#life update i got my pizza after heading to the restaurant itself. turns out they werent even open and the app freaked out and charged me

[tannnnblogs]

I love WOMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNN

[dramaqueeenamby]

𝙎𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝗈𝖿 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 | seven

Parings: CEO!Chris Hemsworth x Stripper!OC // Words: 7.8K // Type: Series // Taglist: Yes/No (Inbox me to be tagged or removed) Warnings: Sexual harassment, racial themes, discussions pertaining to child death, miscarriage, alcohol/drug use, and suicide attempts. Angst.

A/N: I'm so sorry for the inexcusable delay in updates. This chapter is hella long and perhaps should have been split into two, but I promised ya'll some answers in the last chapter, so here they are!

“What is that haircut?”

“Why are you zooming in?”

Kaya said nothing, continuing to pinch her fingers to gain a closer look, her smile widening by the second. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding. “

Chris rolled his eyes. “All children go through phases.”

“This is beyond a phase, my friend. Don’t even get me started on the outfit.” As she erupted in yet another fit of giggles, he took advantage of the opportunity to snatch the iPad away from her.

“Go to sleep.”

Quieting herself down, she wiped at her eyes. “No. Come on. I’m enjoying this, and like you said, you were a dumb kid. How were you supposed to know these photos would haunt you till’ the end of time?”

“Only if they get out.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, sir.”

Chris closed the app and looked over at her. “What about you?”

Kaya’s brow lifted. “What about me?”

“What about your phases?”

She snorted. “Absolutely not.” He continued to stare her down, prompting her to cave, a surprising move even for her. Kaya’s tenacity was typically much stronger than that. “Fine.”

She grabbed her phone and unlocked it, opening Google Photos and scrolling mindlessly. She knew that any horrifically embarrassing snapshots would be from as far back as her library went. The older the photo, the higher the likelihood she would regret ever caving.

It took roughly two minutes for her to locate a set, her eyes shutting and a small moan leaving her partially closed mouth.

He smirked. “Found it?”

“Shut up.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You’re going to make me regret this, aren’t you?”

“Without a doubt.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “At least you’re honest.” Blowing out a breath, she issued a formal forewarning. “In my defense, I was young and dumb.”

“How is that diff—fine, I will reserve my judgment.”

“Liar.” When he said nothing else, she took another deep breath and gradually pulled her phone away from her breast, twisting her wrist so that he could see the screen. “I give you, thebaddestputa69.”

She watched the corner of his lips lift upward as he fought off a smile in favor of a smirk. “Hotmail or aol?” Her surprise at his knowledge of the fallen email servers must have shown because he commented, “I’m old, not ancient.”

She matched his smirk and leaned over to whisper. “Hotmail. Definitely hotmail.”

“AIM username?”

“Come on, the same as my email. I wasn’t creative enough to have multiple aliases.”

He chuckled, grabbing her phone to examine the photo. “I certainly do not miss the peace sign era.”

“I’m pretty sure I used that same pose in all of my photos back then.”

He gestured to the plastered graphic that read ‘jealousy is a disease, get well soon’. “With the same masterful level of editing, I’m sure.”

“But of course, blingee and picnik were a staple.”

A comfortable silence befell them as he returned her phone, and she quickly swiped up to close the app. Kaya was grateful that he didn’t swipe right or left, something she was expecting him to do, if she was being completely honest with herself.

Kaya yawned and naturally laid her head on his shoulder as she reached over to grab the book she was reading when they somehow got on the topic of rebellious and wild phases of days of past.

“Are we th—”

“Finish that sentence, and I will personally throw you out of this damn plane myself.”

Kaya looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed, and mouth pronounced. “It’s a legitimate question.”

“No, it was a legitimate question. However, it stopped being one when you asked me the fifth time.”

“I’m just trying to keep the conversation going. Damn.”

“No, you’re just trying to pester me.”

“Look, it’s obvious you don’t want to hear me talk anymore, so I’m just going to shut my mouth for the remainder of the flight.” He snorted. “What?”

“We both know that’s not possible.” He finally broke his gaze from his phone as he looked over with that knowing smirk that she despised. “You always have to have the last word.”

“That is not true.”

“Kaya, you’re like a child.”

“Keep it up, and you’ll be the one who’s personally tossed from this jet.”

“See what I mean.”

Groaning, she threw her hands up and shook the book in her right hand. “This is the second book in this series.”

“And?”

“And I started the series when we were still on the taxi.”

He shrugged. “Read slower.”

“Chris!”

He laughed, reaching to place his hand on her thigh as she sighed while banging her head back against the headrest. “Relax.”

“Don’t you think if I could, I would?”

“You were doing great five minutes ago.”

“That was in the past.”

“Next time, we’re taking separate jets.”

She didn’t know why but hearing him refer to future happenings both excited and saddened her, for more reasons than one. She cleared her throat. “This is a work trip, right?” He looked down at her as she placed the book down on the ground and held onto his bicep. “You know, something for your company.”

He studied her for a moment and looked up, closing his eyes as he laid his head back against the headrest. “I have the cover of this month’s GQ Italia.”

“Fancy,” she remarked, still unsatisfied with his answer-non answer. “So, I was right. This is a work thing.”

Chris thought about what she said, what she asked, as well as his response before he replied. “They offered to contract a photographer in LA.”

Brows scrunched, she had to ask, now more confused than she was just a few minutes ago. “So why go to them?”

His silence only irked her, the seconds dragging into minutes, which felt like hours. Frustrated and impatient, she called his name again. “Chris-”

“Jesus,” was all she heard before his lips were on hers, palm of his hand pressed against her cheek. Everything else after that was a sensual blur. His other hand moved to her hip, pulling her onto his lap, never once breaking their kiss. She placed her hands on his shoulders, giving a light squeeze, inching her body closer to his, close enough to feel the heat that always emanated over him.

And then, it was over.

Eyes fluttering and breath staggering, she nearly whined when he ran his thumb over her swollen bottom lip.

“This isn’t work for me.”

----

“This is our room?”

Chris looked up and chuckled, watching Kaya spin around the middle, eyes soaking in their suite. He placed her bag near the closet while crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

“It is.”

Kaya nodded and grabbed the bottom of her sweatshirt, tugging it over her head. She extended her arm out and turned around, lifting a brow. “And we have maid service, correct?”

He eyed her. “Of course.”

Kaya smirked and let the garment fall to the floor.

Chris chuckled. “You wanna explain that?”

“What?” She played innocent, fingers toying with the waistband of her joggers as she began to shimmy out of them. “Staying in a fancy hotel where I don’t have t0 clean up after myself?” She walked toward him, moving to grab her suitcase so that she could find her next outfit. “Granted, we have the maid service at home, but—” Both Christopher and Kaya paused at her statement, equally surprised by how easily it flowed, but more so with the statement itself.

Defense immediately kicked in and Kaya cleared her throat. “I mean, ya know, your place.” She refused to make eye contact that exceeded ten seconds, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and dragging it in the direction of what looked like the bathroom.

“Dibs.”

Her feet weren’t moving fast enough for her liking. In fact, they were slow enough that Chris was somehow able to cross the room and grab her by her arm. She looked up, managing to remain calm while inwardly panicking.

God, please don’t let him ask anything.

“Don’t take too long.”

She swallowed. “Why?”

Her grip on the handle tightened when he moved his hand to her face, the back of it brushing against her cheek. Had he been paying close enough attention, he would have noticed the way she shivered at his touch.

“You want dinner, don’t you?”

-----

“This isn’t exactly what I meant.”

Kaya looked up from her pizza, pausing mid chew. “What? Pizza in Italy? This is goals.”

He intended to take her to a fine restaurant, one where only the elite could afford to dine. Instead, she requested pizza delivered to their room. Kaya never ceased to surprise him. “And why are you eating pizza with a fork?”

She shrugged, adjusting the thin strap of her shirt. “Because pizza is messy, and my life's already messy enough. I avoid when I can.”

Chris didn’t say anything, simply watching her eat. She caught his gaze and looked away. If she could, she’d go back in time and stop herself from ever saying what she did. It’d ruined everything. He’d been acting different around her since, and she hated that. She also hated that she hated it.

Since when did she give a flying fuck about what people thought of her? Let alone him.

It was out of character for her, and she didn’t like it.

She didn’t like it at all.

Similarly, Chris also found it difficult to focus on anything other than the encounter from earlier, but not for the reasons Kaya thought.

Not even close.

“So, what’s the agenda for this trip?”

He chuckled and brought the champagne to his lips. “And ruin the surprise?”

Her eyes narrowed as she replaced the fork with her fingers so that she could eat the crust piece by piece. “What surprise?”

“What kind of question is that? Who gives away a surprise?”

“Are you capable of ever just answering my questions with a straight answer?”

He pretended to think. “I could.”

“But?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“You and fun? Never realized they were synonymous.”

“I’d like to think we have fun.”

“We have sex. Really, really, great sex.”

“You don’t consider that fun?”

“Fun isn’t a strong enough word to describe it.” He lifted a brow, and she scoffed, tossing a red pepper packet in his direction. “Stop it. I am trying to have a mature conversation here.”

“Not quite sure how possible that is when both parties are inebriated.”

“Bullshit. You know damn well neither one of us is drunk. You haven’t seen me drunk. Hell, I haven’t seen me drunk in a while.”

The way her tone changed toward the end of her sentence garnered his interest. “Why not?”

She looked at him, her smile faltering as she nervously cleared her throat. “I—uh—I get really bad migraines, and Excedrin is the only thing that works for me.” Telling him the truth, well, a fraction of the truth, felt strange yet relieving, probably because she’d spent so much of her life hiding and lying that the truth was unfamiliar territory. “Needless to say, meds and alcohol? Never really a good combo.”

“You’re drinking now.”

“I haven’t taken any medicine yet.”

“Maybe you won’t have to.”

She smiled sadly. “I will.” A beat. “It’s all I have.” Kaya snatched another piece of her crust and swallowed fully before explaining. “That’s why my sleep schedule, if you can even call it that, is so fucked up.”

He thought about it. “Excedrin has caffeine.”

“An insane amount.”

“It helps your migraines—”

“And keeps me up in return.” When he grew quiet, she offered. “Trust me. The insomnia is much better than the pain.”

“I’m sorry.”

She grimaced, eyes darting in either direction. “Why?”

He sighed and ran his hands all over his face. “That’s why you get so upset when I wake you up.”

“I wouldn’t say upset.”

“You threatened to slit my throat in my sleep.”

“Okay, maybe I was a little upset,” she confessed, and they shared a laugh before his tone grew serious again.

“I’ll be mindful of that.” Head tilted to the side, a sign she was still confused, he continued. “So that you can sleep.”

She smiled teasingly, abandoning the last bit of her food, and pushing her plate to the side. “Is that consideration I hear?”

“It is.”

The way he was looking at her, the lack of typical sarcasm in his tone, it was both welcoming and conflicting. Crawling across the floor, she moved his plate to the side and climbed into his lap.

Hands on his shoulders, she lowered her voice and whispered into his ear. “Well, I’m up right now.”

He made a sound and brought his hands to her hips. “You are.” Her eyes shut when his lips moved to her shoulder. “You should get some sleep.”

Immediately, she coiled back and glared. “Are you serious right now?” He laughed, which only upset her further as he stood up, her legs locking around his waist. “It’s been at least 8 hours.”

“You keeping a timer or something?”

“Look.” She waited for him to place her on the bed before she grabbed the bottom of his shirt and tugging so that he laid back on the mattress. She quickly climbed on top of him. “If there’s one thing I know about us, we are ideal intimate partners. Our sexual chemistry is astronomical.”

His eyes drank her in. “Is that it?”

“Is what it?”

His voice lowered. “Is that all you think we have?”

At that moment, Kaya realized a couple of things. This was wrong. She was suddenly very much uncomfortable. And this was a mistake. This was why she didn’t tell the truth. It meant putting yourself at risk for being vulnerable.

She was never good with that.

Clearing her throat, she climbed off him and flashed a crafty smile. “I’m gonna go shower.” She couldn’t handle seeing his face, so she turned around, purposely pretending she had to look around the room to search for her luggage.

“You should know I hate sleeping with blankets.” Kaya needed to redirect the conversation to another topic. This was becoming all too much for her.

He sat up and rolled his shoulders. “So, strip the bed? Got it.”

“Absolutely not. I could freeze.”

“You just said—”

Kaya stood by the door that led to the living room area and smiled sadly. “I’m a hot ass mess, Chris.” A beat. “The sooner you accept that, the better.”

-------

We need to talk when you get a chance. Please?

No matter how many times she looked at the phone, a new incoming gray message never appeared. She waited and waited, even scrolling up only for it to bounce back with no change.

She missed Nia. She missed their banter. She missed making tik toks with her. And she especially missed the advice giving, of which she could desperately use right about now.

Something was happening between them. With her and Chris. Of which she didn’t know, nor did she understand. It drove her mad because it was a new experience, one where she didn’t feel as though she always had to walk on eggshells.

Being with Chris….

“God.” She ran her hand over her face. What the hell was she doing? She wasn’t with Chris. Not like that, anyway. This was a business transaction. They were both using each other for selfish purposes.

Maybe it was the sex. Nia always warned her that behind every sexual encounter, there was at least some trace of feelings.

Kaya always thought that was bullshit.

Now….now she wasn’t so sure.

“You alright?”

She looked up from her chair and saw Chris walk in. She chewed the inside of her cheek as he sat down in the chair opposite of her. Kaya took in his wardrobe, so casual and laid back. She’d never seen him in denim before, but he looked good.

She didn’t even know the photographer, but she was a fan. A billionaire in Levi’s? Iconic.

“How does it feel to dress like us common folk?”

“Poor.” He winked as she glared. “We should be done soon.”

“Don’t rush on my part. The snacks here are delicious, and who knows, I could play dress up.” She wiggled her brows and straightened when there was a knock on the door.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the photographer spoke up and offered Kaya a friendly smile. “You’re Kaya, yes? I’m Elena.”

Kaya was surprised by the fact that this woman was both speaking to her and actually knew who she was, so her response was delayed. “Yes. It’s nice to meet you.” She offered her hand and noticed the woman was staring at her. Welp. It was nice while it lasted. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized but continued to stare. “It’s just...has anyone ever told you that you have amazing bone structure?”

Kaya sputtered. “Not unless they wanted something from me.”

Elena smiled. “Well, I suppose this is no different.”

“I don’t understand,” Kaya asked, looking over at Chris. He was surprisingly quiet.

“How about we get some shots of the both of you?”

She immediately protested. “Oh no. I—I’m just here for moral support.”

“You did say you wanted to play dress up,” he reminded. She glared. Of course he would choose to speak up now.

She turned her narrowed eyes on him and harshly whispered. “Not while being photographed.”

He placed his hand over hers. “Relax.”

Kaya remembered that they weren’t alone and therefore, had to keep up the act. Even if it was starting to feel less and less like acting.

“I’m used to people watching, not photographing.” He lifted a brow. Laughing, she slapped his chest and took a deep breath. She looked over at Elena. “Will I at least get to see them before you pick which ones to use? If any.”

“Of course.”

Kaya caved. “Fine.” He kissed the top of her head and mouthed a thank you. “You owe me.”

“Sure, I do,” he dismissed, slapping her on her ass as Elena grabbed her to drag her away.

“Time to make magic.”

-----

It was a bad idea, one of many that had occurred, Kaya realized.

When she joked about wanting to play dress—up, she didn’t think that it would actually happen. She didn’t think that she’d become involved in his shoot. Kaya especially didn’t expect to have as much….fun as she did.

And she hated that, too. The fact that she managed to smile and laugh more in one setting than she had in, hell, longer than she could remember. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.

She really, really didn’t like the way Chris looked at her every time she walked onto set in a new look, and there were a couple of them. The way he focused on her, eyes taking in every bit of her form, all the way down from her shoes up to her hair. Like he didn’t want to look away. Like he couldn’t look away. She despised the way he held her when they were photographed together, often being the reason for her smile or laughter with his comments that he whispered into her ear, sneaking in a kiss against her temple or holding her against him.

It was all so domestic and sweet, and it made no sense.

He was starting to make no sense.

And she especially didn’t understand why she was putting off leaving the bathroom, having sat on the toilet for at least 15 minutes.

As if on cue, two loud knocks on the door pulled her from her thoughts.

“I’m coming, damnit.”

“That’s what you said last time. Come on, Kaya.” She was both surprised and annoyed that it was Chris. She expected it to be members of the glam team that he’d hired to help her prepare for the GQ function he was invited to, and of course, she was forced to accompany him. Turns out he wasn’t just chosen for the cover. He was man of the year. “We’re going to be late.”

“Maybe you should just leave me behind,” she muttered.

“Maybe I can just kick this damn door down,” he countered.

“Then you’ll have to pay for the damages.”

“Then I’ll buy the damn hotel,” he shot back testily. “I’m not going to ask you again, Kaya.”

She scowled and rolled her neck. Kaya knew he was being serious. The bastard could buy his way out of anything.

If only….

Blowing out a deep breath, she swallowed and stood, holding up her dress. It was undoubtedly beautiful, gold, a slit in the middle of her chest and on her left leg exposing more skin than she would have thought appropriate. Her curls were styled in a fancy updo, and her makeup was equally as bold as her dress, finalized with a red lip. She knew that she looked good, and that’s what scared her.

Chris had been looking at her like that all day, and she couldn’t keep handling it.

If she could even consider it handling. Managing was perhaps a better term. Poorly managing was the perfect term.

Kaya ripped open the door and plastered on a fake smile. “Happy?”

And there it was, his eyes widened and softened as he gave her a onceover. “And don’t tell me I look beautiful, cause’ I already know it.”

Kaya figured if she said it for him, she wouldn’t have to deal with the weird and uncomfortable knotting in her stomach that she experienced every time he complimented her.

And it worked, he said nothing, only helping to hold up her dress as they walked to the SUV that would escort them. In the car, she was also pleasantly surprised that he didn’t attempt to make small talk with her during the drive. She was certain, however, that it was because he took at least three different work calls during that time.

She made drafted Tik Toks in the meantime.

When they finally arrived, Kaya nearly ran out of the car right then and there.

“Is that a red carpet?” Her mouth dropped. “What the hell? You said nothing about having to walk a damn carpet that is red.”

He chuckled. Kaya realized his hand was on the exposed portion of her thigh. “Stay close to me, and I’ll take care of you. You’ll be fine.”

Kaya was used to having eyes on her, but that didn’t mean she liked it, especially when it didn’t involve money being thrown her way. “I don’t have to say anything, do I?”

He squeezed her thigh. “You’ll most likely receive compliments.”

“I can handle that,” she spoke more to herself than him. “Just long as no one asks if I prefer cats over dogs or whatever shit they ask.”

He laughed quietly and looked at her. “You ready?”

No. “Yes.”

Chris climbed out the car first so that he could help her out of the vehicle, and as soon as she stepped out, she cursed to herself. There were so many damn people. People taking photographs. People being photographed. People helping both the people the photographed and the photographers. And then there was her. She felt so out of place.

If he wasn’t already holding her hand, she would have grabbed for his.

Kaya used her left hand to hold up her dress, while making sure that she stayed close to Chris who led the way, smiling for the camera while sparing her glances every so often to assess her level of comfort.

Kaya played along, evoking a smile as she posed with him for a few photos. That’s when it started again. Like the photoshoot from a few hours ago, she found herself feeling less forced and more comfortable. Like, it was natural.

Like it was real.

Kaya was eventually allowed to stand to the side as he gave a few interviews, some in English, most in Italian. She’d meant to ask him earlier when the hell he learned to speak so many languages. This was the third she’d learned of. She had a feeling at least one or two journalists asked about her, because he would look in her direction and shoot a wink or something of the sort.

Her smile was a natural reaction.

The process was less daunting than she anticipated, not that she’d ever admit that to him. It was once they moved inside that Kaya realized they’d yet to reach the hard part. That hardest part was “socializing” with the guests, many of which were white, spicy white at best. She spotted some minorities but found that they were just as distant as the rest.

The vim of the event was welcoming, however, which confused Kaya to some extent. She simplified it down to the event was nice, the people were trash, and Chris was both an ass and a gentleman for forcing her to come.

He’d introduced her to a few people, most of which spoke poor English. That, she could acknowledge, was nice. Not the strained English, but his obvious concern for her wellbeing. He was going out of his way to make her feel as comfortable as he could.

It was also irritating because it resurfaced those damn knots.

They were seated at a table, and he was texting someone when she leaned over and tugged on his sleeve. Kaya also took a moment to appreciate how nice he looked. The man was something sinful in a suit. “I think I know him.”

He looked up, immediately locking his phone. “Who?”

She gestured with her chin. “The guy over there talking to the girl with the green dress. But don’t look at them.”

His eyes lifted to the ceiling. Right before he proceeded to look right in that direction.

She laughed despite her irritation. “What did I literally just fucking say?”

“I’ll never understand why people want to do something without actually doing it. I don’t have the time.” She shook her head. He was so impatient. “And how do you know him?”

She lifted a brow. He asked with a newfound sense of urgency. If she didn’t know any better, she would have guessed it came from a place of jealousy.

Kaya studied the stranger across the room again when her eyes widened. “I know. He’s that actor from that porn movie we watched.”

“We don’t watch porn, Kaya. We make it.”

“Stop it.” She leaned closer, hating that her smile contrasted the frustration she felt with how vulgar he was speaking in such a public setting. “And you know the movie where they…..ya know, basically the whole time, and he kept asking in that godawful delivery, are you lost, baby girl?”

Her equally terrible impression caused him to laugh quietly. “I think that is him.”

“I told you.” She spoke a little louder than she would have liked due to her excitement at being correct. “He looks better on screen.”

Chris glanced over at him once more and scoffed. “He’s scrawny.”

“Sir, not everyone is like you and built like a fucking tanker.”

“Not my problem.”

Kaya rolled her eyes and gathered her dress. “I’ll be back. I have to use the restroom.” She stood and leaned over, arms around him from behind as she whispered. “Try not to be too much of a dick while I’m gone, okay?”

He turned to look at her. “And where’s the fun in that?”

Turns out finding the bathroom was a harder task than she’d anticipated. She’d asked one of the servers while maneuvering through the crowd, but it also turned out that Kaya wasn’t the best with directions. She did find it, though.

Eventually.

Kaya was navigating her way back to Chris when she was stopped by a man in a suit along the way.

He was of average height, average build, and average attraction. She was immediately annoyed.

“Hi,” Kaya greeted with a tight smile.

“Hello,” he smiled. Add in average dental health. “You are very beautiful.”

Kaya realized he didn’t have an accent, either. American, most likely. “Uhh, thank you.” When she moved to walk past him, he blocked her. “Sir, I really should—”

“How much?”

Her eyes darted to either side. “I’m sorry?”

“Money is no issue, as I’m sure you can see, and I’d like you for a week.” He stepped closer, bringing his hand to trail it down her arm. “Longer even, perhaps.”

“Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about, and please do not touch me.” It wasn’t so much of a request as much as it was a demand. “Now, I really should—”

“You’re not American.” Kaya continued to be confused as hell when his eyes lit up with excitement. “That explains why you look so exotic.” Confusion easily morphed into rage as she finally caught on to what he was referring to. “I bet you feel di—”

“You’re disgusting,” she hissed, pulling away from him. “I am not a fucking prostitute—”

“Call it what you want, girl,” he dismissed. “I don’t judge. I can pay you well.”

“Go fuck yourself, you sick son of a bitch,” she cursed, turning away when he grabbed her arm. “Let me go.”

“You think that you’re special?” He’d taken on another tone, one that conveyed his anger at being rejected. “The fuckin’ stall I just pissed in is worth more than you, bitch.”

Kaya refused to allow him to see her cry, but she’d be lying if she tried to say that his words didn���t sting, especially his next verbal attack.

“You can slap on that expensive dress and let Hemsworth make you feel special, but I know, you know, and everyone else in this fucking place knows that you’re nothing but a cheap, illegal whore—” Panic arose when he moved his hand to the exposed skin of her thigh, squeezing tightly. His hand started to inch upward when Kaya acted on instinct. He cursed aloud while Kaya gasped as she realized that she’d silenced him with her fist dead square in the middle of his face. “You fucking bitch!”

Shock and fear took over as Kaya gathered the bottom of her dress and ran, as much as the gown and her heels would allow, that is. Certain he was going to chase her for retribution, she consistently looked back, unaware that she needed to be just as aware of what was in front as what was behind.

She shrieked and immediately went to pull herself away from the strong body she’d collided with.

“Kaya.” Refocusing her attention, she looked up and realized it was Chris. “Where the hell—” He stopped amid his statement when he took in her appearance and realized that she was crying. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Kaya looked down, speaking more to herself than him. Not that it mattered. He was judging based on what he saw instead of what she said. He’d learned by now that her words rarely matched the truth. “Let’s just go—”

“Kaya,” he repeated, softer. Chris brought his hands to her face, forcing her to meet his gaze as he asked again, slowly. “What happened?” A strike of anger flashed in his blue eyes. “Did someone touch you?”

“No,” she answered, quickly. Too quickly.

The anger escalated exponentially. “Who? Tell me.”

Kaya could have slapped herself. She wasn’t helping the situation. She was making it worse. “It doesn’t matter, I hit him, and now he’s probably going to sue you—”

“Where is he?” Chris was looking behind her, eyes flaming. He was livid. “Show me. Now.”

“No.” Speaking was becoming an increasing challenge, especially against the backdrop of overwhelming emotions. Everything she’d been feeling, preventing herself from feeling, and afraid to acknowledge was gradually bubbling to the surface. “Just—just let me go back to the hotel. I’m messing everything up for you.”

He calmed for a second, realizing what was happening. Chris was unfamiliar with this side of her. Unfamiliar with seeing her so vulnerable. “What?”

Kaya suddenly realized that her eyes were burning again. She was fighting back tears. “I’ll give you back the money for the day, it’s—it’s fine, you’re better off without me here—”

Her offer to pay him incensed Chris. This wasn’t about the money. It stopped being about the money a long time ago, even if he hadn’t realized that until today. “I don’t want the fucking money, Kaya.”

She shook her head and closed her eyes. “Don’t—don’t say that.”

“Why? It’s the truth.”

“Please,” she plead. Control over her emotions was a battle she’d all but lost at that point. Her words, she was certain, would be next.

He raised his voice. Chris sensed, saw that she was uncomfortable, but he also realized that this was what she needed. A push. “Why?”

“Because this all about the fucking money, okay?” She matched his volume, accepting that her tears were going to fall no matter how much she willed them not to. She’d lost the war. “It has to be about the money, because if it isn’t then that means you care, and—you can’t, alright?”

He studied her, wondering if she realized this conversation was difficult for him too. He brought his hand to the side of her face. “Why is it so impossible for you to accept that I fucking care about you?”

She looked up, glistening eyes and wavering voice. “Because then I have to admit that I care about you too, and I can’t do that.” She spoke to herself, as if vocalizing it would cement a decision that was already out of her hands. “I won’t do it.”

“Why?” He pressed. Chris brought his other hand to the other side of her face, cupping it and moving closer. He gave zero fucks about where they were and who could have possibly overheard. “Why are you fighting this so hard?”

She pulled herself away from him, back colliding against the wall as she blurted, “because all I do is hurt the people I care about alright?” In that moment, Kaya realized she was so far gone that the point of return was no longer an option. Her mouth trembled as she struggled to form her next sentence, listing off names with her fingers as props. “Mami, Papi, Nia. Hell, my own brother is dead because of me.” A beat. “I’ll only hurt you, and I care about you too much to do that.”

“Kaya—"

A newfound heaviness started to weigh upon her chest, another blockade to her speech. “I’m standing here in a dress I can’t afford, a building I can’t even fucking pronounce, and with a man I don’t deserve.”

His voice lowered. “Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, I don’t deserve you?” Kaya looked at him, her eyes softening before she squinted, her face scrunching up in obvious pain.

He took note of this. As invested as Chris was in finally getting Kaya to open up about how she really felt, her wellbeing would always be his primary concern.

“Kaya.” He placed his hands on her waist, steadying her. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” She blinked several times, blinding lights obscuring her vision. “I—can’t—" Kaya felt the firmness of his chest, inhaled the scent of his cologne, and heard her name on his lips before everything faded to black.

-----

She awoke on her side, body clutched against a pillow, and a thin sheet covering half her body. Never one to take her time returning to her senses, she forced herself to sit up, eyes still scrunched from the sleep.

Looking down she realized she was dressed in only one of Chris’s dress shirts, her dress discarded.

Memory returned as Kaya replayed the events that transpired prior to her slumber. The photoshoot. The party. The asshole.

Chris.

“I don’t care. Tell them to send it in the mail or something.”

She recognized his voice traveling from the living room area, prompting her to swing her legs over the bed, her toes submerging into the soft carpet. She’d never been in such a fine hotel where the carpeting probably cost more than six months’ worth of rent on her one-bedroom apartment.

“Evans, I don’t give a flying fuck about any of that right now. You can handle it. I don’t care.”

Kaya contemplated remaining where she was, eavesdropping without being detected. She quickly decided against it. She’d done enough.

Her feet carried her out of the room, and she stood in the doorway where she saw he was standing against the massive window that provided a breathtaking overview of the city.

Again, she considered leaving him be, but he either had exceptional peripheral vision or caught her reflection in the window because he spun around. Kaya’s eyebrows furrowed when she realized he was still dressed in his suit, with the expectation of the jacket and dress shirt which were both discarded, leaving the white undershirt.

Uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her, more concern than that, she settled onto the sofa, pulling a decorative pillow to her chest as she crossed her legs.

“I have to go,” he spoke briefly before pulling the phone from his ear and hanging up.

Kaya swallowed. He’d yet to speak, so she took the opportunity to do so. “Still don’t believe me when I said I’m a hot mess?”

“What happened tonight, Kaya?”

“Which part?” She knew that playing coy wasn’t the best route, but she was forever stubborn and would fight until she had nothing left. “Where I ruined your evening, assaulted a millionaire, told you one of my deepest secrets, or fainted in your arms? There’s a lot.”

“All of it.”

She looked away and licked her lips. Kaya felt cornered, absolutely trapped. Emotionally. She’d always assumed being physically stuck would feel far more suffocating and frightening. She was wrong.

Kaya considered her options, though far and few in between. She could deflect. She was a master at that. She could redirect blame onto him. Call him out on even making her go on the trip, for not telling her ahead of time what to expect, maybe throw in a few insults. And lastly, the most frightening of them all, she could be honest.

That was the scariest of them all.

“I lied to you.” The words spilled out before she realized it, but Kaya accepted the fact that she was tired. There was only so much she could carry, and she’d reached her limits. “My—my parents aren’t dead. They still live in the same house in Parlier that I grew up in with Denes. He’s—he was my brother.” It felt strange talking about, verbalizing what she’d quietly struggled with for so many years. And yet, there was a peace that accompanied the release. “He was such a beautiful little boy, but….different. He didn’t talk much, life skills were….hard for him, and he had these fixations on certain things. He didn’t like change.”

“Kaya, you don’t—”

“When I was eleven, and he was eight, my parents found out they were pregnant. They’d been trying for so long….they were so happy.” She roughly wiped at her face to do away with the silent tears that fell. The crying, however, was inevitable. “One day, they had a checkup appointment, and the babysitter fell through, so they asked me to watch Denes.” She nodded slowly, reverting to the same rush of emotions she felt that day. “I was so….mad, because my friend had just gotten Guitar Hero, and I was supposed to walk down to her house so we could play it.” To that day, Kaya felt a strong surge of rage whenever she ran across a throwback picture or read an article referring to that game. It was a trigger.

“My parents promised that I could go when they returned, but I just couldn’t wait.” Her nose turned up with disgust, disgust directed 100% inward. “I just had to go play that stupid fucking game.”

“Denes loved birds. They were one of his fixations. They think—they think he saw one outside our living room window or something and walked outside to see if he could catch it because, of course, I forgot to lock the front door.” She stared off into space before closing her eyes. “I had just walked into my friend’s house when I heard someone scream like I’ve never heard a scream before.” Kaya tugged the pillow closer to her chest and lowered her head. “I ran back so fast because I thought—I thought I could help him. I thought I could save him.” Her voice cracked. “—But there was so much blood, and he was so hurt—he died in the middle of the street, bleeding, terrified, and it was all my fault.”

Chris closed his eyes and shook his head. “Kaya—”

“They never found the driver,” she added quietly, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “The shock of it all……it was too much for my mom, and she miscarried.” Kaya laughed, but there wasn’t a trace of humor. “I spiraled after Denes passed. Everything bad and terrible I could get myself into, I did. I—I skipped class, I partied, I drank, I tried drugs.” She scoffed. “I lost my virginity when I was thirteen to some guy whose name I still don’t know because I was so drunk.” She leaned back into the sofa, staring at the intricate pattern of the rug. “I just—at the time, I thought if I did enough, I could make my parents hate me, because it’s what I deserved. But for everything I tried, they kept giving me chance after chance.”

“So, then I attempted suicide, twice, and I couldn’t even do that right.” She groaned and wiped at her eyes again. The cuffs of the shirt were nearly soaked. “I realized that God or the universe or whomever clearly wanted me to suffer and to live with my guilt, but in the midst of trying to punish myself, I failed to realize that all I’d done was cause my parents more pain.”

“Day of my high school graduation, I woke up at the crack of dawn to pack up my bags, told my parents that I was going out with some friends, but I’d be home by 7—and I haven’t seen or spoken with them since.”

She clapped and lifted her hands. “And there you have it. You’ve now seen me naked; you’ve seen me cry, and now you know that I’m a murderer—”

“You’re not a murderer, Kaya,” he was finally able to complete his sentence, still very much in shock over what she’d disclosed. “And what happened to your brother wasn’t your fault.”

Chris watched her demeanor soften, shifting from her previous facetious tone to a more somber tone. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I’m saying it because it’s the truth. You were a child.”

She shrugged sadly. “So was he.”

“That still doesn’t make it your fault.”

She turned away from where he sat across from her. She hadn’t even realized he’d moved from his initial position by the window. Untangling her legs, she moved the pillow to the side and stood in front of him. “Why are you so nice to me? You should be running for the hills.”

Chris brought his hands to her waist and pulled her in between his spread legs. “Why do you keep asking questions you already know the answers to?”

“Even after everything I’ve done?” She whispered, emotion betraying her for the umpteenth time that day. “You—you still—you still feel….like that about me?”

“You’re stubborn, impulsive, argumentative, flippant, and undoubtedly one of the most complicated women I’ve ever met.” He slowly stood up, never once breaking eye contact as he cupped her face, fingers brushing away the dampness of her flushed cheeks. “And yet, seeing you smile is the highlight of my day.”

She chuckled and nervously cleared her throat. “So, was today subpar? Like, medium light? Half-light? It all went downhill after 12pm.”

He shook his head and kissed her forehead. “You are, in fact, a hot mess.”

Her fingers grasped at his sleeves. “I really am sorry about ruining your evening.”

“You didn’t ruin my evening, Kaya.” He brought his hand to her hair, pushing back the tendrils that had fallen from her updo. “Thank you for opening to me. I know that wasn’t easy.”

“It’s a lot easier opening up my legs,” she muttered, watching as he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry—you’re right. It’s—it’s not easy, and I don’t like talking about….feelings.” Her eyes lifted as she chewed on her bottom lip. “But, I do have feelings for you.” She shut her eyes and licked her top lip. “And there’s something else I need to tell you.”

His gaze softened. “Anything.”

It was so simple, the opportunity was available, the setting was perfect. She’d already told him the hardest part, now all she had to do was tell him the rest. The problem though, was that what she’d shared hadn’t changed much. It only helped him to understand her better. It would potentially improve their relationship.

This would destroy it.

She cleared her throat again. “If you tell anyone I’m capable of crying, I will smother you in your sleep.”

He chuckled and kissed her temple. “It’s late. I’m going to shower.” He studied her. “Try not to get into any more trouble, yeah?”

She smiled softly. “I make no promises.”

He gave her side a gentle squeeze before yawning as he walked back into the bedroom. Finally alone, she fell back onto the sofa and hugged the pillow against her body. Kaya felt both disgust and frustration. If there was a perfect moment to tell him, that was it, and now it was gone.

She was running out of time

-------

TAGS: @islandvamp @toni9 @destinyg237 @tashawar @valkryienymph @letsshamelessqueen-m @missyperle @kpizzletrash @brittyevans @mani-lifes @amorestevens @periodtcevans @hello-therree @shegoesbyarose @lettytheletdown @yanniebunnie @iwrite4poc @nycoledon @fangurlingismyforte @babe-im-bi @amirra88 @cocoamoonmalfoy @goldenrosexx @liquorlaughslove @ljstraightnochaser @jurneesjourney @bestyums-ever84 @notacamelthatsmywife @champagnesugamama @cest-la69vie @yanniebunny5151 @goldenrosexx​

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[lesbianecrivain]

Retourne-toi!

Summary:  Denise decides to travel, hoping to take her mind off everything, only to end up doing more work as she makes the mistake of admiring a castle that has remained hidden from humanity for years.

AO3 link HERE! 

(I’ll be posting all of the chapters on AO3. If you liked this, check that out more often because updates would be there. This is not too related with the game. F/F pairing)

Warning for a little bit of violence when OC remembers her childhood. Also, should I continue this? Reviews and kudos are highly appreciated!! 💕

Now, let us simp for the tall vampire~

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Chapter 1: Wandering Traveller

The wars never stopped. Up until today, humans still fight amongst themselves for silly reasons instead of working together to be united. Anyone would want to take a break from all these wars. Especially someone who had done everything they could to, at least, lessen or slow the effects of these unending wars. So, that is what Denise Rodriguez is going to do. She took a break from everything, flew back to her country hoping to feel snow again. She really loves the snow despite having low tolerance for cold. If lucky, there might be children on the street who would be willing to play snowball fight with her. A smile broke the straight line on her lips at the thought, heart warming at the images of children smiling as they throw the snowballs at each other. She couldn't wait to reach their destination, she made sure that the place is snowing this time of the year. Having been born from the tropical side of the planet, snow can quite be something desirable for someone like Denise. Something spectacular and worthy of attention and praises.

Here Denise was, sitting by the window seat and staring at the bright cloudy yet calm view outside, a small smile playing on her lips as the plane continued heading towards its destination. Only a few more hours until they reach Europe. Her heart bloomed at the thought of returning to a land that it acknowledged as home more than her land of origin.

When Denise opened her eyes, the sun was not shining anymore. A grin crept up to her face. The person beside Denise stared at her weirdly before going off with their own life. Denise couldn't care less though, she is finally back and she would never allow a mere stranger to ruin her vacation here. She will be staying here for some time, taking the opportunity to stay here for as long as she'd like to. Perks of dual citizenship. She badly needs a break from handling a lot of environmental issues and having to provide for hundreds of students, she almost forgot about her corporation. Yes, when she says she needs a break, she needs a damn break. From everything, especially her other country that has been a shit show ever since she became aware—this having started when she reached twelve years of age, and she is in her early 30's now. It has been a long time yet within the years she lived in her country, not even a single road in her street has been fixed.

"Alright," She muttered, bracing herself while her hand gripped her baggage tightly. "Romania, here I come!"

Denise went straight to her house and after organizing the stuff she brought, she glanced at her phone. There laid on her bright screen, 19:34 in black as her eyes wandered to the other time zones as well. The way to her house was splendid, she can't help but to marvel at the various infrastructures that passed as she rode the taxi despite seeing them for the nth time. She has observed how great the difference is between this foreign land and her own, and then she was again further disappointed with her own land. Enough of that, she is here to free herself of worry, Denise reminds herself, eyes quickly ridding of all the gloom and anger as they caught sight of the marble structure that she has been longing for ever since she departed from this land two years ago. She has always been a regular here the moment she found out about this place, around seven years ago. They just served the best pizzas Denise has ever known to exist, though that could change when she further travels across Europe in the future.

"Miss Rodriguez!"

Denise smiled at the chipper servant and greeted them back just as gleeful. She is glad to know that they are the same servant from two years ago. Even the other staff smiled at their guest, knowing how prominent she is in this place, seeing that she is a regular customer here and actually treated them properly than how other customers would, disregarding them as if they were lower than them.

"Denise!"

Her head turned toward the all-too-familiar light voice, almost squeaking, as soon as their eyes caught sight of Denise. A wide grin set itself comfortably on her lips, turning around to open her arms, preparing to envelop whoever had greeted her.

"Sophie!" Denise was too slow to react as the other woman practically threw herself in her arms. "Looks like someone had missed me," she chuckled, patting Sophie on her small back.

"You damn bet I do," Sophie pulled away but the smile on her lips was relentless. "I told them all to prepare your favorites as soon as you informed me that you will be coming here, and it seems like I am not the only one who missed you,"

Confusion was briefly on Denise's face then her eyes darted behind Sophie. There she saw people carrying a tray, enough to feed all the people inside, with smiles plastered on their faces. Denise knew herself that she couldn't finish it all by herself. Sophie seemed to close the restaurant earlier because the only people here are the staff, herself, and Denise, their guest. Warmth spread through the small woman like a drop of milk spreading lightness to a black coffee.

"Y'all," Denise shook her head in disbelief. "C'mere, let's eat. I cannot finish these all by myself!"

The place was filled with laughter, the faint glow of gold surrounding the place and adding to the calming and light atmosphere. They all took a seat on the long table with Denise on the head and Sophie on her side while the staff sat along by them. They all looked genuinely happy, as if this was the only time they could take a break from all the stress the day has brought upon. The wide grins, sounds of soft laughter filling the room, and the gleam in each of their eyes were enough to take Denise's worries away, even for the briefest moment.

"Y'all didn't have to do this," She told them, shaking her head.

"But we wanted to!" chorused most of the staff while some just kept smiling at her. Sophie then raised a brow in her direction. "Save your irrational guilt, sunshine," she told the small woman who seemed to be rethinking her decision of informing her of her coming. "We missed you and here is our way of showing you. So, shut up and eat, young lady, we've got so much to catch up on."

"Alright, Soph," Denise sighed in defeat yet the grin never left her face. "Y'all dig in too! I'm tipping all of you extra because y'all look extremely happy right now," and that warms my heart, Denise wanted to add but didn't want to sound cheesy or seem like a softie as she wasn't either of those.

Sophie hummed her disagreement. "Ugh ugh, this one's on the house! You keep eat—"

"No." interrupted Denise with a frown. "The least I can do is to pay and leave a huge amount of tip for you all individually, and no Sophie, this is not up for a debate."

Denise was determined and Sophie knew that there is no way she can convince the raven-haired woman when she is determined. She shook her head and released a sigh. "Fine, you are lucky you're handsome."

Denise was thankful for her brown complexion that a blush didn't appear on her cheeks at the sudden compliment. She wouldn't want to be blushing in front of anyone. She coughed, "So, how's everything with you?" She said, clearly dismissing the compliment and hoping that her friend wouldn't push it.

"Eh, nothing eventful while you were gone. Same old same.." Sophie shrugged, mind wandering to the events in her life in the past two years that Denise was gone. "How about you, busy bee? I've seen you on some article while I was surfing the net last night.." She grinned then teased the smaller woman, nudging her softly with her elbow, "You're really doing something big out there! Planning to contribute positively to the world along with a bunch of other stuff!"

At this, Denise's hand crept to the back of her head where her palm was able to feel her shaved head, all while she huffed as she smiled. Maybe it was the time where she joined in one of the protests against the passing of a ridiculous nonsensical bill. "I'm not doing 'something big', you silly," She rolled her eyes at the exaggeration. She doesn't want anyone thinking that what she is doing is grand, especially with all her wealth. "I'm just doing my responsibility as an inhabitant of this world.." She shrugged, and in her defense, she really was although Sophie has told her a lot of times that she is being a hero by doing so. But, Denise had quickly countered that what she does is not a heroic act but her moral obligation as a human. It would be natural to want to help in any way you can, at least that is how Denise thinks, which further amazes Sophie.

"Well, whatever you say," Sophie took a sip from her glass. "How long do you plan to stay? And tell me all the places you'd go to!! Maybe I can tag along if you want to or if I've got the time..."

"I think I'm gonna stay for a while and go to the old times.." Denise explained when confusion crossed Sophie's expression. "I plan on visiting this ancient village. I heard that the sceneries there are spectacular.. I'm going for this old-y vibes for my book that I'm currently writing.. and I plan to take pictures as well." Then she showed Sophie her phone which displayed the village she is referring to. The other woman nodded approvingly at her choice as she kept scrolling through the pictures.

"Well, what exactly are you looking for?"

Denise shrugged as she put her phone back to her pocket. "Nothing really specific.. If I go there and feel it, I would immediately take a picture. I hope to find an abandoned infrastructure or if I'm lucky enough, maybe a castle?"

Sophie grinned at her. "Look at you being all things at once," elbow nudged Denise again, urging her to shake her head. "I really wonder how the hell you're able to do all your responsibilities at once!"

Denise rolled her eyes. "That is why I'm taking a break, silly."

A chuckle bubbled its way out of her throat. Laughter filled the room along with the small conversations among the staff and themselves. Having this unfold in front of her prompted another smile on Denise's lips as one word screamed loud in her mind;

Home.

—————

Denise would have already started her travel, or adventure as she likes to call it, the day after she met with Sophie; however, works keep holding her back and as a result, she has been occupied by them for a whole week, unable to do anything exciting and relaxing other than to play her musical instruments or catch up on series. Why couldn't she just bring her stuff along with her so she could work when she reaches wherever she wants to go? Denise isn't certain if the area she plans to go to has internet or even supply of electricity. Either way, she finally has finished all her follow-up tasks, releasing a sigh—whether it be from relief, exhaustion, or both—as her palm pushed down the screen of her laptop.

"Fucking finally," She sighs again, leaning back on her office chair. She rubs her eyes before closing them. The silence in her home provided a calming effect after her long day of work. Imagine coming here to relax only to be haunted by those damned works. The city was calm. The loud sirens fading from a distance, honking of the car horns, and sometimes a loud chatter would bloom from a small crowd, created a soft cadence lulling Denise to sleep on her position that she would surely regret next morning. But, whatever worry she may have for tomorrow was left unthought of as the night progressed with much ease she hasn't had for quite a while.

The same calm she has been seeking for.

The following morning, the dull ache on her back was quicker than her eyes to open and be aware of their surroundings. "Dammit," grumbled Denise with her voice hoarse. She slowly stood up, still groggy from waking from such a deep slumber that she hasn't had for a while. Her hand immediately reached to rub her back, seeking for relief albeit brief, before she proceeded to go to the bathroom to clean herself. After doing her morning routine—cleaning herself, exercising then eating breakfast, Denise started prepping for her long journey. She had informed Sophie that she will be gone for quite a while and that her brunette friend may occupy her house during her leave, to which the restaurant owner quickly agreed to—saving both of them time and money.

Denise felt like a scout because of all the things she is going to bring with her. She nearly brought her house with her. Better ready than not, she thinks to herself as she packed her razor that she uses to keep her head shaved. Along with that are the various tools she deemed necessary (she brought her toolbox), and some weapons that are easy to hide and bring, for precaution. She also packed a lot of foods and clothings, and of course, money. After packing all of those stuff, she went to put her portable generator on the back of her van, just in case.

When she is satisfied with everything, Denise ceased her movements before sitting on her couch, a sigh escaping past her lips before she could even think of it. She took a deep breath and then closed her eyes, letting the silence envelop her in its tranquilizing arms. The comfort se found in silence started reminding her a moment from her childhood. Something she didn't want to remember. It was midnight back then and she jolted up from her bed because of the tingling sensation in her abdomen. Realizing this, she stood up and went downstairs, only to halt on her way as she heard a whimper below— on the living room where her parents sleep. The lights were off but the soft glow emanating from the television was enough to show her father strangling her mother. At that very moment, Denise completely forgot about her bladder's needs and went straight back to the bedroom she shared with her siblings as silent as she could. The confusion, fear, anger, disappointment, and sadness that she felt that night were too overwhelming. Since then, she promised to herself that she would never marry or have children if she would only act like her father.

"I am so ready!!" Denise practically bounced as she moved, hopping like a bunny on a meadow, as she stepped into her huge van. She decided to bring some of her musical instruments and some of her books to have something to keep herself entertained. Sophie stood by her doorway, waving and smiling at her as she drove away and into the unknown.

Denise had promised that she would take a lot of pictures so that when she shows them to her, Sophie would feel as if she were with her all along her journey. She hasn't reached her destination yet, however, the tall trees she kept passing by as she was hours into her drive were always able to amaze and put a smile on her face. Nature has always been enough to make all her worries drift away, one of the reasons why she does all her best to take care of it. She is a devoted environmentalist, writing articles about the issues regarding nature in her free time while also using her resources for further development of restoration of deforested lands. It may seem like a big work, just like what Sophie insists because it truly is, but for Denise herself it isn't. She loves what she is doing, she wouldn't feel the exhaustion if she weren't mortal. Unfortunately, she must take breaks every now and then for her to be able to continue doing her passion.

After two days of driving and taking breaks to get some sleep, Denise finally arrived at the said village. She immediately felt the atmosphere she needs for the inspiration of both her book and its cover. The village itself wasn't grand, quite the opposite. The way of living here seemed to be simple almost as if the people here are still living in the olden days, and she thought it is possible that they still are. She parked her van near the entrance of the village. The village was small so she didn't bother bringing her van inside, for it would be easier to leave it outside of the village. She greeted the people who met her eyes with a small smile, hoping that they are not hostile to tourists. Thankfully, she felt welcomed enough although some just glanced at her and didn't really pay her any attention but at least no one scowled at her. She doesn't plan on staying here for too long. In fact, after she bought some supplies and asked for the elder for permission to take pictures and after taking pictures, she was already bidding her goodbye and gratitude to the elder before she hopped back to her van.

Something in the north caught her eye as she scrolled through the pictures she's taken, which pulled her gaze away from her camera. The sun was still up, there's still time for her to travel further and find a place to park her van safely— she doesn't need to spend night in a hotel or motel since her van is big enough to host, but she still needs a place to stay for her security. Denise carefully placed her camera back to its place, securing it, then proceeded to drive further up north. What caught her eyes is the enormous structure that seems like a mountain covered in snow on top, a perfect scenery to add to her choices. But as she neared the said mountain, another caught her sight. This time, she also completely forgot what it is that she went for as she was utterly amazed by the sight in front of her eyes.

Her mind couldn't think of anything except;

Perfection.

A castle. It hadn't been in the map nor did the elder of the village informed her of this. It wasn't even on Google when she searched for this area. She thought that maybe this beauty was meant to remain hidden from the outside world. The reason behind for this possibility? She couldn't care. All she could give a damn about is that she finally found what she is hoping to see. So, she did what any people would do. She took her bag and her camera before stepping out of her van—making sure to bring the keys with her, after she parked it in front of the gates.

"Woah," Denise couldn't help but gape at the infrastructure.

Jackpot, she internally celebrates.

The structure seemed to be a mixture of both Gothic and Romanesque style, with its round walls yet pointed arches and stained glasses. Overall, the castle was impressive. Its walls were enough to tell about its age, which to Denise's opinion, this castle might have been built around 18th century. She went to the gate, searching for any doorbell or anything that would notify the inhabitants of the castle—if there were—of its visitors, only to find none. But, luckily, she found out that the gate is left unlocked. Maybe, the castle is abandoned? Denise thinks then smiles as she proceeds further outside the castle grounds. The gate squeaked as Denise pushed it slightly just enough for her figure to fit perfectly.

Denise walked around as if she were strolling around the zoo for the first time, gaping at the size and the details of the castle. The castle emanated a vibe she can't quite put her finger on. She wasn't sure what it was but she felt calm and relaxed. This is perfect for my book, she thinks as she turned around once more to gape at the place. She felt like a person entering an aquarium for the first time, amazed by all the aquatic creatures.

When she was in the middle of the property, not inside the castle yet since the outside was a wide space that would have been green if it weren't winter, Denise finally pulled her camera to her chest. Hesitation kept holding her back. She doesn't want to take pictures without the owner's or at least the caretaker's permission, but whom would she ask if there seemed to be no one to ask for permission? Denise felt as if she just invaded the property despite not going fully inside the castle. She felt horrible, knowing that she must desert the place because she doesn't have the permission to be here, yet the curiosity and wonder in her became stronger than the guilt she felt creeping in her earlier. And soon enough, the latter completely overthrew any hesitation she had.

"Just one picture," Denise promised to no one in particular, trying to drown the voice in her head that screams at her to just walk away. "Let me take just one picture of this masterpiece, then I will leave." Her eyes closed in concentration as she did her best to drown any guilt creeping in her. Obviously, she didn't listen to the rational part of herself as she went to crouch and angled her camera where it covers mostly the upper part of the castle together with the plain sky and the snow falling.

It was perfect, the shot she took was splendid. Denise smiled to herself as she dusted herself off while getting up. A smile graced her face before she could even process it. She took another look at the single picture she took, after all she promised that she would only take one picture then she will go away, and that is what she is about to do if it weren't for the picture she took. The curve on her lips was immediately set straight.

Something caught her eyes the longer she stared at the picture. There. In one of the castle windows, there stood something—someone, she wasn't sure which, but it seemed to be a figure dressed in white and smiling down at her? Denise shook her head, closed her eyes then took a deep breath before looking at the picture again, squinting her eyes at it. It was still there, the...she wasn't sure what name to put to it... The creature? Either way, it doesn't seem like this castle is abandoned at all. She took one last glance at the part of the castle where she also caught the figure. There was no one there. Not the dress, not the smile, not the figure, nothing. Only darkness. Weird. Maybe it had been one of her imaginations? But she looked at the picture and the same figure was smiling at her. It couldn't be her mind's doings. Maybe the castle wasn't abandoned at all, and maybe she could ask for permission? All while Denise thinks what she could do to be more polite to whoever is living inside the wondrous castle, standing dumbly in the middle of nowhere, another thought occurred to her. This one she didn't like;

What if they're not human?

[fanfic-inator795]

RotTMNT Drabble: Match-Up

((From my recently updated drabble series “Moments Under Manhole Covers” whiiiiich I can’t directly link to THANKS TUMBLR, but it’s on AO3 if you want to check it out. Enjoy!))

“Okay, Lou Jitsu VS Jupiter Jim - ah ah, WITH assistance from Atomic Lass!”

“A Two v. One fight, huh?” Leo hummed, leaning back as he crossed his legs. He could understand why someone as bouncy and springing as Mikey would prefer a hammock to sleep in over a bed, but it was still hard to get comfy in it. For a split second, the slider nearly fell right out of it, though was able to place a hand on the wall nearest to him and regain his balance just in time. “Eh, it’s not like Lou Jitsu hasn’t been outnumbered before.”

“I know,” Mikey nodded, eyes still glued to the space on his bedroom wall, “But those were just against grunts. Of course he was gonna take ‘em out! But Jupiter Jim actually knows how to fight, plus he’s got all those sweet gadgets on ‘im! Plus, Atomic Lass can help with long range attacks and try to knock Lou off his game!” With that, he started sorting through his spraypaint cans, looking for the perfect color.

Honestly it was a wonder he had any blank space left in his room at all, but he did. About two feet wide and four feet tall, right between a tag he made a couple of years ago and a mural that, while not as impressive given that he painted it when he was seven, was still too sentimental to just paint over. Still, if anyone could turn a small section of wall into a masterpiece, it was Michelangelo.

Though, if he had been looking back at his brother, he would’ve seen the proud smile on the slider’s face. Mikey had always been a natural when it came to acrobatics and fighting, having a very ‘go with the flow’ style that meshed incredibly well with with the Lou Jitsu style of using your surroundings and turning whatever you could get your hands on into a weapon if just your hands weren’t enough. Unfortunately, being great at fighting in the moment often meant that he was a bit weaker at actually planning attacks and accounting for variables, often looking to his brothers for a new plan when things went wrong and sometimes needing to be told what to do in order to make his next move. So, to hear his younger brother actually thinking about advantages and strategies somewhat definitely brought a smile to Leo’s face.

“So,” Mikey spoke up again, pulling his blue brother out of his thoughts, “Do you think they could beat him?”

“Nah,” Leo shook his head, “Lou knows his way around a fist fight, even with people as skilled as he - or Jim - is. As long as there was no outside interference, he could easily outlast Jim, and probably figure out how to wreck most of his gadgets too.”

Mikey hummed, considering this. “And Atomic Lass?”

“Once he figured out what all her powers were, he could find a way to work around them. Find a way to take away or fight against her hammer, and that solves half your problems right there. He’s also fast enough to dodge her nuclear blasts, and once he knows how to counteract her powers, he could easily own her in a physical fight.”

“Huh, yeah, that makes sense.” Settling on a golden-orange, Mikey began spraying. “Okay, Lou Jitsu VS the Moon-Cyborgs from the 8th Last Trip to the Moon!”

The slider rolled his eyes. “Seriously, dude? No matter what weapons they’ve got, cyborgs are just like high tech mummies or zombies or any other group of grunts. Lou could wipe the floor with them, no problem - and he wouldn’t even need Jupiter Jim’s laser blaster!”

“Alright, smart guy,” Mikey retorted, giving his brother a playful scowl, “Lou Jitsu VS… Big Mama!”

“Oh, so we’re getting into real life match-ups, huh?” Leo had to think a bit on that one, since they’d only met once, so she probably had some abilities that they didn’t know about. But, judging on what they knew- “I think he could take her. Yeah she’s really big and strong and she’s got those suuuuper gross webs, but he’s fast enough to dodge those. I could see her him jumping on top of her and trying to block a few of her eyes, slowing her down and giving him a chance to throw her into her desk or something.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Mikey nodded, “I could totally see him doing that. And with someone like Meatsweats, he could just grab his tenderizing hammer and use it against him!”

“Or trick him into taking the powers of a weak mutant,” Leo smirked.

“Or pretend to be a mutant to get Meatsweats to grab him, so he can get in close, and then POW!”

“Order up! Anyone ask for beaten porkchops with a side of hot soup?” Leo shouted, causing the two of them to fall into a fit of laughter.

Settling down a bit, Mikey turned back to his project, spraying a few lines of color. He looked at it for a moment before adding a few more spots. He then picked up a darker color for some shading. “Yeah, Meatsweats wouldn’t stand a chance. ...Though, Hypno would be a bit harder to beat. Lou doesn’t really have anything to block out his hypnotizing yells.”

“Right… Which means he’d have to knock him out before he could get the chance to hypnotize him, and would have to figure out how to get around his magic tricks,” Leo nodded, “Which itself would be sort of… tricky.”

“Booooo.”

“I regret nothing. Anyway, the doves and rabbits probably wouldn’t be too big of a problem, it’s those rings that he’d really have to look out for…” He cringed slightly, lightly touching his neck and remembering the razor sharp ring that he had just barely managed to dodge a couple weeks ago. “Those things are killer… But if anyone could get around them, it’s Lou Jitsu. After that it’d just take a good hit to the face, and boom! Game, set and match!” After a moment , Leo added, “Do you think we’re too biased in this?”

“Nahhh,” Mikey shook his head as he continued painting, “Okay, Lou Jitsu VS those crab guys! They were crazy strong, plus they had a long distance attack!”

“Yeah, buuuut if he could turn their attacks against each other, he’d have them knocked out in a second!”

“Lou Jitsu VS that minotaur lady from that maze you made us go through!”

Leo gave him a flat look. “You could’ve just said ‘that one maze’ but fine, that would be a pretty hard fight. Fighting against killer vines AND a fire breathing minotaur, plus being in an environment that’s always changing? It’d be tough, but I think Lou could pull off a win. Use the vines as weapons and tools, and find a way to either knock out or tie up the minotaur, which would be easy once the playing field was even a bit, since I don’t think very many pizza chef/restaurant assistant managers are also skilled fist fighters.”

“Alright, uhh, umm-!”

“Face it, bro!” Leo insisted, “Lou Jitsu’s just too awesome! No matter what the fight, he always finds a way out!” Whether it was just in the movies or not, it was just too hard to believe that a guy that strong and skilled and just plain legendary could ever actually lose, no matter who he was up against.

And Mikey must’ve agreed, because all he could say to that was, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” His voice was quiet now, and for a moment, Leo wondered if he had made him upset, making most of their theoretical battles so one-sided. He opened his mouth to ask, and-

“What about… Lou Jitsu VS us?”

Leo didn’t say anything. Instead, he sat up, and offered Mikey a small smile. “...Yeah, no. Mikey, we’re an awesome team but, we’re still just noobs compared to a master like him. We wouldn’t stand a chance at beating Lou Jitsu.”

“Heh, yeah, I know,” Mikey agreed. He smiled back at his brother, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “...I still wish we could fight him though, even if it was just a quick, dumb spar or something…”

“...Yeah, I get what you mean,” Leo said, holding back a sigh. Ever since the very first scene they saw from one of his movies - the very thing that had inspired them to want to become ninjas in the first place - all of them had wanted to meet the great and legendary Lou Jitsu. And now, thanks to certain revelations, well… Now that desire was stronger than ever.

It was pretty awesome, having one of your dads be a celebrity. But it was also bittersweet, especially when Wikipedia could only offer an incomplete history and various conspiracy theories around the web did very little to help.

“...Do you think that was his final fight? Him VS Draxum?” Mikey asked, still facing the wall despite not making a move to continue his art, “And that… that it was the one fight he lost?”

Leo could only give a shrug. “Maybe…” If he was being honest, his late father losing a fight still was a better ending than the alternative. That he simply gave them up and went into hiding, leaving them to be found by their rat dad. “But, hey… No matter what happened in it, you can bet he fought his hardest - and awesomest - during it. Just like he always does.” Just like they always did.

“...Yeah. I think you’re right,” Mikey nodded, another small smile making his way onto his face.

“...That’s really pretty, by the way,” Leo commented, looking back up at the wall.

“Heh, I know, right? Can’t believe someone would just throw this color out. But just wait until it’s done, then it’s really gonna look like something great!”

So, Leo laid back down on the hammock, and watched his younger brother paint his latest masterpiece.

Fights were a thrill. They were energizing and satisfying, but there was plenty of satisfaction to be found in moments of peace too.

[tragicbooks]

Something to keep in mind next time you're getting your wanderlust on.

I left Canada to travel the world for a year. A generation earlier, my father escaped Vietnam in a small boat. Don’t take your freedom of mobility for granted.

<br>

In August of 1983, at the height of the international humanitarian crisis in the aftermath of the Vietnam War, my father leapt onto a boat headed for the Gulf of Thailand — an escape he had already attempted 10 times before.

"If we’d stopped, they would shoot," my dad told my sisters and me, referring to the cảnh sát, or police. We looked at my mother, incredulous. She was nodding emphatically.

This tenth time, my father was lucky. Their boat managed to evade the Việt Cộng at every checkpoint; soon, they were out at sea. For two days, my father waited in the open waters that had already swallowed the lives of those brave enough to go before him. But again, he was lucky. Their crew was spotted by the knightly Chevalier, and the Frenchmen brought my father to safety at the Singaporean shore.

My father waited in a camp while Western deities deliberated his fate. Switzerland staked a claim, but he didn’t accept their offer; English was already difficult enough to learn, let alone German or French. Eventually, he was flown across the world and dropped off in Toronto, a cold, foreign city he would try his best to make his new home.

Like my father, I, too, have crossed continents and traveled far from home. At 20, filled with wanderlust, I embarked on a trip around the world. I visited a friend in Israel, toured ancient temple ruins in Myanmar, interpreted for doctors in Vietnam, interned at an NGO in Phnom Penh, partied in Siem Reap, partied some more in Koh Phangan, bathed in the Ganges river, practiced yoga at an ashram in Rishikesh, and taught English to monks in exile in Dharamshala. I went to many places far and foreign. I met new people, ate new foods, and learned new things.

But the circumstances that led to my travel, as opposed to my father’s, could not be more different.

My father, a Vietnamese army doctor turned political dissident, crossed the Pacific Ocean because he had no choice. My father traveled to escape a regime where enemies and academics were sent to ruthless "reeducation" (i.e. prison) camps. He had to leave behind his homeland, a country where kids walking home from school, including my mother growing up, knew to run into neighbors’ homes and hide under their beds when Cobra choppers and jet fighters and banana helicopters arrived overhead; rockets and grenades and explosives were about to be next.

Just one generation later, I had a powerful Canadian passport in my pocket and disposable income at hand. My travel was a choice.

One morning last year, I woke up and opened my laptop to see that an acquaintance — let’s call her Elizabeth — had posted on Facebook to encourage her virtual friends to seize the day and travel the world. Elizabeth, a recent American University graduate and a former sorority sister, was still high off a "transformative" trip to Indonesia earlier that year, a trip that mainly entailed hopping from one island to another, drinking cheap cocktails, and riding on exotic elephants (or at least, that’s what I gathered from her pictures). Life-changing indeed.

No one contested her point of view; an outpouring of likes and comments validated Elizabeth’s motivational status update. Even I found myself nodding my head in agreement. Change the world, and it’ll change you!

It’s so easy to forget that others may have had to make immense sacrifices to do something you’ve come to see not only as a rite of passage, but indeed, a right in itself.

Is travel a right? In the strictest legal sense of the word, I suppose you could argue "yes." The right to mobility is enshrined in Article 13 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which asserts that "everyone has the right to leave any country, including his own, and to return to his country." In the United States, the freedom of movement is protected in the United States Constitution, and in the 1958 Kent v. Dulles decision, Justice William O. Douglas opined, "Travel abroad, like travel within the country … may be as close to the heart of the individual as the choice of what he eats, or wears, or reads. Freedom of movement is basic in our scheme of values."

Everyone should have the right to travel, but, of course, that doesn’t hold up to reality.

For one, not everyone can afford it. My eight-month trip was paid for by two years of disposable income saved from my part-time campus job. Halfway through, I managed to squander all my own money, but I was lucky; my parents swooped in to finance the rest of my journey of self-discovery. Because of them, I was able to continue living my life-transforming, resume-padding life abroad. Thanks, Mom and Dad!

In any case, our carefully curated Instagram grids, full of lush Airbnb homes and landscapes with the ever-trendy "fade" filter applied, seldom mention how much the plane ticket to Byron Bay cost or who’s financing our Alternative Break to Myanmar (yes, my parents paid for that too). Instead, we use hashtags like #blessed, #wanderlust, and #35mmfilm and call it a day.

There’s also the opportunity cost of traveling. I wasn’t in a rush to start earning money, but many college students are. Over 70% of all "gappers" come from families whose parents have an estimated annual parental income of over $100,000. Case in point: At my ultra-altruistic, ultra-worldly, ultra-expensive alma mater, the average student’s family income is $107,753.

Besides the cost of travel, remember that this "right" is granted only to those who own an actual passport — and the nationality associated with your passport can determine whether foreign borders will invite you in or shut you out.

For many, the notion of traveling probably conjures up images of white sand beaches, modern skyscrapers, or pastel-colored colonial architecture as well as feelings of leisure, self-discovery, adventure, and hope.

But for millions of others, traveling comes with the credible fears of embarrassment, rejection, and even death.

According to various accounts, an estimated 200,000 to 400,000 Vietnamese boat people drowned at sea by the time the United Nations resettlement efforts ended in 1996. My father and his siblings were among the luckiest to have, quite literally, made it out alive.

Shortly after arriving in Canada, my penniless father (a doctor in Vietnam) went job hunting. An old family friend in Vietnam had told him to answer "yes" to every question in every interview. A pizzeria owner asked him if he knew how to make pizza, and my father, who had never seen a pizza before in his life, enthusiastically answered "yes." He was hired and, needless to say, fired a couple days later. My mother, also a doctor back in Vietnam, humbly spent her first couple of years in Toronto working in an electronics factory.

When my mother and her family arrived in Toronto as sponsored immigrants, they were reunited with their siblings, who had weathered the trip by boat six years earlier. The family of seven spent the years shortly thereafter sharing a two bedroom apartment.

While the teenage kids passed their days in high school classrooms, the adults worked their way toward becoming doctors, pharmacists, and engineers again. Although most of their education and retraining was supported by scholarships and loans from the Canadian government, everyone worked long hours and extra shifts at factories and restaurants in order to make ends meet. At their jobs, they endured not only laborious pain, but constant discrimination as well.

As a medical resident, my mother was examining a young boy’s ear when his mother angrily eyed her and pulled her son away. The boy’s mother asked for the doctor, even after my mother had already introduced herself as the doctor. The woman then exclaimed that she wanted another doctor, and kept insisting until the attending physician — an older white man — came into the room and to my mother’s defense.

But my mother knew not to cause a scene and remained silent. In fact, my mother’s had a lot of practice with staying quiet and obedient; the sassy, mouthy woman I know now had learned very quickly back then to keep her head down and her mouth shut when the white folks volleyed racial insults at her from across the factory assembly hall.

Welcome to Canada, they said.

My parents came to Canada with nothing but the clothes they wore on their backs; when I traveled, not only did I carry a fancy Osprey backpack and a snazzy Nikon camera, but also access to Canadian embassies as well as the comfort of knowing that when I was bored with "finding myself," I could always come home.

My father, on the other hand, relinquished his Vietnamese citizenship when he traveled to Canada. He believed in his heart that leaving meant saying goodbye to home forever.

With my perfect English and universally recognized North American accent, doors opened up to me on my travels that would have remained closed for others. “She’s American,” locals would exclaim to each other, wide-eyed, when I opened my mouth to speak. At first, I would try to tell them that I’m actually a Canadian studying in the United States, but it all got too confusing; anyway they didn’t really care about Canada, so after a while I just stopped trying.

Everywhere I went, people seemed to be obsessed with America.

I discovered that being treated like royalty isn’t uncommon when you’re a “Westerner” traveling abroad. Conversely, my parents’ accounts of hardship, discrimination, and sacrifice aren’t unusual for non-Western immigrants and refugees.

The next time you embark on a big adventure, remember that you carry much more than what’s in your bags. Remember that in your wallet, you carry the dollar, against which most other currencies in the world are matched. Your thin passports represent how lucky you are to travel visa-free to 166 countries. Your voice projects a widely recognized version of the world’s most universal language.

In light of today’s unfolding refugee crisis, remember that not everyone has your freedom of mobility.

This story first appeared on The Development Set and is reprinted here with permission. This is a shortened version of the original piece.

<br>

[socialviralnews]

Something to keep in mind next time you're getting your wanderlust on.

I left Canada to travel the world for a year. A generation earlier, my father escaped Vietnam in a small boat. Don’t take your freedom of mobility for granted.

<br>

In August of 1983, at the height of the international humanitarian crisis in the aftermath of the Vietnam War, my father leapt onto a boat headed for the Gulf of Thailand — an escape he had already attempted 10 times before.

"If we’d stopped, they would shoot," my dad told my sisters and me, referring to the cảnh sát, or police. We looked at my mother, incredulous. She was nodding emphatically.

This tenth time, my father was lucky. Their boat managed to evade the Việt Cộng at every checkpoint; soon, they were out at sea. For two days, my father waited in the open waters that had already swallowed the lives of those brave enough to go before him. But again, he was lucky. Their crew was spotted by the knightly Chevalier, and the Frenchmen brought my father to safety at the Singaporean shore.

My father waited in a camp while Western deities deliberated his fate. Switzerland staked a claim, but he didn’t accept their offer; English was already difficult enough to learn, let alone German or French. Eventually, he was flown across the world and dropped off in Toronto, a cold, foreign city he would try his best to make his new home.

Like my father, I, too, have crossed continents and traveled far from home. At 20, filled with wanderlust, I embarked on a trip around the world. I visited a friend in Israel, toured ancient temple ruins in Myanmar, interpreted for doctors in Vietnam, interned at an NGO in Phnom Penh, partied in Siem Reap, partied some more in Koh Phangan, bathed in the Ganges river, practiced yoga at an ashram in Rishikesh, and taught English to monks in exile in Dharamshala. I went to many places far and foreign. I met new people, ate new foods, and learned new things.

But the circumstances that led to my travel, as opposed to my father’s, could not be more different.

My father, a Vietnamese army doctor turned political dissident, crossed the Pacific Ocean because he had no choice. My father traveled to escape a regime where enemies and academics were sent to ruthless "reeducation" (i.e. prison) camps. He had to leave behind his homeland, a country where kids walking home from school, including my mother growing up, knew to run into neighbors’ homes and hide under their beds when Cobra choppers and jet fighters and banana helicopters arrived overhead; rockets and grenades and explosives were about to be next.

Just one generation later, I had a powerful Canadian passport in my pocket and disposable income at hand. My travel was a choice.

One morning last year, I woke up and opened my laptop to see that an acquaintance — let’s call her Elizabeth — had posted on Facebook to encourage her virtual friends to seize the day and travel the world. Elizabeth, a recent American University graduate and a former sorority sister, was still high off a "transformative" trip to Indonesia earlier that year, a trip that mainly entailed hopping from one island to another, drinking cheap cocktails, and riding on exotic elephants (or at least, that’s what I gathered from her pictures). Life-changing indeed.

No one contested her point of view; an outpouring of likes and comments validated Elizabeth’s motivational status update. Even I found myself nodding my head in agreement. Change the world, and it’ll change you!

It’s so easy to forget that others may have had to make immense sacrifices to do something you’ve come to see not only as a rite of passage, but indeed, a right in itself.

Is travel a right? In the strictest legal sense of the word, I suppose you could argue "yes." The right to mobility is enshrined in Article 13 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which asserts that "everyone has the right to leave any country, including his own, and to return to his country." In the United States, the freedom of movement is protected in the United States Constitution, and in the 1958 Kent v. Dulles decision, Justice William O. Douglas opined, "Travel abroad, like travel within the country … may be as close to the heart of the individual as the choice of what he eats, or wears, or reads. Freedom of movement is basic in our scheme of values."

Everyone should have the right to travel, but, of course, that doesn’t hold up to reality.

For one, not everyone can afford it. My eight-month trip was paid for by two years of disposable income saved from my part-time campus job. Halfway through, I managed to squander all my own money, but I was lucky; my parents swooped in to finance the rest of my journey of self-discovery. Because of them, I was able to continue living my life-transforming, resume-padding life abroad. Thanks, Mom and Dad!

In any case, our carefully curated Instagram grids, full of lush Airbnb homes and landscapes with the ever-trendy "fade" filter applied, seldom mention how much the plane ticket to Byron Bay cost or who’s financing our Alternative Break to Myanmar (yes, my parents paid for that too). Instead, we use hashtags like #blessed, #wanderlust, and #35mmfilm and call it a day.

There’s also the opportunity cost of traveling. I wasn’t in a rush to start earning money, but many college students are. Over 70% of all "gappers" come from families whose parents have an estimated annual parental income of over $100,000. Case in point: At my ultra-altruistic, ultra-worldly, ultra-expensive alma mater, the average student’s family income is $107,753.

Besides the cost of travel, remember that this "right" is granted only to those who own an actual passport — and the nationality associated with your passport can determine whether foreign borders will invite you in or shut you out.

For many, the notion of traveling probably conjures up images of white sand beaches, modern skyscrapers, or pastel-colored colonial architecture as well as feelings of leisure, self-discovery, adventure, and hope.

But for millions of others, traveling comes with the credible fears of embarrassment, rejection, and even death.

According to various accounts, an estimated 200,000 to 400,000 Vietnamese boat people drowned at sea by the time the United Nations resettlement efforts ended in 1996. My father and his siblings were among the luckiest to have, quite literally, made it out alive.

Shortly after arriving in Canada, my penniless father (a doctor in Vietnam) went job hunting. An old family friend in Vietnam had told him to answer "yes" to every question in every interview. A pizzeria owner asked him if he knew how to make pizza, and my father, who had never seen a pizza before in his life, enthusiastically answered "yes." He was hired and, needless to say, fired a couple days later. My mother, also a doctor back in Vietnam, humbly spent her first couple of years in Toronto working in an electronics factory.

When my mother and her family arrived in Toronto as sponsored immigrants, they were reunited with their siblings, who had weathered the trip by boat six years earlier. The family of seven spent the years shortly thereafter sharing a two bedroom apartment.

While the teenage kids passed their days in high school classrooms, the adults worked their way toward becoming doctors, pharmacists, and engineers again. Although most of their education and retraining was supported by scholarships and loans from the Canadian government, everyone worked long hours and extra shifts at factories and restaurants in order to make ends meet. At their jobs, they endured not only laborious pain, but constant discrimination as well.

As a medical resident, my mother was examining a young boy’s ear when his mother angrily eyed her and pulled her son away. The boy’s mother asked for the doctor, even after my mother had already introduced herself as the doctor. The woman then exclaimed that she wanted another doctor, and kept insisting until the attending physician — an older white man — came into the room and to my mother’s defense.

But my mother knew not to cause a scene and remained silent. In fact, my mother’s had a lot of practice with staying quiet and obedient; the sassy, mouthy woman I know now had learned very quickly back then to keep her head down and her mouth shut when the white folks volleyed racial insults at her from across the factory assembly hall.

Welcome to Canada, they said.

My parents came to Canada with nothing but the clothes they wore on their backs; when I traveled, not only did I carry a fancy Osprey backpack and a snazzy Nikon camera, but also access to Canadian embassies as well as the comfort of knowing that when I was bored with "finding myself," I could always come home.

My father, on the other hand, relinquished his Vietnamese citizenship when he traveled to Canada. He believed in his heart that leaving meant saying goodbye to home forever.

With my perfect English and universally recognized North American accent, doors opened up to me on my travels that would have remained closed for others. “She’s American,” locals would exclaim to each other, wide-eyed, when I opened my mouth to speak. At first, I would try to tell them that I’m actually a Canadian studying in the United States, but it all got too confusing; anyway they didn’t really care about Canada, so after a while I just stopped trying.

Everywhere I went, people seemed to be obsessed with America.

I discovered that being treated like royalty isn’t uncommon when you’re a “Westerner” traveling abroad. Conversely, my parents’ accounts of hardship, discrimination, and sacrifice aren’t unusual for non-Western immigrants and refugees.

The next time you embark on a big adventure, remember that you carry much more than what’s in your bags. Remember that in your wallet, you carry the dollar, against which most other currencies in the world are matched. Your thin passports represent how lucky you are to travel visa-free to 166 countries. Your voice projects a widely recognized version of the world’s most universal language.

In light of today’s unfolding refugee crisis, remember that not everyone has your freedom of mobility.

This story first appeared on The Development Set and is reprinted here with permission. This is a shortened version of the original piece.

<br> from Upworthy http://ift.tt/2nwVkFD via cheap web hosting