How to Fall in Love ✔

How to Fall in Love (17)

Copyright © 2013 by roastedpiglet (of Wattpad)

          All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author.

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c h a p t e r  s e v e n t e e n

[  h o w  t o  c u t  l o o s e  e n d s  ]

          It was three in the morning, and instead of sleeping in the room Miles offered me—the room that was going to be renovated in about time—to stay for the night, I've successfully rummaged through the desk drawers and materialized a pad of paper (with the Royal Hotel logo on every sheet) and a thick pencil (with an embedded Royal Hotel text in silver).

I was writing again.

Granted, I'd been writing like this, pencil and paper, for as long as I could remember, until I've heard of a competition, decided I had a fair chance of winning, and used my rent money to buy a laptop. That was pure impulse on my part, even now, and I was beginning to regret prioritizing a laptop and my ardent (sometimes superfluous, I admit) passion in writing over safeguarding my rent money.

I've been regretting it bad, especially with the events that followed after Mr. Kendrick kicking me out. Sure, I experienced a job as a waitress, I managed to flick a bug to a website of one of the most imperious businesses ever and earned a penthouse for it, and I became a date of fallacy in a world very different from mine, adding firsthand experience just in case I wanted my characters to feel the same.

But beside this list of good things was a longer list of their opposite. All the bad things.

I don't need to list them, because I'm certain they still felt fresh and raw to me, whereas the good things I've managed to garner over this hellish experience? I was beginning to forget.

I shook my head, turning the pencil over and erasing the last few fragments that didn't sound as fluent as the rest.

She was feeling it again—the slamming of her heart against her ribcage, the pumping of her blood in her ears. It was there again, the all-too-well known fear of every creature who'd had the strength to love in a loveless world—pain.

I smiled sadly at the new paragraph—because, then and there, I just finished writing its chapter.

In the faint light of the lampshade and the cool breeze of the AC, I felt peaceful and jovial, the feeling I've been missing, the kind of atmosphere I haven't felt in a long time. The only thing missing was the kind of beverage that aided me in writing—milk. The same brand of milk that I drank every morning to spearhead me into another one of those frustrating writing moments.

The sudden knock on my door scared me boneless.

"Are you awake, Mia?"

That was a familiar voice. That was Miles at the door. At three. In the morning.