Evicted and Alone
The sound of the eviction notice being slipped under my door felt like a gunshot in the stillness of my apartment. I sat frozen on the couch, my heart hammering against my ribs. I didn't need to pick up the paper to know what it said. I had been dodging my landlord for weeks, hoping for a miracle that never came.
I forced myself to move, my bare feet whispering against the wooden floor as I picked up the envelope with shaking hands. The red ink screamed at me: FINAL NOTICE. My throat tightened. It was over. No more stalling. No more hoping I could scrape together just enough. I was out.
A sharp knock made me jump. I already knew who it was. Taking a steadying breath, I pulled open the door.
Mr. Bennett, my landlord, stood on the threshold, his expression blank, professional. But there was no kindness in his eyes. "Celeste," he said, his voice devoid of sympathy. "I gave you more time than I should have. You have three days."
Three days.
My stomach twisted. "I— I just need a little more time. I swear I'll get the money—"
He shook his head. "I can't afford to wait any longer. You're two months behind. I have a business to run."
Business. Of course. To him, I was just an overdue payment, not a person whose life was unraveling.
"I understand," I whispered, though I didn't. Though I wanted to scream and cry and beg. But I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
He turned without another word, disappearing down the hallway. I stood there, gripping the doorframe, my vision swimming. The walls of my apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison closing in.
I stumbled inside, sinking onto the mattress that lay directly on the floor—no bed frame, no luxury, just the last remnants of a life I had barely been holding together. I had nothing left. No job. No money. And soon, no home.
The weight of reality pressed down on me, suffocating. I had tried so hard. I Sent out resumes, went to interviews, and even begged old coworkers for leads. But the economy didn't care about my desperation.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts. Who could I call? Who would even pick up? The names blurred together, but I already knew the answer. My pride had pushed away the people who once cared. My ex-best friend, Mara? She had her own problems. My family? We hadn't spoken in years.
Tears burned my eyes. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't fall apart. But my chest ached with the loneliness of it all.
I forced myself up and walked to the tiny kitchen. The fridge hummed, but inside, it was nearly empty—just a half-drunk bottle of orange juice and a takeout box I wasn't sure was still edible. I reached for it anyway.
A loud knock shattered the silence. My heart jumped. Had Mr. Bennett changed his mind?
I hesitated, then pulled the door open.
Derek stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, his dark eyes scanning my face. "Celeste."
I gritted my teeth. Of all people.
"What do you want?" I asked, gripping the doorframe so hard my fingers ached.
He sighed. "I heard."
Of course, he did. The whole damn building probably knew by now.
I folded my arms. "If you're here to gloat, don't waste your breath."
His jaw tightened. "I'm not that much of an asshole."
Debatable. Derek had been my neighbor for two years, always too smug for his own good. We had this weird, unspoken rivalry—who had their life together better, who was struggling less. I had lost that competition.
"I know a place," he said, glancing down the hall as if making sure no one was listening. "It's not much, but it's something."
I narrowed my eyes. "Why would you help me?"
His lips pressed together as if he wasn't sure himself. Finally, he muttered, "Because I know what it's like."
I didn't expect that. I had always seen Derek as untouchable—confident, self-assured, the kind of guy who never faltered. But now, standing here, he looked... different.
I swallowed. "What kind of place?"
"An old friend runs a shelter," he said. "Not one of those packed ones where you're just a number. This one actually helps people get back on their feet."
A shelter. I never thought I'd reach this point. But pride wouldn't put a roof over my head.
"I'll think about it," I said, voice hoarse.
He nodded once, then hesitated. "You don't have to do this alone, you know."
Something inside me cracked, but I held it together. "I always have."
I shut the door before he could say anything else.
Alone. That was how it had always been.
But as I sat back down on the mattress, staring at the peeling paint on the walls, I couldn't help but wonder—how much longer could I keep fighting this battle on my own?
---
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of my phone buzzing. My heart leaped stupidly, thinking maybe—just maybe—it was a job offer.
It wasn't.
A text from an unknown number: You're out of time.
I stared at the screen, my pulse spiking. Who the hell—
A second later, another knock at the door. Louder this time. More insistent.
I moved toward it slowly, dread curling in my stomach.
Then, a voice that made my blood run cold.
"Celeste, I know you're in there. Open up."
No.
Not now. Not him.
I took a step back, my breath coming too fast.
The past had finally caught up with me.
And I wasn't ready to face it.