Copyright © 2013 by roastedpiglet (of Wattpad)

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c h a p t e r  o n e

[   h o w  t o  p a y  r e n t  ]

          Setting down my glass of milk with a loud bang, I felt my eyes brighten into a four-karat diamond. I curled my lips up into an exuberant smile, as I typed down on my laptop the right words Vivienne, my main character, should say.

          "I love you. I love you so much . . . that I can walk away. In our dreams, even in just our dreams . . . let's meet again, Carlo," I dramatised, with matching heartbreak and tears, acting out Vivienne's character and imagining a 70's setting around me.

         I cleared my throat and lowered my pitch. "No, I won't let you. Don't go, Vivienne, my love. Don't go!" I outstretched my hand toward the laptop, as if trying to grab Vivienne from it.

          Grinning like a fool, I began to type in the rest of the conversation, saying the words aloud. "But I—I can't live without you. You're not a—"

          Three knocks came onto my door, shattering me from my imagination. I felt the two wires in my head, just an inch away from each other, coil back to their position, a hundred miles between them. I grimaced. I was so close to finishing a chapter!

          I shook my head. No, no, this wouldn't do. I had to finish this chapter, no matter what.

          I tried to go back to the setting around me, picturing Vivienne and Carlo, a small distance between them, yet so far away. "But I—I can't live without you. You're not a—"

          Another round of, this time, five knocks on the door sounded loud and clear, completely pulling me out of my writing mojo.

          Groaning, I had no choice but to save my Word document and put my laptop to hibernation, before nowhere near rushing to the door. With another grimace, I turned the doorknob and pulled open the door, only to suppress a shriek at the sight of my landlord before me, his crinkly eyes angry and tired.

          "It's the end of the month. Where's your pay?" he croaked out, his without-any-hair head shiny from oil and his clothes a little rattled. He was tiny for a man. If you were superficial, there was no way you'd think someone who looked like him was the landlord of a whole townhouse.

          That was when I began to chew on the inside of my lip, racking my brain for another good excuse as to why I had no money to pay him. "Uh . . . ," I started awkwardly, giving him a nervous smile. "Is it the thirty-first already? I didn't know that."

          He merely stared at me, his eyes still . . . crinkly and angry and tired.

          "Uh . . ." I laughed nervously. "I . . . didn't know it's the end of the month." I switched to determined/I promise this time mode, knowing it was my last get out of jail card. "I'll pay you tomorrow! I haven't—"

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