I’d thought going on this vacation would mean fun, maybe hot guys, maybe a chance at some adventure.

Ugh. This place is boring and I wish I’d never come. I should have stayed home. At home, I could have felt sorry for myself while making comfort food for myself in my kitchen. Instead, I’m feeling sorry for myself alone in a hotel room with obnoxiously loud neighbors.

Pulling the pillow around my ears like I’m some kind of face taco, I realize I can still hear them and glare at the ceiling like it’s responsible for my woes.

For fuck’s sake.

Are the walls paper thin here?

Should I bang on the wall and tell them to keep it down?

I stand up, feeling my white short shorts ride up a bit more. But it’s so hot here, there’s no way I’m going to put on something longer. I should have gone somewhere cooler. But no, I’d thought getting away from the coast and rain would be a good idea. Because I’m an idiot and I forgot how much I hate the heat.

The grass is greener, I guess.

Tugging an errant shoulder strap up, I place my ear against the wall of my quieter neighbor. He’s talking in a low voice and I imagine what he looks like. There’s something gritty about his voice, a gravely growl that’s enough to make my heart beat faster even as I imagine him as the monster of his own life’s story.

I bet he’s tall; he sounds tall. That sounds so stupid, I chide myself. How does someone sound tall?

But he does. I stand by it.

Turning, I lean on the wall and slide down. Running my hands through my black hair, I tug it back from my face. The front of my tank top gaps open and I roll my eyes. Sheesh. Dad would blow a gasket if he saw his sweet little darling dressed like this.

I guess that’s a curse no one thinks about when it comes to having a ‘good’ family. Yeah. ‘good’ family. Dad makes money and we’re upper crust. But it came with certain freedoms and many more restrictions. Daddy wanted me to be perfect all the time.

And now that I’m that good girl gone rogue, I’m sure he’ll have people hunting me down as soon as he catches wind that I’m gone. But I was smart; I covered my tail. I’ve got at least a week until he realizes something is wrong.

With my knees to my chest, I run my hands down my shins, feeling the many thin silver and gold rings on my fingers roll with the motion.

“Cami,” The guy on the other side of the wall says, and I turn to place my ear and hands on the it, feeling like some starved drama queen listening to her lover on the other side of a wall with his side ho’s. “I need you to tell my why you were following Olivia.”

And I hear the woman – Cami, I guess – answer. “She’s my daughter, Connor. I just wanted to see her.” The sound of her crying is so quiet, I’m not sure if I’m imagining it. Tucking an errant lock of hair behind my ear, I try not to think about how normal people act on vacation.

This is not it; I’m pretty sure.

Ear to the wall, zeroing in on the secrets of strangers?

No way. I’m fucking psycho or something.

“Were you planning on snatching her again?” he asks, his voice so low and controlled the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I shiver, wondering what the hell is going on. Every second that ticks by makes this whole scenario seem more and more off.

I mean, maybe they’re rehearsing for a play. Maybe they’re method actors. Maybe it’s a social experiment. Maybe I’m some nosy bitch who needs to get the fuck out of the hotel room and get some fresh air or see the sun to verify its actual existence.

“Why were you calling his work every day?” Connor - as Cami called him – sounds fucking scary.

I hear her make a noise, like a refusal to answer, but Connor doesn’t seem to be feeling too patient. “Were you trying to threaten him?” He asks and she must have shaken her head because he responds with tightly controlled anger that’s more frightening than someone losing their temper. “Why then, Cami?”

The vision of the man forms in my head. He’s tall, I established that. Older, like Kurt Russell, and just as menacing. And maybe just as good looking. Slim… no, scratch that. He’s buff. All brawny and terrifying like Arnold. Wait, no, that’s too far. Somewhere between Arnie and that dude who plays Thor, what’s his name…

Chris Hemsworth! I think. Is it?

I puzzle over my pop culture references and listen with half my attention. Whoever the dude is, he’s clearly intent on getting information. And I’m going to sit here on the other side of the wall we share and just listen to my very own, real life soap opera.

Damn, I wish I had popcorn. That would make this all better. Except, I bet they’d hear me crunching on it and I might ruin their improv routine.

My fingers tangle in my hair and I quickly braid the mass of waves that hang to the middle of my back. Not that I’m going anywhere, I don’t need to pretty-up. I’m not even really wearing make-up; just that minimal amount I need to feel human. You know, that little bit that means you don’t have to cringe when you walk by a mirror.

Because that shit sucks.

I press my ear to the wall again. They’ve gotten pretty quiet. I wonder what I’m missing. Then the man talks and the very calm, very matter of fact words send an icy shiver down my spine. “I’m not letting you go until you tell me what I want to know.”