Chapter 9 Ellis
ELLIS
My eyes snapped open as my internal body clock jolted me awake, that well-known feeling of unrelenting dread freezing me for a moment.
It filled my body in that all-too-familiar way.
My limbs were heavy, breath tight, as if the weight of the entire world rested solely on my shoulders, and no one was coming to help.
Breathe, I reminded myself gently, clutching the blankets beneath me as I stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, eyeing the long crack in the plaster and reminding myself I wasn’t alone.
In the other bed beside me, I could hear Dove’s soft snores. Well, not snores. More like gentle puffs of air than anything else. Not irritating. Just enough to let me know she was still unconscious and not currently documenting my morning ritual of dread driven paralysis.
I kept my gaze fixed on the chipped paint above me, searching for something, anything, to ground me, to bring me back to reality, to release my limbs and let me breathe again.
My phone.
How long had it been since I last sanitized it?
Two days… maybe three? A personal failure.
I mentally added it to my growing list of things to do before we disembarked for St. Louis.
That was something in my control. Achievable.
What else? A shower. Get dressed. Go back to the diner for breakfast. Take your pills.
Yes.
I exhaled and this time, the breath came easier. A little less pressure.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a blur of pink hair and turned my head, finding Liv lying in the empty space on my bed, facing the window, her back to me.
I’d caught her humming “Bohemian Rhapsody” at 3:00 a.m.—she’d been on the sofa then—but she’d fizzled out around the chorus. Did ghosts sleep?
Honestly, it was easy to forget she was dead sometimes.
The way she lay there, sprawled on her side with one arm flung over her head, she looked truly asleep. I could almost imagine she was just another person. A friend. A loud, chaotic, deeply nosy roommate on a road trip.
Except she wasn’t.
Her heart beat so loudly in my chest, it sometimes felt like she was constantly reminding me it belonged to her. That I didn’t deserve it. That her death had been in vain because the life giving miracle meant for her had come to me instead.
“You’re walking around with my heart in your ungrateful chest!”
Harsh. But fair.
I didn’t deserve her heart. And her words had echoed in my mind ever since she’d first hurled them at me in Dove’s reading room back in Chicago.
A year ago, I’d been in recovery—physically healing, mentally spiraling—haunted by the knowledge that someone else’s living, beating organ pulsed inside me while whatever was left of them no longer existed.
I had once again been given an extra chance at life.
The get-out-of-jail-free card that so many before me had been denied, people who had succumbed to their illnesses while I, for some inexplicable reason, kept making it.
Why?
Why did I keep making it?
What was I meant to be doing?
Why was I still here?
I glanced back at Liv.
I wondered if she dreamed. If she still remembered what it felt like to have a body. Did she miss it? Did she resent me for being here instead of her?
Well, that would make two of us.
I pushed up onto my elbows, blinking tiredly, and looked down at the side of her face. Her brows were furrowed, as if she were concentrating hard… or maybe... maybe she was just as haunted as I felt.
Do we ever truly get peace?
In life? In death? In the in-between?
She was trying to get hers, at least. Forcing us across the country so she could fix things with her mother. How we were supposed to achieve that was beyond me, but also a problem for later. Unfortunately, it wasn’t something I could outline on a spreadsheet or color-code.
I carefully rolled onto my side and grabbed my phone from the nightstand, spotting a message from my mother still sitting on the screen, sent long after I’d fallen asleep.
I tapped into it.
Mom [11:00 p.m.]
Glad to hear you made it there safely, El. Thinking of you and hope you’re having the best time.
P.S. Your grandfather is having kittens about you driving the Route. He can’t wait to hear about it.
A small smile crept onto my face as I set the phone down gently, careful not to wake anyone.
It was six in the morning. I’d shower, get dressed, and then start the wake-up call so I could get them moving.
We needed to be back at the diner by 7:00 for breakfast, and I had to take my morning pills by 7:30.
I moved through the motions quickly, making sure to wear my shower shoes in the bathroom, rushing through my routine, eyeing the blackened grout with disgust as I washed all the important parts.
Then came clothes. Something more comfortable today, I decided. I slipped into a pair of leggings, a soft T-shirt bra, and a loose cropped tank top, round at the neck and just long enough to cover the scar. It didn’t ride too high. My stomach wouldn’t be on display.
Don’t ask me why I had a thing about my stomach. I liked the ease of a crop top, but not the draft of air that came with it.
I rummaged through my toiletry bag and pulled out some dry shampoo, spraying it aggressively through my hair before twisting it into a loose plait and bringing it over one shoulder. Once I deemed myself presentable, I stepped out of the bathroom.
Dove was stirring, blinking like a disgruntled cat and muttering unintelligibly into her pillow. Margaret’s new home, Dove’s tote bag, rested on the side table next to her bed.
Liv was hanging upside down on the couch, her legs propped against the wall as she hummed a song I couldn’t place.
“Why are you so awake?” Dove groaned, lifting her head. “What time is it?”
I glanced at my phone. “Six thirty,” I told her. “You need to shower and get dressed. I want to be at the diner by seven for breakfast. I need to take my pills.”
Dove yawned and rubbed her face, nodding vaguely as she sat up with a groan.
She was wearing loose gray sweatpants and cropped tank top.
Her space buns had since been dismantled, and her brown hair now tumbled in soft waves just past her shoulders.
She stretched, arms overhead—several joints cracking—and I found myself tracking the motion, blinking stupidly.
She was more toned than I’d expected, don’t ask me why that thought even crossed my mind. Her arms, though not muscular, had a quiet definition, like someone who worked out consistently but not obsessively. Her stomach was flat, tight... but healthy. Full.
My own body was practically gaunt and pale; gaining weight had always been a struggle.
“Shower shoes!” I blurted suddenly, watching her bare feet nearly touch the floor, ignoring the black slides beside her bed.
Her head snapped toward me, feet hovering above the stained carpet. Realization dawned across her face, and she quickly shoved her feet into her slides. That stomach-warming grin slid onto her face again.
“Thanks,” she murmured with a laugh. “Okay. Shower and breakfast. I can do this. Liv, if you try coming into the bathroom again like you did last night—”
“I just wanted to see how the water felt!” Liv protested, crossing her arms with a dramatic pout. “You didn’t have to be so rude about it.”
Dove rolled her eyes and headed to the bathroom, gripping her toiletry bag like she might use it to fend off Liv, should she decide to follow her in. It was abundantly clear she was not a morning person.
I busied myself packing up anything I’d taken out the night before. Once satisfied, I perched on the edge of the bed and opened a text to my mother.
Ellis [6:45 a.m.]
Headed to St. Louis today. Will be posting some content later.
By the time Dove emerged from the bathroom, my stomach was growling, Liv was counting backward from one million, and I was beyond ready to get the hell out.
Dove trudged out wearing a loose gray tee that hung off one shoulder and a pair of black frayed shorts.
Her beat-up Converse completed the casual grunge aesthetic, if that’s what she was going for.
She seemed to have put extra effort into her space buns this morning; they were tighter and more polished, though a few strands still hung loosely around her face.
I wasn’t sure if it was intentional or just a by-product of her hair’s stubborn personality.
Dove unceremoniously shoved her items into her duffel bag, and I winced at the rough way she picked up the tote bag that held her grandmother’s ashes—tucked away in a sandwich bag, of all things.
I didn’t say anything. None of it was my business. And if we ever got pulled in for questioning, I would be removing myself from any involvement as quickly as possible.
By the time we vacated and headed toward the motel’s front desk, it was almost 7:00 a.m. Liv was unusually quiet, Dove still looked half-asleep, and all I wanted was coffee and some eggs. I tugged on the front door, but it didn’t budge. I blinked and tugged again. Was it locked?
“I think they’re shut,” Dove mumbled behind me, her voice still thick with sleep. “Look, they have a drop box for keys.” She handed me an envelope and a pen.
I chewed my lip as I slipped the room key inside. I’d already paid for the room at check-in, so that part was fine. But what about the mirror?
I scribbled down my contact number and left a note asking them to call me about the broken mirror. I didn’t have time to wait around. I needed to eat, take my pills, and get on the road.
By the time we were seated in the same booth as yesterday, I could feel the lingering tension of having strayed from the plan begin to ease.
We were on schedule, completely on track for the day, and the inner peace it gave me had me casually powering through my eggs, actually enjoying my food for the first time on this trip, rather than forcing it down while ignoring the anxiety coiled in my stomach.