Chapter Text
The buzzing motel light flickered above Eli’s head, casting the tiny room in a sickly yellow glow. The air conditioner rattled in the corner, struggling to cool the stale air, but he barely noticed. His breath hitched, coming in sharp, uneven gasps as he pressed his back against the headboard. His arms were wrapped tight around himself, fingers digging into the stretched-out sleeves of his sweater, the same one he’d worn to his first—and last—shift earlier that night.
It had been a disaster.
The moment he stepped onto the floor, it was like his body had turned against him. His hands shook too hard to grip the register. The line of impatient customers blurred together into a faceless crowd, their voices overlapping in a rising wave of noise. His manager, a broad-shouldered man with tired eyes, had tried to be patient—at first. But the moment Eli froze, unable to answer a simple question, he saw the flicker of annoyance behind the man’s forced smile.
"You’ve gotta toughen up, kid."
He didn’t last the full shift. Didn’t even make it to his break. He bolted the second he felt his throat close up, the start of a panic attack clawing at his chest.
Now, alone in the cramped motel room, his pulse pounded against his skull. His fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater, pulling it tighter around himself like it could hold him together. His breath stuttered. His vision swam.
Then his phone rang.
The sound jolted him, and for a moment, he just stared at the screen. Greta.
He swallowed hard and forced himself to answer.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he rasped, voice shaking.
Greta made a dismissive noise. “Relax, baby bat. I was with Cole.”
Eli squeezed his eyes shut, a fresh wave of nausea rolling over him. “Three days, Greta.”
“Yeah? And?” Her voice was light, unbothered. “I knew you’d be fine.”
He wasn’t fine.
She sighed like he was the one being unreasonable. “Look, I didn’t check in because I knew how you’d react. You always freak out about him.”
Eli’s stomach clenched. The panic in his chest gave way to something colder, something bitter and raw.
“He cheated on me, Greta,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
“And I told you it wasn’t like that.”
He let out a shaky breath. “You fucked my boyfriend.”
“To protect you,” she snapped. “Eli, you don’t understand—”
“I don’t need to understand.” His grip tightened on the phone. “I just needed you to care.”
Greta was silent for a moment. Then, she sighed again, softer this time. “Look,” she said, her voice dipping into that careful, almost gentle tone she used when she was about to manipulate him. “I really think you should hear us out. And maybe… you should just come back. We can talk in person.”
Eli flinched. “No.”
“I have news,” she pressed. “Big news.”
He didn’t ask what it was. Didn’t care.
His fingers trembled around his phone. “I—I can’t do this right now.”
Greta huffed. “Fine. Call me when you’re done pouting.”
The line went dead.
Eli let the phone drop onto the mattress beside him. His whole body felt heavy, like the air had been knocked out of his lungs.
He had nothing.
No job. No home—at least, not one that felt safe.
He curled in on himself, pressing his forehead against his knees.
The motel walls pressed in around him.
The silence buzzed in his ears.
And for the first time in a long time, he let himself cry.
---
Eli didn’t sleep that night.
He stayed curled in the stiff motel bed, staring at the water-stained ceiling while his thoughts clawed at the edges of his mind. The panic attack had faded, leaving only a dull, aching exhaustion in its wake, but his body refused to rest. His limbs felt like lead, his chest hollowed out, like something had been scooped from inside him and replaced with nothing.
He had nowhere to go.
The job was gone. His money—what little he had left—would barely stretch another week. He could stay, hopping from one shitty motel to another until he ran out of cash, but then what? Crawl back to his mother? No. That wasn’t an option.
He exhaled shakily, dragging his hands down his face.
That left Greta.
Even after everything, she still opened her door for him when he had nowhere else to go. She’d let him sleep on her couch, let him hide away in her apartment when the world outside became too much. She had always been the one to drag him out of his own head, even if her methods weren’t kind. Even if she hurt him in ways he tried not to think about.
And now she had news.
That word clung to the back of his mind, heavy with unspoken weight. He didn’t want to care, didn’t want to be curious. But he was.
He sighed, pushing himself upright. The motel room was stifling, pressing in on all sides. He needed to leave.
Even if it meant going back to her.
Even if it meant hearing her out.
Even if it meant letting himself hope—just a little—that whatever news she had would somehow, somehow make things better.
Against his better judgement Eli now sat on Greta’s couch, cross-legged, his fingers twisting at the frayed threads of his hoodie. The oversized fabric swallowed his hands, the stretched-out sleeves pooling at his wrists. His skirt draped over his lap, layers of black lace rippling over the runs in his fishnets. The little bows on his garters peeked out beneath the hem.
He liked dressing like this. Soft and delicate. A doll wrapped in fabric and lace. A fragile thing that needed to be handled with care. If no one else would protect him, he would do it himself.
Greta never got it.
She tolerated it now, but back in school, she had made sure he knew exactly how impractical it was. Aren’t you tired of dressing like a Victorian funeral? she’d say, rolling her eyes. When the skirts had started, the comments had been sharper. Meaner. They had earned her a forced apology, a school-wide assembly about inclusivity, and a week of detention she hadn’t taken seriously.
But now, she let him stay.
That was the trade-off. If she wanted him around, she had to let him be himself.
She flopped onto the couch beside him, stretching out like she owned the place—which, to be fair, she did. It was her apartment. His name wasn’t on the lease. He was just there, existing in the space she allowed him to take up.
She nudged his knee with hers, scrolling lazily through her phone.
“Got a job lined up,” she said, smirking. “Gonna be easy money.”
Eli barely reacted. He didn’t want to talk about jobs. Not after the last one. Not after the way his manager had sighed when he fumbled with the register, hands shaking too hard to count change.
You’ve gotta toughen up, kid.
He hadn't gone back after that.
Greta tossed her phone onto the coffee table. “It’s a live-in gig. Some rich old couple in England needs someone to babysit their kid. It’s basically house-sitting, but with a child. Stupid easy.”
Eli frowned. “…You mean babysitting?”
Greta shrugged. “It’s called being an au pair.” She dragged the words out like they tasted expensive. “But yeah, whatever. They didn’t give a lot of details, just that it’s full-time and insanely good money.”
That made him pause. Babysitting wasn’t the worst thing in the world—he was okay with kids. But why would some rich family in England fly in an American for it? Didn’t they have nannies over there?
“…How old is the kid?” he asked, fiddling with his sleeves.
Greta waved a dismissive hand. “Who cares? Eight? Ten? Probably some weird little trust fund brat.” She smirked, nudging his thigh. “You should come with me.”
His stomach twisted. “To England?”
“Yes, dumbass, to England.” She leaned in, grinning like she’d already won. “Think about it, Eli. Free trip. Some creepy-ass mansion in the middle of nowhere. You love that gothic Victorian shit. You could just float around in your little skirts, looking tragic and haunted.”
Eli curled in on himself. “…I don’t know.”
“You never know,” Greta groaned, throwing her head back against the couch. But then her voice dipped into something softer, her dark eyes watching him too closely. “Come on, Eli. What else are you gonna do? Keep rotting here while I pay the rent from overseas?”
His face burned. “I pay too.”
And he did. His SSI, his dwindling savings—he funneled everything into keeping their place running while she bounced from job to job, skipping shifts, quitting on whims. Cole had cost her her last job, but Greta had cost herself dozens before that.
Meanwhile, he was trying. Even when it hurt. Even when getting out of bed felt impossible.
But she was right. It wasn’t enough on his own. He needed her. If she left, he’d be out too. And then what? Crawl back to his mother? Sleep in shelters?
He swallowed hard.
Greta sighed, shifting closer. Her arm looped around his shoulders, her breath warm against his cheek.
“Look, baby bat,” she murmured, the pet name sliding off her tongue like honey. “You’ll barely have to do anything. Just keep me company. Be my little emotional support gremlin.”
Eli bit his lip.
She pressed on. “It’s a mansion, Eli. You can wander around like some tragic ghost princess or whatever.” She grinned. “You know that’s your aesthetic.”
A ghost princess.
That… wasn’t an unappealing thought.
She saw the flicker of hesitation in his eyes and pounced. “And the pay is insane.”
“…How much?”
“Enough that we won’t have to worry about rent for months when we come back.”
That made his chest ache. No more waking up in a panic, wondering if today was the day she’d finally decide he wasn’t worth the trouble.
“…Okay,” he whispered.
Greta’s grin stretched wide. She leaned in, pressing a quick, playful kiss to his temple. “That’s my good boy.”
Eli flinched.
He pulled away, stomach twisting. The words scraped at something raw inside him, something buried deep.
She said it like he was obedient. Like he was something to be trained.
Like he was still that quiet, freakish emo kid she had dared to ask out in high school, just to prove a point.
His fingers curled in his sleeves, knuckles going white.
But he didn’t argue.
He never did.