Alarm rang. The rain is pouring. No doubt that every day is the same day. Here I am on a queen-sized bed with a constant headache. No one to watch while they're sleeping aside from me. I looked over my phone on my dresser to see if anyone tried to contact me but there is a reminder message from my annoying editor, Anna, that I need to write the next book. I roll my eyes and go downstairs for a cup of coffee. Even though my British family drinks tea, I drink coffee. Not black, with cream.
While my coffee is making its way through, I check to see how my mom is doing on her 60th birthday. Yep, I pretty much remember her birthday because I'm a good daughter and it's how we met. Let me start from the beginning. I was abandoned as a baby with no parents to look after me. I was wrapped up with a blanket without offering my mom's milk with love and nurture. In front of the orphanage, there was a director of the orphanage named Fred who found me crying. I liked him. He was like a grandpa to me and still is. He nurtured me the best way he can with food and shelter of my own.
Eleven years later, there was a hazel-eyed woman in the lobby looking for a child. There she was in the living room in front of the window. Dahlia, a light-colored skin child with dark brown hair of two braids in her little purple dress reading a series of books in any category. So the pale-skinned middle-aged woman wanted to check to see what little young Dahlia was reading, and the little girl of 11 was reading Albert Einstein's book and was willing to read War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy for her book report of her own. The woman was surprised and asked Fred how old she was and he answered 11. From that time on, the little girl became Dahlia Day within a month chatting with her future mom without knowing that she would be adopted.
Now we are back to the present, where I call my mom to wish her a happy birthday with a cup of fresh coffee.
"Hey, Mom!"
"Hello, darling! Do you get enough sleep?" I don't care if I get any sleep or not. My mom just got her divorce from that cheating bastard a few months ago and now my mom doesn't seem too happy. Happy about her 60th birthday. On her own...
"Mom, you know I don't care about my sleep; I care about you."
"Lia, you know things happen for a reason, right?"
I nodded even though I'm on the phone, "Yeah I know, Mom... I just hate to hear or see you miserable and now I can't-", for some reason I couldn't sentence because I knew it would ruin her. "Anyway, I called to wish you a happy birthday and maybe we could go out to our usual place to celebrate?"
"Are you sure? I don't want to distract you from your writing..."
"Julia Day!" jokingly, "Today is the biggest celebration of all; welcoming to your first 60th year of a woman who you are now. There's no way in hell I'm missing it! " My mom laughed with joy. Her laughter was music to my ears. I couldn't explain how much I love my mom even though we look different due to the colors of our skin but she's still my mom.
"All right, sweetheart, how about we meet at about 7?"
I smiled, "Ok, Mom. By the way, you will get your surprise present in front of your door like about," looking at the brown, vintage clock by the entrance of my kitchen, "45 minutes." I ordered a bouquet. Her favorite, light pink Calla Lilies, and the six volumes of the first edition of War and Peace, the book I was reading when I first met my mom ten years ago to this day. I ended my call by telling my mom that I love her and we will meet soon.
Upstairs in my bedroom, I went through my closet, figuring out what I could wear... So I decided to wear my black top and black belted skinny pants under a gray blazer with white rolled-up sleeves. After brushing my teeth, washing my face, and brushing my dark brown/blackish shoulder-length hair, and deciding to leave it in messy waves, I look at my brown-eyed reflection. I wish I could tell my mom my deepest secret, but I couldn't, not on her day.
After I dressed up, I put on my casual makeup with my peppermint lip balm. I like it, it's minty. I went to my office, looking at hundreds of emails in my blue iMac from Anna, asking me questions I have no answers to. Am I writing my next novel? What is my novel's title? May she help? When is your deadline due? New chapter? New storyline? Any secrets you like to spoil? Can she help you? New paragraph? Can she be of any assistance? The four words I would like to answer her emails are SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!
After Anna's emails, I decided to try to write. There it is. On my monitor. The typing button is waiting for me to type. Untitled. Chapter One. As time goes on, the rain stops pouring... reading my past novels for inspiration... checking to see any messages from my family... reminding my siblings it's their mom's birthday... of course, one of them forgot... laying upside down on my bed... eating Chinese leftovers... fetching my tennis ball against the wall (thanks to Jack Torrance)... counting the strings of my hair... and looking at the button again leaning towards the screen with hands against my forehead with a headache (gladly I took a Tylenol in the morning) with three cups of coffee. I look at the time on my small clock, IT'S 2:30!! IT'S BEEN SIX HOURS SINCE I HAVEN'T WRITE A WORD?!? I groaned exhaustly, "Ok... I need to take a walk." Me being 5"7' don't necessarily wear high heels most of the time, I put on my black vans and walk out to the door.
Living in Brownstone Chic in London has been a blast as such. I'm able to escape from my past life by living in a city where there are many people. The part that's not been a blast is that I need to hide my profile, the best I can. Becoming a millionaire writer wasn't my first dream, to begin with. It all started when I published my first novel titled Confine in Secrecy when I was 19.
My fantasy, the fictional novel is about Mia, an eleven years old girl warrior, sacrifices her life to commit to sex slavery for 8 years to the master of the dark kingdom for her duty of honor. Mia had been living in secret from her family for all of those years and my novel was filled with graphic details for young adults. I sent my novel to my editor, Anna, and she fixed the rest. The next thing I know, my novel has been worldwide famous for young adults and the sexual abuse women around the world to speak up with their stories. Every time I read or listen to their stories, I bless them with all of my heart that they would be able to have a voice.
My family did not know that Mia is me. When I was adopted, I was sexually abused by my adoptive father, Edward, for 8 years and he swore me in secrecy to protect myself from speaking the truth. Pretty much, the only person who knows the truth is my computer. When my story got published, Edward was calling me and calling to delete my story and I told him no. He got obsessed with me and wanted me back to our place until he cheated my mom from her best friend, Marsha, and divorce her. This fucking bastard trying to ruin my life aside from my mom. All I have to do now is stay in silence. Now my editor wants me to write my next novel or sequel to my first novel and I don't know what to write next.
I'm walking to the entrance of my sanctuary, the British Library, to rent a book to read while I have this block in my writing. I went to an upper level to find my book. A certain book to read that keeps me sane throughout. Now finally at the shelf of A-E, I began to examine a book by the author the last name of A. Lousia May Alcott, Maya Angelou, Margaret Atwood, and Jane Austen. Now to Austen; Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park, Emma, and Persuasion. I reach my book and suddenly my hand touches another hand. It gives me chills through my arms and I look up to see who it was. A man I've never seen here before.
"I'm sorry... I was reaching toward-"
"Pardon me, I was here for"
"Pride and Prejudice", we both said in harmony. Not going to lie, he's probably the most handsome man I've ever seen. A buzz cut short dark-brown hair, pale-skinned with eyes shaded dark brown which seems black to me, glasses, and the short beard who seems 6 inches taller than me due to my vans. Which I'm not complaining about. The man began to speak in a British accent that I would let him talk for hours, "The lady first."
"No, no. I read this book the thousand times and it's my favorite that I should let you read it if you haven't read it. Do you?"
"No, I haven't." he laughs, "It's for my research for Jane Austen's work for my copywriting." For some reason, I couldn't speak; his eyes were still hypnotizing me. He places his glasses on his head to give me a better view of his intense eyes. "So can you give me an insight into what the book is about?"
I grab the book from the shelf, "Well, it's a romance between Mr. Darcy, pride, rich man, and Elizabeth Bennett, outspoken, the middle child along with her four sisters. So basically Lizzie aka Elizabeth believes in the first impression of a character from Mr. Darcy and they both don't go well at first but overall the story is filled with romance and commitment and understanding that first impression is not always right. This is a classic for a reason so..." explaining the plot of the story looking down on the cover of the book for a while.
"Sounds... incredible." I feel him looking at me and I respond to him with love and positivity looking at him back.
"It was...." I smile at him and look down at the book with joy.
"If you love the book so much, why rent it here?" I look at him with an unclear answer.
"I don't know... Been wanting to buy my favorite book, but never got the chance- '' The speaker interrupt my thought saying that the library will be closing in an hour early due to the expected schedule for today. "Here." I give the book to him, able to feel his finger graze against mine again. "You won't regret it." We laugh together.
"I won't. Thank you for the insight."
"No problem, I'm happy to help." I smiled at him one last time and I decided to grab Little Women by Louisa May Alcott and look at the pages with passion. I look up to see him still standing beside me. He said something about the drink with someone but I wasn't sure what he was asking calmly. "I'm sorry?"
"With me." My expression went blank, why would I go out for a drink with someone I met in two minutes? Did he seriously ask me out? He read my expression, trying to get over the silence. "You can say no. I'm not some weird stalker who's gonna follow you home and strangle you for rejecting me." My eyes widen and it's hard to contain my smile and laughter. Laugh nervously, "Okay. I'm gonna stop talking now. Except to say, my name is Benjamin."
Benjamin. What a name for a charming, handsome man I meet is in my favorite place in all of London. I couldn't say my first name and I hesitated and so I introduce myself as Lia."Lia." Yeah, I'm going to listen to him saying my name a million times with that accent. "It's very nice to meet you, Lia."
I smile at him, "It's very nice to meet you too, Benjamin." We walked together to the deck to rent the books. After Benjamin rented his book and waited for me by the door, I gave my library card titled Lia Bennett (which doesn't sound too obvious) to an employee. She realized me from reading Women Millionaire magazine with my face on the cover.
"Oh my god, you're-"
"Yep, I'm me. Thanks." I smiled at her and got my Little Women in my bag. I went along with Benjamin, guiding me where we're going to go. Maybe today didn't turn out so bad after all.