Chapter 1: Caught in the Act

I lay sprawled out on the hotel bed, the rough polyester comforter scratching at my skin. The sheets smelled faintly of bleach and something sour, like old gym socks. From next door, a couple was going at it like the walls were made of cardboard. The rhythmic thump and muffled giggles echoed through the thin plaster, making me toss and turn. I mashed the limp pillow over my ears, wishing it could block out more than just bad dreams. The air conditioning wheezed overhead, but it couldn't drown out the noise or the irritation prickling at my nerves.

What the hell is up with the soundproofing in this dump? One of those roadside motels with flickering neon, where the only breakfast is a sad tray of powdered donuts and coffee burnt to tar.

I glanced at the clock: 3:30 in the damn morning. Frustrated, I grabbed my battered Zippo and lit a cigarette, holding it up in a silent salute through the drywall for the guy next door, like I was celebrating his post-coital victory with a smoke of my own. A pack of Marlboros, my only company tonight.

Come on, can’t you wrap it up a little earlier? Some of us have an 8AM meeting and zero patience left.

It’s the middle of the goddamn night—don’t you care about your neighbors? Have some decency; this isn't spring break in Daytona Beach.

BANG! The door next door got kicked open so hard it rattled my own doorknob, followed by screaming, crying, and the sound of glass shattering—maybe a lamp or the mini-bar.

Shit, someone’s busting a cheater. Nothing like a little midnight drama to liven up a Tuesday in Nowheresville, Ohio.

I hurriedly threw on some jeans and my faded Guardians t-shirt, heart pounding with adrenaline and curiosity. I rushed out to catch the drama, slipping into my battered sneakers without socks. The door across the hall was wide open, light spilling into the corridor. I crept over and peeked inside, catching sight of a naked woman getting slapped while someone yanked her hair—shouts bouncing off the ugly floral wallpaper.

The mistress was bawling her eyes out, mascara running down her cheeks in streaks, tears streaming down her face. The kind of sobbing that comes from your gut, making her look raw and broken.

The last time I saw her cry like that was when I proposed to her. She wore that same crumpled, desperate expression, and my stomach twisted. For a split second, I wanted to run—pretend I’d never seen her like this. But anger kept me rooted.