on my body.
Someone to my right approached me. “Can I get you a drink?”
I glanced over and a bearded, nice-looking—albeit younger-looking—guy smiled at me. I should say no , but I’m broke as fuck.
“Sure.” I smiled back.
“I’m Jesse.” He stood closer to me; I immediately felt uncomfortable.
“Jackie.” I nodded to him.
“Hey Zee, can I get this beautiful lady another one?” He waved over at the friendly, blonde bartender.
I looked over at her as she nodded.
“You live around here?” he continued.
I sighed, not nearly drunk enough to start the small talk flirting.
“Yeah.” I was being vague as he inched closer.
Zee gave me my second drink and I gulped all of it down quickly. Jesse laughed and slammed his hand down on the bar, thoroughly entertained. That makes one of us.
“Damn, girl. Looking to get fucked up tonight?”
“Precisely. Preferably alone,” I muttered, glancing over at Zee.
Jesse scoffed and slowly walked away. Thank God he wasn’t pushy .
“You alright, babe?” Zee asked, a familiar look of concern on her face.
“Yeah. Can I get another?”
She looked down at my drink. “Sure.”
I sighed as I tapped on my phone, my mind immediately wandering to Elliott. God, he’s so damn handsome . I went to his private Instagram and hit “Follow.” This is such a bad idea. He’s gonna know I’ve been stalking him . I set my phone down and nursed my third drink after Zee set it down in front of me. My eyes quickly shot to the notification that Elliott had accepted my request and was now following me. I laughed, feeling tipsy and ready to flirt. I gasped when a message from him appeared: Well hello there, Jacqueline. It’s nice to see you again. My heart began to race. This is not a good idea to respond, especially while drinking . I immediately typed back: Hi Elliott. I guess it’s apparent I’ve been stalking you. Sorry about that. Oh what a fucking idiot, Jackie . I saw typing bubbles immediately appear. Ha! That’s not a bad thing. I’m really glad to hear from you. I thought I’d never see you again. My heart sunk . Fuck, no no no. I can’t do this . My fingers had a mind of their own as they typed: I want to see you again. But I’m really a fucked up mess, and you will probably run for the hills once you really know me. Especially as a therapist. I set my phone down and put my hands to my forehead. My phone buzzed only seconds later and I quickly read his message: I’d like to figure that out on my own. Everyone is a mess to some degree. I shook my head, tears pooling my eyes. I gulped down my drink and began to type again: No like, you don’t understand. I have been traumatized. I will never be able to trust you. I don’t want to do that to you. You’re too nice. I stared down at my phone as he started to type. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. However, I still want to see you again. I groaned, finally letting tears fall down my cheeks.
“You okay?” Zee was standing in front of me behind the bar, the look of concern still on her face.
“I’m…no. I’m fine. I should go.” I started to stand up.
“Hey, wait, your tab!”
I waited as she grabbed my card. She came back and held it out for me along with a receipt to sign.
“If you need someone to talk to, or just a friend, I’d be happy to hang out. My number is on the receipt.” She smiled at me.
I nodded and gave the best smile that I could. “Thanks.”
I walked out of the bar and my phone began to buzz in my purse. I stood against the wall, the cold air making my buzz feel even stronger. I pulled out my phone and almost had a heart attack: Elliott was calling me on Instagram. Oh my God. Fuck it. Answer it!
“Hey?” I answered hesitantly.
“Hey, Jacqueline. Are you okay?” There was concern clear in his voice.
I sighed. “Yeah. I’m just…I’ve been drinking. It was probably a bad idea to message you in this state,” I admitted, shaking my head at myself.
There was a pause. “That’s okay. Do you need help? Are you able to get home safely?”
I hated that I was already making this beautiful stranger worry about me.
“I’m walking back to my hostel right now. I’ll be fine. Maybe a little hungover, but fine nonetheless.” I began walking towards “home.”
“You’re staying in a hostel? Where?” he asked. “If you don’t mind me asking. There’s just…there’s a lot of bad areas in LA. I’m sure you know that.”
I laughed to myself. “I do know that. It’s fine, it’s in East Hollywood. The Hollywood Hostel.” Am I secretly wanting him to find me?
I heard him sigh. “Okay. Well…at least stay on the line with me until you get there.”
I smiled to myself. “Okay, dad,” I teased, but it immediately stung. Don’t ever call a man dad or daddy again, you idiot .
Elliott laughed. “You’re right. I’m probably old enough to be your dad.”
I stopped walking as I waited for the crosswalk to turn green.
“No, I doubt it. How old are you?” I asked curiously, then began to walk again.
“I’m forty-six.. I’m scared to ask how old you are. I’ll feel like a real creep then,” he teased.
Oh god. He’s older and smart and so fucking handsome . “I’m twenty-eight. See, that’s not creepy,” I assured him with a smile on my face.
He groaned and I felt my pussy twitch. “Yes, it is creepy. I’m eighteen years older than you.”
I bit my lip. I wanted him so badly. But I couldn’t let it happen. Ever.
“If I say it’s not creepy, it’s not creepy. You should be flattered that a twenty-eight year old thinks you’re hot.” Oh God, I did not just say that . “I mean, you’re—fuck,” I laughed, my tipsiness at its height.
He laughed too. “Well, yes…I am very flattered. Especially coming from you.”
I scoffed. “I’m sure you get that all the time.” I was now at the front entrance of the hostel. “You must be swatting away the ladies like flies.” Fuck it, I can flirt; that’s all I could let myself do.
“Actually, not quite. I’m so busy that I don’t have time to be…swatting ladies away.” He laughed lightly. “But I could make the time for you.”
The fire in my core dropped straight to my pussy. “You’re gonna swat me away?” I teased.
He laughed again. “No, that’s not what I meant. Jacqueline, I know you say you’re a mess, but I’d love to see you again.” His tone was earnest and sweet.
I shut my eyes tight. “I can’t. I mean…I can be your friend, Elliott, but any more than that…I just can’t.” I felt like crying.
There was silence for a moment. “I do need more friends.” There was a smile in his tone.
Another tug at my heartstrings. “Okay, well, friend . I made it back home. I’m safe for tonight.”
He sighed. “Good. Can I call you again tomorrow?”
I bit my lip as I smiled. “Sure. I’d like that.”