A New Identity
I stood in front of the mirror, staring at a woman I didn't recognize. My long dark hair was gone, replaced by a short bob. My eyes, once full of warmth, now looked cold and determined. Celeste was gone. I was someone new.
The name on my new ID said Stella Adams. It felt strange, but that was the point. I needed to leave my past behind and become someone no one could find. I ran my fingers over the smooth plastic card, holding it tightly. No one could ever know who I used to be.
The motel room smelled like old cigarettes and cheap perfume, but at least it was safe. I had cash, a plan, and the will to start over. That had to be enough. But the past had a way of creeping in—whispering in the quiet, reminding me of everything I was trying to forget.
A knock at the door made me jump. My heart pounded. I reached under my pillow, grabbing the knife hidden there. "Who is it?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.
"Your dinner, ma'am," a tired voice said. Just the motel worker.
I let out a slow breath and put the knife away. I had to stop being so paranoid. Living like this wasn't really living.
I opened the door just enough to grab the brown paper bag. The old man handing it to me barely looked at me before walking away. I locked the door twice, my stomach twisting. I needed to leave soon. This wasn't paranoia—it was survival.
I ate my food without really tasting it. Food was just fuel now. I needed to stay strong, stay ahead. I wasn't just running. I was rebuilding.
Then my phone vibrated. My breath caught in my throat. Only one person had this number. My hand hovered over the screen before I finally answered.
"You shouldn't have called," I whispered.
"You disappeared," Joe said. His voice was filled with worry and frustration. "Do you know how many people are looking for you?"
I let out a cold laugh. "I do. That's why I left."
Silence. Then he asked, "Is this really what you want?"
Want? That word didn't mean much anymore. "What I want doesn't matter."
"You can't run forever, Cel—"
I flinched. "Don't say my name."
He hesitated. "Right. Stella." It sounded wrong coming from him, like forcing the wrong puzzle piece into place. "If you ever need anything—"
"I won't." I hung up before he could say more. Before I could doubt my choices.
I pressed my forehead against the wall, breathing in the scent of old paint and regret. Joe meant well, but he didn't understand. No one did. I wasn't just running. I was erasing my past.
The next morning, I was driving before the sun even rose. A new city, a new life was waiting. My hands gripped the wheel tightly, my mind racing. I needed a job, a place to stay longer than a few nights. Something stable. Something normal.
Normal. Did that even exist for me anymore?
I spotted a small café. The kind of place where people had a "usual order" and didn't ask too many questions. Perfect.
I stepped inside, breathing in the scent of fresh coffee. The barista, a girl with bright pink hair and tired eyes, barely looked up.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"I need a job," I said, adjusting the strap of my old bag.
She snorted. "Don't we all?"
A voice from the back called out, "If she can pour coffee and not steal, she's hired."
Pink Hair shrugged. "Guess you're in."
Just like that, I had a job. A small step toward a new life.
Days turned into weeks. I settled into a routine—early mornings, long shifts, small talk with customers. No one looked too closely at me, and that was exactly what I wanted.
But peace never lasted long.
One evening, as I was closing up, the bell above the door rang. I turned, expecting a late customer. Instead, my body went cold.
James.
Of all the people I had hoped never to see again, he was the worst.
His dark eyes studied me, taking in my new hair, my apron, the fake name on my name tag. A slow smirk spread across his face, but it wasn't friendly.
"Fancy seeing you here," he said. "Or should I say… Stella?"
I gripped the counter, my nails pressing into the surface. "You have the wrong person."
He chuckled. "Oh, we both know that's not true."
Every part of me wanted to run, but I stayed still. Running wouldn't help now. He had found me.
I swallowed hard. "What do you want?"
James leaned forward, resting his hands on the counter. "You really thought you could disappear?"
"I did disappear."
His smirk faded. "Not well enough."
Silence filled the room. My carefully built new identity was already cracking.
Then he said the words that sent a chill down my spine.
"You're not as free as you think."
The café suddenly felt too small, the air too heavy. My heart pounded, but I kept my face blank. I couldn't let him see my fear.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, sliding it across the counter. I hesitated before picking it up.
It was a photo. Of me. Taken yesterday.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my hands shaking.
James's voice was almost gentle. "They know where you are."
My vision blurred. Every step I had taken, every sacrifice I had made—it had all been for nothing.
I had to run. Again.
I forced a smirk, though my stomach twisted. "Then I guess I'll have to disappear better this time."
James's jaw tightened. "It's not that simple."
I met his gaze. "It never is."
I grabbed my bag and pushed past him, my pulse racing. The night swallowed me as I stepped onto the empty street.
I had lost my name once. I could do it again.
But this time, I wouldn't just disappear.
This time, I would win.