Run-Book 1 of Distance Series

Chapter 2: City of Whispers

I woke up feeling like absolute shit. My whole body ached, like I'd been run over, dragged for a couple of miles, and left for dead. The bed beneath me felt like it was made of fucking rocks, stiff and unforgiving. I blinked at the ceiling, trying to shake off the fog in my brain, but the first thing that hit me was the smell.

"Fuck me..."

I reeked. Sweat, dirt, mud—everything from yesterday clung to me like a bad fucking decision I couldn't wash off. I sat up, peeling myself off the gross-ass sheets, and my heart sank as I looked down at myself. My cross-country uniform was still on, crusted over with dried mud that had turned stiff and itchy overnight. The memory of face-planting during the race flashed through my head—how I'd stumbled through the damn thing like a drunk deer before crashing in this shitty hotel.

My legs, my arms, my face—it was all covered. I was still fucking filthy.

"Great. Just fucking great."

I wiped at the dirt on my skin, like it might magically come off. Spoiler: it didn't. I was caked in it—layers of dried mud, streaks of sweat-turned-grime, clinging to me like a second skin. And the worst part? It wasn't just on the outside. I felt like I'd been dragged through hell, like all this crap I'd been trying to shake was still clinging to my insides.

I glanced over at my backpack, leaning up against the rickety chair by the window, half-open like it had been through a damn storm. At least I had a towel and some soap in there. Whoop-de-fucking-do. What was I even expecting? A five-star spa? I couldn't even get a decent mattress in this shithole.

I dragged myself out of bed, feeling every muscle scream in protest, and grabbed the pack. My hands fumbled with the zipper as I yanked it open. Towel, soap—barely enough to scrape myself clean, but it was all I had. I glanced toward the bathroom. The door was half-open, creaking like some haunted house, and I could already see the bathroom was a disaster. Cracked tiles, mildew, the faint stink of old, stagnant water. Fucking disgusting.

"Of course. Because why the fuck not?"

I gritted my teeth, shaking my head. You've dealt with worse. Don't be a baby. I forced my feet to move, stepping toward the bathroom like it was some kind of challenge. I couldn't keep walking around covered in mud and smelling like shit. I had to get clean, even if the place looked like it'd give me tetanus just by standing in it.

But even as I told myself that, I could feel that stupid fucking voice creeping in again, the one that never shuts up. Why bother? You think washing this shit off makes you any less of a fucking mess?

I hated that voice. It was always there, lurking in the back of my mind, waiting for the moment I felt like I might be getting it together. You think this'll fix you, Ignis? Get real.

I clenched my fists, my jaw tightening. "Shut the hell up," I growled under my breath, more to myself than anything else. My chest felt tight, like I was suffocating under the weight of all this doubt that wouldn't quit.

I shoved the door to the bathroom the rest of the way open and stepped inside. The tiles were grimy, cracked, and the showerhead was rusted to shit. There were water stains on the ceiling, and the mirror was so fogged up and dirty, I couldn't even see my reflection clearly. Perfect.

But there wasn't time for bitching. I needed to get this done. Time to use the cheat code.

I stared at the rusty shower, feeling that familiar tug in the back of my head—the part of me that could make all this mess go away, at least for a few seconds. I could stop time, freeze everything, and give myself the space to deal with it. No one else had that luxury, right? At least I had that.