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psycho-slytherin · 5 years ago

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Strangers ch. 40

You’re confronted during your workday, and meet up with the guys for dinner. Later, you and Yoongi wrestle with what you’ve learned.

Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Actress!Reader

Word count: 3k

Genre: fluff, angst

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You rub anxiously at Starry Night, letting the dull roar of the subway distract you from a whirlwind of thoughts.

You haven’t slept since leaving the interview with Detective Kang yesterday. How will you muster up the cool head of your character, Ji-Woo, while knowing what you know? As you exit the subway station near the film studio, the brisk spring breeze that hits your back causes you to flinch– you hear her laughing, the sasaeng that pushed you in, and you feel the freezing water envelop you, you’re drowning, dying–

No. C’mon, y/n. No, you’re not. You tap your foot on the ground, as though to prove to yourself that you’re standing on solid, dry land.

If this gets any worse, you wonder, staring around at all the people unaffected by the cold, how will I ever leave the house?

You should really start focusing on your writing degree– authors don’t have to leave their warm nooks.

You should start focusing on any degree, if you’re being honest. You’re turning into the slacker you promised you’d never become; when’s the last time you’ve even thought about school?

Doesn’t matter. Just do well with acting, and you won’t need school ever again.

You arrive onset, and Yoongi is nowhere to be found. On top of that, you see your costar Jeongyeon strut over to you. Great.

“Y/n, darling~” She coos brightly, though her eyes sparkle with something less than kindness. “No Yoongi today? I thought you spent all your time together.”

This fucking fake relationship. You grit your teeth, giving into the anger that lately seems to warm you. “It’s eight in the morning, darling. I don’t know what you think of me, or Yoongi, but given that we live separately– in completely opposite directions, in fact– we’re not going to show up every damned day together!”

“Ooh, someone’s feeling testy, huh?” Jeongyeon replies, not missing a beat. “Did you have a fight with him? Trouble in paradise already?”

Your blood begins to boil as you stalk towards her. “You little–”

“Hey, sweetheart.” Before you can reach out to strangle your coworker, you feel long fingers lacing with your own, and someone pressed up against your side.

“What were you guys talking about?” Yoongi asks, his tone jovial. Meanwhile, you’re far too distracted by the fact that he’s holding your hand. You can feel the fury leave you, replaced by Yoongi’s warmth.

“Just how cute you two are!” Jeongyeon is quick to reply. “Y/n is so lucky to be dating a celebrity like you, Suga.”

Yoongi then does something so surprising that you don’t manage to react: he leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I think I’m the lucky one. I’ll see you two onset, okay?”

Affection for your friend blooms in your chest; his timing couldn’t have been better.

“Mhm!” Jeongyeon waves as Yoongi pads to wardrobe. As soon as he’s out of earshot, her smile falls. “Lucky bitch.”

“I’d say jealousy isn’t a good look on you,” you fire back, “but it sure is prettier than your personality.”

“Y/n! Jeongyeon!” Your director, Avery, yells from across the busy film set. “Why aren’t you in costume? Go!”

You and Jeongyeon jump. “Yes, ma’am!”

Soon enough, you’re hand-in-hand with Yoongi, gliding through the choreography you’d been taught. It’s a big scene for the main characters, so you and the rest of the cast need to simply… fade into the background. Your gown swishes and swirls around you, matching perfectly with Yoongi’s noble formalwear.

The music is soft, and the movements so much the same, that you find your thoughts drifting.

“I’m sorry that Jeongyeon is bothering you,” Yoongi says eventually. “That might be my fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“I kind of know her. We met at an awards show last year… Namjoon said she might have a crush on me,” he says sheepishly. “Hopefully that little charade put her off.”

“Right.” Charade. All a charade.

You’re treated to another few minutes of quiet as the cameras train on the main characters.

“What’s on your mind?” Yoongi murmurs, his back to the camera.

“Lisa,” you admit. “I’m really worried.”

“You never did call me after your meeting with that detective. How did it go?”

“Er…” you swore to confidentiality. Are you allowed to tell him? But Yoongi has kept you a secret for the better part of a year, you know you can trust him. Besides, you promised– no more lies. “I’ll tell you after work, okay?”

“Sure. If you’re feeling up to it, we can actually have a group dinner with the guys.”

You smile. “Perfect.”

A full workday later, you sigh with exhaustion. That commercial you filmed with Wonho should be coming out soon– your paycheck for those two days of work are what you’d earn after three weeks as a barista. And Moon Over The Sea is paying you even more. Who needs school?

Lisa… Once you arrive home, you text her phone, just as you’ve been doing in the day since leaving the meeting with Detective Kang. She’s missing… but she’s not. You saw her… but maybe you didn’t. She’s okay… unless she isn’t? Again, the message goes undelivered.

You decide to try something else, instead calling up one of Lisa’s housemates.

“Hello?”

“Seulgi, it’s y/n.”

“Y/n! Hey, how are you? How’s your leg?”

That’s right, she hasn’t seen you since you dragged yourself, half-dead, to her door.

“Much better, thanks,” you reply as you sit on your bed, stretching out your left leg to see the jagged scar running down the length of your calf. It could easily have been your head that collided with the rough rock. “I was wondering if you’ve heard from Lisa?”

“You know, I was going to ask you the same question,” Seulgi replies casually, and you feel your heart sink. “I haven’t seen her in weeks– it’s not much of an issue since she’s set up automatic rent payments, but like, she never told us she was going off somewhere, you know?”

You bite your lip. “I know. Can you let me know if you hear from her?”

“Sure thing. I wouldn��t worry, y/n, she’s probably at her parents’ house or something.”

“Yeah, p-probably.” You nearly choke on the lie. She’s missing, you want to scream. She’s missing, and there’s so much I need to know.

“–Which I thought was weird,” Seulgi is saying.

You tune back in. “What was that?”

“Just that she left her laptop here. Maybe she got a new one? I don’t know how I’d survive without my computer, you know?”

“Huh… yeah.” Maybe her laptop could give you clues to Lisa’s disappearance. “Seulgi, do you mind if I swing by to pick up Lisa’s computer? Might as well bring it to her folks.”

“Good idea. See you soon.”

You check your watch. You have a couple hours before your dinner with BTS. Might as well get that done. Besides, with Lisa gone, you’re at a loss for how to organize new jobs– you know you should start looking for another manager, but to do so is to admit defeat on Lisa’s behalf.

Soon enough, you’re at Lisa’s doorstep, the doorstep on which you found yourself after your trek from the river those short weeks ago.

Seulgi welcomes you in: “Hey! Irene and Wendy are out, but Yeri’s got a friend over, so it might be a little loud.”

“It’s fine– I just need the computer.” You know which door is Lisa’s, and you quickly let yourself into her room. It’s just like you remember from the last time you were over: BTS posters plaster the wall, and your heart aches to see Yoongi’s face staring at you. You think a Jimin poster has been replaced with that of Jungkook, but otherwise…

Where are you? You spot her laptop on her desk and flip it open. It’s still charged, but– dammit. Password-protected. Short on time, you grab it, slipping it into your bag. Detective Kang told you not to worry, to let the police do their jobs, but you’re not trying to solve a crime; you just want your friend back.

You can examine its contents later, once you’re at the guys’ apartment. You have just enough time to head back and change, and before long you find yourself in the elevator up. With your new status as Suga’s ‘girlfriend’, your days of sneaking in through the back door are over. As long as you leave before it gets too late, and the security guards do their job in keeping the sasaengs back, you’re golden.

“I brought snacks~” you sing as the elevator slides open. You felt embarrassed when you first became friends with them– what could you bring to make millionaires happy? But these guys are such dorks, they love everything you arrive with. This time? Salty crackers and pretzels for after-dinner snacking.

“Y/n-ie’s here!” You’re suddenly surrounded by Namjoon, Seokjin, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. Yoongi is in the kitchen pouring himself some wine.

“Hey, guys.” You feel yourself tearing up. After the stress of the last few days, you’re grateful for your friends.

“Aww, don’t cry! We ordered takeout!” Jungkook says, bouncing on his heels.

Seokjin sighs. “That’s a pretty good reason to cry, dummy.”

“Takeout sounds awesome,” you laugh, shrugging out of your coat. You’re still wearing three layers, and their apartment is warm; you’re safe from the cold for now.

“Jeez, aren’t you boiling?” Hoseok asks, plucking at your plush sweater.

You flinch before regaining your sass. “You’re just jealous that I’m hotter than you, Hobi.”

“If she wants to stay warm, let her.” Yoongi says, approaching. “We can eat in the living room, it’s warm there. Should we watch a movie?”

The guys whoop in agreement.

“Let’s watch Midsommar,” Taehyung suggests as the eight of you settle in the living room. You race Yoongi to steal his favorite armchair, but he manages to snag it just before you.

“How about Once Upon A Time in Hollywood?” Namjoon asks. “I think it’s been subtitled already.”

“I heard really good things about 1917,” Jungkook adds. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Yoongi shrinking more and more into himself– that’s right, you remember with a start, he hates scary movies. And all three suggestions, in some way or another, are certainly scary. Cults, war, and murder? Yeah, no.

You catch his eye. What do you want to watch? You mouth silently. In lieu of a response, Yoongi smiles and shakes his head, sending you a clear don’t-worry-about-it signal.

And yet… half an hour into Midsommar, Yoongi stands up, looking pale. “I’m gonna… go get something.”

When he doesn’t come back after fifteen minutes you make your own excuses to the guys before going to knock on his door. “Yoongi?”

The door creaks open, and Yoongi lets you in. “Caught me, didn’t you?”

“Eh, I’d rather hang out with you than watch a movie anyways,” you reply, flopping onto Seokjin’s bed.

“Well, while we’re here…” Yoongi says casually, “Want to tell me what went on with Lisa?”

You gulp, at last letting yourself dwell on the events of yesterday. “She’s been missing for three weeks. Or maybe two weeks. Or maybe two days? She hasn’t shown up to classes, hasn’t slept at her apartment, and hasn’t contacted anyone.” Except me. “She bought a plane ticket to America but never boarded the flight. And her credit card…” you take a deep breath. If nothing else, this is something you need to share with Yoongi.

“Yoongs, Lisa’s credit card was found at our lamppost.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it was…” it’s suddenly difficult to draw breath. “Yoongi, they found it right next to the lamppost.”

Yoongi’s brows knit together as he clearly tries to process your words. “But… you worked at the cafe down the street. She could have been visiting you, or just going for coffee. Right?”

You nod. “That would make sense, but the last charge on her card was after I’d already quit at the cafe. And…” you look down. “There’s something else.”

Yoongi stares at you, and you fidget with Starry Night, stumbling over your words. “Her- that is, she… She…”

Silently, Yoongi rises and walks over to the light switch, flicking it off and plunging the both of you into darkness.

“Y-Yoongs…?” You call quietly, and you feel a warm hand resting on your own.

“Is this better?” He asks, his voice echoing in the dark.

“I- yeah.” You relax a bit, knowing no one’s eyes are on you, you’re safe. “Lisa’s phone, it had been switched off for weeks, but on Friday it was turned back on…”

Detective Kang slides the laptop over to you. “We were able to pinpoint its location to somewhere on this block. We don’t have traffic cameras near these buildings, so we can’t confirm, but do you know of any reason she might be in this area?”

Your heart stutters at the familiar street view. “I was working there.” You grab the laptop and lean closer to the screen, as though you might see inside the buildings. “That’s… where I was filming the commercial. She dropped me off there!” Your hands begin trembling, making it difficult to point. “Detective, I was inside that building when she texted me. Right… right there.”

“And you say you used to work down the street from where we found her credit card?” Detective Kang clarifies.

“Yes. Detective, do you think she could be in danger–?”

“We can’t draw any conclusions. But do you think there’s anyone else who saw Lisa on the day she dropped you off?”

“I don’t know. She stayed in her car.”

“Okay. Ms. L/n, You can’t tell anyone about this case, alright? We’re not sure of what’s going on, but we in the Missing Persons unit have a handle on it. And if Ms. Manoban contacts you again, please let me know right away. Record it, if you can– it’s possible she was threatened or otherwise forced to see you on Friday.”

You feel tears begin to well in your eyes. Lisa, threatened? “I understand.”

“Oh, y/n.” You feel Yoongi’s arms wrap around you as he sits beside you on Jin’s bed. “She’ll be okay. I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

“What I need…” you whisper. “I need you.”

Yoongi’s arms tighten around you. “Y/n?”

You straighten up. “You. You’re good with computers, right?”

Your friend lets go of you, clearing his throat. “I– kind of, why?”

“I have Lisa’s computer. She left it at her apartment. It’s password-protected…” you falter. As her best friend, you should know Lisa’s passwords. She knows all of yours, but she’s always been careful with her passwords, and you’ve never asked. Why did you never ask? “I was hoping you might be able to help.”

“Aish, I’m not a magician, y/n.” You hear Yoongi getting up to turn the lights back on and you blink weakly as the sudden brightness blind you. “But I’ll do my best, okay?”

“You’re amazing,” you say gratefully, pulling the computer from your bag.

“Ya know,” Yoongi says as he opens the laptop, “I’m pretty sure you’re the programmer of the two of us.”

“Huh?”

“You’re a whiz at HTML.”

You giggle. “Yoongi, I learned HTML for Tumblr. For you.”

“What, really?” Yoongi laughs in disbelief. “Damn, first you’ve got me as your ringtone, then you go and learn programming for me too?”

You shove him playfully. “Help me with the computer, dork.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s try the obvious stuff first.” With your help, Yoongi tries Lisa’s name, birthday, student ID number, first pet’s name, and a bunch of others. Eventually, and with Midsommar still playing down the hall, you sit back and groan.

“Some hacker you are.”

“I never said I was a hacker, y/n, I’m just good at guessing passwords.” Yoongi rubs his temples, brushing his messy black hair from his eyes. So pretty.

“How about her bias?” He says eventually. “She likes Jimin, right?”

“Ah- yeah! Try his name!”

You spend another ten minutes on every variety of Jimin’s name and birthday that you can think of. None are successful, and you begin to despair. You know you should have just taken it straight to Detective Kang, but you just want to be useful for once. Your mind drifts back to Lisa’s bedroom. She’d replaced a Jimin poster with Jungkook… wait. Jungkook! You reach over and snatch the computer from Yoongi’s grasp, quickly typing in Jungkook, jungkookie, jeonjk, jeonjeongguk, and again, everything else under the sun. Eventually, out of sheer desperation, you type in jk010997– his birthday. You hold your breath as the computer finally unlocks, revealing its desktop.

There’s a photo open on Lisa’s desktop. When you see it, and register it, a wave of pure terror washes over you, so powerful that you fall off the bed with a thud and scramble across the room. “That’s… that’s…”

“Y/n! What is it, what’s wrong?” Yoongi says, alarm ringing in his tone. “Are you okay?”

“It’s her,” you mumble, more to yourself than anything else. Your breaths have turned shallow, and you can feel an episode coming on. Cold. Cold. You’re so cold.

“Her? That’s not Lisa, y/n, what’s going on?”

You point with a shaky finger at the computer screen, upon which a photo of a smiling redhead is displayed. “It’s her. She tried to kill me.”

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collecting-stories · 7 years ago

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Home | Alex ‘Dunkirk 2017′

hey there friend! so, for the dunkirk request: can you do something with Alex please? cute reunion fluff or smt? I just need him to feel at home once he sees the girl again I'm in the mood for some crying these days. For @sweetxcreatureex

Home | Alex

It was not until the end of the war, or rather a few weeks after the radio announcer gave the news that the war was indeed over, that you would see Alex again. You had met each other in '38, just a year before he was to leave for the war effort. Neither of you were naïve to what was happening in Germany and, when Churchill called for men to fight in the war Alex was signing up immediately.

"What they're doing to people there is awful." He'd said to you in early September as he walked you home after a date. "I've been listening to the broadcasts, someone's got to do something."

It was more bravado on Alex's part than anything that pushed him to join. Maybe he was a bit naïve, because he didn’t truly know what he was getting himself into. Though you respected his decision, you were proud of him after all, he was willing to fight against something that seemed truly evil.

But back in 1938, or 1937 technically because it was an hour before midnight on New Year's Eve that you met him, a war was the last thing on your mind. Your older sister was going to a party with her boyfriend and you had snuck out to follow them, not wanting to be left out. The party was at the town hall, couples gathered to dance away the evening. For a long time you stayed near the back door, just watching everyone interacting with each other. And then, just as midnight was upon you, a young man came up. He was more like a boy your sister would lament when she saw you together later. Bright innocent eyes, boyish features and a happy smile as he offered you a glass of punch.

"No thank you," you'd declined politely.

"I'm sorry," he apologized though the smile didn't leave his face, "have you come with someone?"

"No, just my sister."

"Well, seeing as it's nearly midnight and I've not come with anyone either, perhaps you would be my midnight kiss?" He requested.

"What?" You were startled to say the least. Boyish sure but still wildly attractive. There must've been someone he'd rather kiss than you.

"Just a quick one yeah? Can even be on the cheek if you'd like. Surely I must get some sort of luck from sharing a kiss with the prettiest girl in here?"

"Well...alright." You replied, thinking that if your sister were here, and single, she would most certainly accept his kiss.

So at midnight you shared the first of many kisses with the stranger. Though he'd said it could be on the cheek you had decided, just at everyone in the hall called out an excited 'one' that you would kiss him on the mouth. So you did. And he seemed more than happy with that decision based on the way his hands held your face. His green eyes were bright with excitement from the kiss and his cheeks red as the punch he'd discarded on a table.

The year and a half that followed was a whirlwind of dates and promises. He met your parents and took you round to his house to meet his own. You both became regular fixtures of each other's lives. He would meet you after school or you would meet him after work and then the two of you would walk to either house for dinner, staying late into the night. While your sister broke up with and dated different boys through the year and a half you never thought of anyone but Alex. He was the first boy you had dated, the first boy you had even kissed and you couldn't imagine ever being without him.

"I'll be back before you know it, England has one of the best armies in the world." Alex would say versions of the same phrase from the day he told you he was leaving until the day he actually did.

On that day you kissed him, the excitement gone from his green eyes as nerves set in and you promised to wait for him. "I'll be right here when you get back."

While it wasn't uncommon for your mother or his to mention the idea of marriage to the two of you Alex himself had never brought the topic up himself. Instead he always laughed and said 'one day' when someone commented on it. Today though, as he stood with his bag, ready to go, he placed a small velvet pouch in your hand, closing your fingers around it and kissing your forehead. "For when I come home." He promised.

Later in your bedroom, as you laid in bed listening to your mother crying in the next room (your father had gone as well) you held your hand above your head and stared at the gold band on your finger. He'd left you a ring and a promise, that when he returned, if he returned, he would marry you. The ring was always present on your finger. As you packed what you could and left the city for the countryside, as you listened to the news broadcaster speak about Germany and the war, as you wrote out letters to Alex. You called his mother once a week to talk, his family had stayed in London and ringing them was the easiest form of communication.

You heard about Dunkirk on the radio but thought only that the men who had safely made it back to England must've been scared. The war was like a looming shadow over all of England. The men who had gone away were being changed by their experiences but so were the women that had been left at home. And that did not exclude you. After Alex went away and you moved out to the countryside you found work two towns over in a factory making parts for the war. You worked early in the morning until late at night to pay your rent to the family that was keeping you and to send money to your mother.

"Winston Churchill is on the radio!" The lady of the boarding house called up the stairs. The five years had gone fast, it was just four months ago that you were ringing in 1945 with your housemates. The last couple new years being much quieter then they had been with Alex.

You hurried down the stairs to listen, the prime minister's voice coming through the radio. "Our gratitude to our splendid Allies goes forth from all our hearts in this Island and throughout the British Empire. We may allow ourselves a brief period of rejoicing; but let us not forget for a moment the toil and efforts that lie ahead..."

"It's true then," you leaned back in your chair, letting out the breath that you had been holding since you saw Alex off to war, "it's over."

The commotion in the house that evening was unmatched. Work was canceled for the next day and you were certain no one had rested since the announcement. The war was over and while happiness was the first to settle in you dread was not far behind. Because you had been working non-stop without a single thought other than 'the war will end and Alex will return' but now that it was finally over you couldn't help but think 'what if he doesn’t return'.

Except he did. The boyishness gone from him, his eyes were a dimmer green than before. Your mother told him that you and your sister had both been sent to the country and she offered him the address. His skin was tanned from the sun though somehow he still looked like a ghost. Your mother would tell you later that she almost didn't recognize the tall young man standing at her doorstep, uniform fitting him as though he'd been born into it. And perhaps he had, somewhere between Dunkirk and the rest of the war he had died and been reborn, just a soldier in a uniform with no identity passed that.

He arrived on the front step of the cottage you were boarding at and when you came to the door the breath he had been holding for five years left him. His shoulders relaxed, his fists unclenched and his jaw went slack. You looked tired but still lovely and the ring on your finger had dulled from constant wear though he swore it still glinted when the sun caught it as you threw your arms around his neck, bringing him close to you. His bag dropped and he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground and burying his face in your neck, tears staining your dress.

"Alex." You held his face in your hands, kissing him as many times as you could.

His usual talkative charm had been eaten up by the war and he could do little else but nod to you as you told him that you loved him. His eyes shone with tears as he kissed you, a kiss to make up for the years the both of you had gone without each other, with little more than memories and letters to ease the pain.

"I knew you would come home to me." You confided, and he was suddenly aware of the way the small band of gold felt against his cheek as you held his face. It was the last either of you would speak of the war for some time.

Hey I finally wrote this...was it any good?

#Alex dunkirk imagine #Alex x reader dunkirk #dunkirk imagine #dunkirk 2017 imagine #i don't know how to tag this #are there dunkirk tags #collecting stories imagine #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles dunkirk alex

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haunting-kind-of-high · 7 years ago

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So Long and Goodnight

Warnings: A bit of swearing, major character death, cancer, car crash, drowning, suicide, lots of angst, no happy ending

Tag list: @musicphanpie-b, @imin-loveanon, @ordinary-chaos, @sandersandthesides, @ajumbleofwords, @demonickittykat, @zadi-jyne, @serenefreakgeek, @fandons-mangoes, @leesacrakon, @gayfagg, @friendlyinternetmeerkat

Notes: This was so hard to write this, mostly because I have no idea how hospitals work. There are probably lots of mistakes and inaccuracies, but I tried my best, don’t judge me too harsly :)

Read on AO3 here

So long to all my friends

Everyone of them met tragic ends

It started with Patton. About a year ago, he was diagnosed with liver cancer. When they discovered this, Patton was in stage II, but the cancer was exceptionally agressive. However, the doctors tried what they did to help Patton, but no matter what they did, it still spread. Patton’s health detoriated quickly and even though he always remained optimistic and happy, the treatment affected him heavily. Especially the chemotherapy was hard on Patton. The doctors tried what they could, but it never worked the way they wanted to. No matter what they tried, Patton lost weight quickly. He grew less energetic and his housemates noticed the change. Patton tried to hide it, but his friends saw through his facade of happiness. He was scared, worried about the future. Over the weeks, he got worse. He didn’t go out as much as he used to, he barely ate. It wasn’t looking good. Soon, he had to be taken to the hospital in critical conditions. After a quick examination, the doctor stepped into Patton’s room.

“I’m very sorry,” she told Patton and his three housemates apologetically, “but the cancer is stage IV. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do now. I’m sorry.”

At that point, all four men felt like their hearts sink through the floor. Patton bit his lip and nodded. So this was it, he thought, this was it.

And that was the moment that Patton’s happy facade finally crumbled. And that was what broke Virgil’s heart more than seeing his health deteroriate the way it did. Patton had always tried to be strong, but now it was certain he was going to die, he couldn’t be strong anymore. He smiled sadly at the doctor and as soon as she had left, saying she would give the four some privacy, Patton broke down.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled, looking down at his hands, “i-it’s just… scary, I guess…” Virgil nodded as he grabbed Patton’s head, unable to speak due to the lump that had formed in his throat.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Pat,” Roman said, his voice cracking, “it is scary. We get it.”

In the week that followed, Logan, Virgil and Roman made sure at least one of them was with Patton at all times. His health got worse every hour. After a few days, he didn’t eat anymore. He barely drank. And six days later, he died. Virgil was sat next to him, holding his hand.

“Verge,” Patton whispered. Virgil looked up and noticed with pain in his heart that Patton’s eyes had already lost their shimmer and liveliness.

“I love you.”

And those were his last words. The heart monitor let out a long monotonous beep that signified the lack of heartbeat.

“Pat,” Virgil called softly, his voice breaking. “Pat…” He brought a hand up to his mouth to muffle the sobs that left his mouth as the nurses and a doctor rushed in. With trembling hands, he dialed his friend’s number. Almost immediately, someone picked up the phone.

“Logan, it’s me,” Virgil said softly, “it’s Patton. He’s… fuck. He’s dead.”

Then came Roman. It wasn’t even a month after Patton had passed away. All three men were still mourning the death of their good friend, and that particular week hadn’t been great for Roman. It seemed that the realisation that Patton had died had finally kicked in for him. Food didn’t taste as good as it used to and his bed had never been more comfortable. Virgil and Logan did what they could to help their friend out.

After a few days, Roman had to go back to work again, after a few weeks of absence. When he heard this, Virgil immediately tried to talk Roman out of it.

“Ro, you’re in no state to work,” he said, “you should stay in.”

“We have to be able to pay for food and rent,” Roman reasoned as he grabbed his bag from the table.

“I know, but let Logan me take care of that. You have barely left your bed in the past week, you should stay home for at least one more day. I’m sure your boss will understand.”

“I will manage, Virgil. Trust me.” But he didn’t. Virgil didn’t trust him. Roman looked nothing like his usual self. He looked broken. His eyes seemed dead and they had black circles underneath them. His skin looked ten times paler than it usually did and he’d lost weight.

“Why don’t you call your boss, tell her why you can’t come to work and stay in for just a few more days?” Virgil tried. He wanted Roman to stay home, until he looked better, at least. Roman seemed to have other plans, though.

“I really can’t Verge,” he insisted, “and besides, I think it’s too late to stay in for today. Just… let me go okay? I could use a distraction.”

“Fine,” Virgil sighed, “but you stay home tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Roman seemed reluctant to agree, but at least he agreed, Virgil thought.

“Take good care of yourself, okay?”

“Of course,” Roman nodded with a small smile as he stepped forwards to embrace Virgil shortly. “I love you, Verge.”

“I love you too.”

He didn’t know what happened. All he knew was that thirty minutes later, he was sat in his car, rushing to the hospital while trying to get ahold of Logan. Virgil had gotten a call from the hospital, telling him that Roman had been in an accident and they were preparing to perform surgery on him. He wasn’t doing well. And that was why Virgil ran into the hospital and came to a sudden stop in front of the reception. He told the receptionist his friend’s name and they told him where to go. It all went by in a blur. Virgil made his way to the operation and sat down on a chair nearby.

It was his fault. He should have tried better to convince Roman to stay home today. He should have called his boss himself. He should have done anything to try and keep Roman home. It was his fault they were here in a hospital. What if he died? Oh God… what if Roman died too? He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if Roman died because of him. It was his fault.

Virgil tried to call Logan time after time after time. Finally, after what must have been at least a dozen times, Logan picked up. “Virgil, what is it?” he asked with something in his voice that sounded like a mix of frustration and worry. “You’ve called me sixteen times. You know I’m in class, right?” “Roman… h-he was in a c-car crash,” Virgil told, trying his best not to cry, “he’s i-in the OR right- right now.” “He what? Are you at the hospital now?” “Yeah,” Virgil answered softly. “Stay there! I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Before Virgil could say anything, Logan had already ended the phone call. Virgil placed his phone on the seat next to him and buried his face in his hands. It was his fault.

“Virgil,” he heard Logan’s voice next to him. He sounded out of breath and panicked. “Have you heard anything yet?” Virgil looked up at Logan, his face red and blotched. He shook his head and looked at the floor. “What happened?” Logan asked as he sat down next to Virgil. “It’s my fault,” Virgil mumbled, not looking at his friend. “What?” “It’s my fault,” Virgil repeated, followed by a sob. Logan wrapped an arm around Virgil’s shoulders, trying his best to comfort his friend, even though he didn’t know how to do it. “How is this your fault?” “I-I let him g-go to work,” Virgil explained, “I tried t-to stop him but he… he went anyways and…” Virgil couldn’t finish his sentence as he was interrupted by a new series of sobs. He wrapped his arms around Logan and buried his face in his shoulder. It was his fault they were here. It was his fault. “That could have never been your fault, Virgil,” Logan said, wrapping one arm around Virgil’s middle and the other held the back of Virgil’s head steady. His shoulders shocked as sobs left his mouth. “It was!” Virgil protested, his voice muffled by the fabric of Logan’s shirt. “I should have-” “You should have nothing,” Logan reassured him. “You did everything you could, that’s all you could have done. It’s not your fault, Virgil.”

They sat there for what felt like hours. After a while, Virgil calmed down, but he never let go of Logan. They never hugged that often, as neither of them were too fond of contact like that, but right now, both of them found comfort in that form of affection. Logan never showed Virgil, but he was scared Roman would die, too. He had managed to distract himself by taking on extra work and focussing all his attention on his classes, but he was afraid that the loss of another friend would be much harder on him. He wouldn’t be able to drown that out by taking on massive amounts of work. But now, he had to focus on comforting Virgil as well as he could. He wasn’t too familiar with it, but he tried. And it appeared to be working, because after a while, Virgil’s sobbing died down. He still clinged on to Logan like he was his last hope to be rescued. He was drowning in his thoughts and Logan was the only one who could pull him out of it.

After a while, a doctor walked up to the two men. Logan noticed this and softly asked Virgil to let go of him so they could properly listen to what the doctor had to say. “I’m very sorry,” the doctor started and Virgil could feel his heart sink to his feet. “We did everything in our power, but we could not safe him. I’m really sorry.” Virgil looked down at the floor as the announcement sank in. Logan nodded and softly thanked the doctor. They had a short conversation that went completely unnoticed by Virgil. He could only think one thing: I was his fault Roman had died. It was his fault. He had killed Roman.

Months passed and Logan and Virgil tried to move on with their lives. They tried to accept that Patton and Roman had died and to get over it. It was hard, though. The wounds never fully healed. They never got used to the silence in their apartment. It was oddly quiet without Roman’s constant singing and Patton’s continuous jokes. But the two learned to deal with it. Virgil never stopped blaming himself for Roman’s death, though. But he learned how to handle his feelings. And just as the two thought their lives were going back to normal, it happened.

Logan died.

Virgil was home when it happened. Logan had left to get groceries almost two hours ago and Virgil started to worry. He knew Logan was more than able to take care of himself, but he still worried. He had already lost two of his best friends, he couldn’t lose a third. He wouldn’t survive that.

Virgil had just sat down on the couch with something to drink, as his phone rang. He placed the glass on the table and looked at the caller ID. Logan. Thank goodness, he was okay! Virgil immediately picked up.

“Logan,” he greeted, “where are you? It’s been two hours!” But the voice that answered him, made his heart stop. It wasn’t Logan.

“Hi, Virgil… right?” A panicked voice asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil said slowly, “what’s… what’s going on?”

“I don’t know exactly what happened,” the voice on the other side of the line answered, “but I found someone… in the river on the side of the road and… and you were in their emergency contacts so…”

“Is he alive?” Virgil asked quickly, his voice shaking with fear and worry. “Is he breathing?”

“I… I’m sorry,” the voice sighed, “I’m afraid he’s…”

There it was. The final blow. It was as if all air was forced out of his lungs. All thoughts were pushed out of his head. All he could think was: he’s dead. Logan’s dead. I’m alone.

“Where are you?” Virgil asked, his voice breaking. “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

It was a short journey to their location, in reality only a ten minute walk, but Virgil was so panicked and so scared that it felt like hours. His best friends were dead. They were all gone. There was no one there for him anymore. He was all alone.

Finally, he arrived. There were two females and a wet body that - no. Don’t look at it, Virgil said to himself, it’ll only upset you. But then again, he was upset already, so maybe… no. He couldn’t. Virgil approached the two women and the first smiled at him. She was still holding on to Logan’s phone. She had long brown hair and deep blue eyes. She approached Virgil and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m really sorry,” she said softly, “we tried anything but we found him too late. We wanted to call an ambulance, but… we were too late. I’m really sorry.”

Virgil nodded and looked down. He felt so numb. He knew he was supposed to be sad, he believed he was sad, but he didn’t feel it. But when he looked at the body that once belonged to his friend, that’s when he felt it. When he saw Logan’s soaking wet body, looking as if he had just fallen asleep, that’s when the sadness hit him. It felt like Logan could get up any second and greet Virgil like nothing had happened. But, as the women told him, he didn’t have a heartbeat anymore and his breathing had stopped. He wouldn’t wake up. Tears welled up in his eyes and his chest seemed to explode all of a sudden. He had lost his best friend.

The woman, Maya, noticed and tried to comfort Virgil as much as she could. She carefully wrapped an arm around Virgil’s shoulders, waiting to see if he’d reject her or push her away. To her surprise, he didn’t. In any other situation, Virgil would have stepped away as soon as possible, but right now, it was a welcome comfort.

“Can I hug you?” Maya asked carefully. “Are you okay with that?”

Virgil froze for a moment, but eventually nodded. Maya wrapped her arms around Virgil and that was the moment he broke down. In that embrace, safe in the stranger’s arms, he realised the gravity of the sitituation and he crumbled. All his friends were dead. He was alone now.

He was alone. And in the months that followed, he tried to get used to it. He tried to learn how to deal with it. But he failed. He didn’t have any other friends and he was too anxious to talk to other people. He bottled up all his feelings until they broke him. He only left the apartment to go to work or to get food. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. Sometimes, Virgil would go to his friend’s bedrooms - they had never been touched; neither Logan nor Virgil could do it. They were too scared to lose the memory of their friends. He’d sit there for hours, lost in his thoughts, his sadness, his guilt. Until he’d had enough of it. He couldn’t live like this anymore. No one cared about him anymore. So over the weeks he built up the courage he needed until finally he had enough. Slowly, he grabbed a rope and tied a noose.

“I loved you guys, too,” he whispered, before he let himself fall. “Goodbye.”

I failed and lost this fight

Never fade in the dark

Just remember you will always burn as bright

#sander sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides angst #mercy's writing

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chaplaingumdrop · 8 years ago

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My Boss the Scam Artist

I figure the best place to start writing memoir is from the back. So let me show you the back half of my story.

My grandfather died on New Year’s Day. I went home for the first time in two years for the funeral. I saw my father for the first time in ten years. Not that I hadn’t already been kind of a big smoker, but from the time I left Kalamazoo to go north until just a few days ago, I’ve been pretty much high non-stop. Some of it was good and fun bonding with my uncle, who can’t smoke much because of his job, and my little brother, who is an MRA and possibly the angriest MMJ patient I’ve ever known. A lot of it was me toking up by myself every few hours. To be perfectly honest, if I hadn’t taken that job working for my friend’s fledgling law office, I’d be baked now, not writing this memoir, and my rent would be paid.

When we first met, my employer-to-be was a prostitute. She worked under the name of Sophie St. Clair, servicing the men of Kalamazoo to pay her way through law school. She was also my primary source of marijuana. I used to come visit, smoke and watch Game of Thrones with her, and duck into the kitchen when a gentleman came to call. She had two kids, a live-in partner who was super chill but had a nasty temper and scared the shit out of her kids. Fun to smoke with though, fascinating human being. The kids were pretty cool too. They weren’t super verbal, but they were toddlers, so it’s to be expected. Over the next year of knowing Sophie they grew into awesome little kids, and I would begin to learn how messed up things were.

Sophie was smoking quite a bit of pot until she started actually working in law, then she transitioned to harder drugs with much shorter half-lives. I never realized the extent of her drug use, but only because I was in my own head too much and ignored the obvious signs of very serious addiction. I also understood having an opiate problem. I had watch my mom struggle with her addiction to prescription pain-killers following several hospital stays complete with very regular administrations of morphine. Sophie had been a veteran and was badly wounded in Iraq, so her replacement parts caused her a great deal of pain. She had gotten addicted to morphine and transitioned to heroin when the VA cut her off, as it was cheaper than pharmaceutical drugs. She had borrowed, as well as stolen, several hundred dollars from me. It all culminated in my paying an electric bill for her and then having her ghost on me, moving a few times, business, rehab, what have you. After rehab she’s still hooking, and she’s smoking crack now, but I never saw her injecting drugs again. Progress, I figure. I introduce her to my roomies because we play D&D and I want to provide her with some social support so she can stay clean and happy. Sometime around the holidays I meet her new assistant, who does not remain her assistant long, leaving after he learned of her prostitution days, taking the dog with him. Enter Rain, grieving my grandfather, smoking too much, and desperately needing a distraction other than my single graduate class.

So it started normally enough, I was given some tasks and we had a lot of boring lawyer talk. I made my own contract on RocketLawyer and did W4 and insurance. Her retainer accounts were apparently messed up however, so I needed to cover some retainers to keep handling business. No big deal, I have some cash from student loans and can loan my lawyer friend some money, it’s in my contract that I get reimbursed for out-of-pocket costs. Her daughter gets a bad urinary tract infection and her ex hits her up for money to take care of it, which I agree to because I adore her children and want them well and happy.

We have to cancel our first business trip because of an unreliable driver (she isn’t allowed to drive because of seizures related to a TBI), and then a client who fucked up really bad and got locked up. Steadily and surely our trips get canceled, I wonder why I ever try to plan anything with her, and I keep smoking to deal with the stress that she’s causing me.

Then she started getting sick. Frequent seizures, general tiredness, bad shit. She had some scans done, there was a shadow on the scan, which upon biopsy would turn out to be a malignant tumor pressing on her TBI. A month goes by, I’ve loaned her money without a scrap of repayment, much less my wages. She’s sleeping on my couch with my youngest roommate, who has taken it upon himself to look after her health. They’re also fucking. It’s sort of cute, so I enjoy it for a bit. We keep doing lawyer things, I am suspicious but not enough to not continue going along with it all. Eventually, my accounts are drained. That’s when I notice a lack of documents coming my way and she’s started doing her lawyer talk stuff with her nursemaid. Every time I mention to her that she owes me 10k she says I’m next in line, she’s being hit up by everybody and has these medical bills and all. Predictably, she is never able to go out and get me my money or to go to the office to pick up the mail with my bar card and insurance information. She says her colleague Mark was going to drop it off, but then got stuck in Detroit helping sort out the travel ban, which was among my early work for her and a cause that I care about very deeply as a person of faith.

As of today two months have passed. I am unpaid. She is still on my couch, fucking my roommate. By this point I had started to shake off the haze and bothered to do some research. My active mourning period had mostly ended, or at least paused. My partner has been immensely helpful to me. She’s a student, an activist, and worthy of far more respect than I afford her due to her age and experience. She happened to meet Mark (the very same) at a meeting regarding the creation of a new county ID (we’re a sanctuary city, so the county is creating identification cards to help refugees and immigrants get around more easily). They had the chance to talk and as it turns out my boss has never been a lawyer. This disturbs me greatly, as I realize I don’t have a signed contract because of reasons. First it was a lost file, then it was her just never getting around to it, so I had asked my partner to print off a couple of copies so I can just make my “boss” sign. She claims to need her notary stamp, which brings us to the meeting. My partner had the good fortune to not interact much with Sara and brought fresh eyes and a sober mind to my life. She found that super sketchy and made a point of helping me when I wasn’t sure how to help myself or sort out what I believed about anything or anybody. Nobody is objective about their partners, but it’s nice that she’s better at addressing my suffering than I am. What she learned from Mark was that Sophie had worked with him once on an assignment in law school and then proceeded to throw his name around a lot. He was also never stuck in Detroit helping out refugees, she did not rent the office space next to his, and he’s really tired of having people call up to ask about her. Upon further research we determined that the registration number she gave me belongs to a lawyer with a very low internet profile a few towns away, and I had never bothered to look into it until now. It was fairly clear that I needed to force a signature and begin preparing to take action.

Thursday, March 16, Sophie told us her five year-old daughter had just died. I loved this child like one of those friends your kid calls auntie or uncle but actually isn’t. The thing is, I’d begun to suspect something was up with the kids for a while. I messaged a friend who had been ripped off by her, who told me to message the children’s grandmother, who could answer my questions for me. I was then contacted by the children’s stepmother, who very angrily informed me that the children are secure and happy, with parents who love them. She shamed her/us for having the nerve to intrude into their lives with Sophie’s scams and lies, that she had plenty of chances to get her shit together and be a mom to the kids. That it was her choice to be a hooker and abuse heroin. That the police keep coming to her home trying to arrest Sophie, that she’d received a letter from the Sheriff stating that she’d jumped bail too many times and would remain in jail until trial, and that if she ever wanted to leave Kalamazoo forever, this would be a damned good time. Then she promptly severed the line of communication and I was unable to reply. Today I sent a message to her husband to thank him and assure him I’d do what needs to be done. I assured him that Sophie had not been using my Facebook to access photos of the kids for one of her schemes, that I had been burned by her to the tune of 8-10k, and all I needed was answers. He asked for her new phone number, just to try to keep tabs on her. I gave it, and he began to answer my questions.

He told me she has around six active warrants for her arrest, and some waiting for her back in California. One of them for prostitution, one for impersonation of a court official, three theft warrants (one being for guns), and one for failure to pay child-support. He also told me she was never in the Marines, and that her hips are 100% real and made of bones growing in her body. He told me they split because the Sheriff picked her up and took her to prison in another state. That the “rape” (quotations his) she had blamed the dissolution of their relationship on had occurred when she got released and started turning tricks down there. He told me she’s got a teenage kid somewhere in Arizona, and that this isn’t the first or even the second time she has pretended one of her kids had died so she could run a new scam on somebody.

Hours later, an old friend visited. We’ll call her Alyssa. She had overdone it one night and struck a housemate in drunken rage. Police were called. She went to jail. She just got out today and she’s not allowed in her house while the housemate is still living there. She had contacted Sophie for help with the situation. The moment she and Sophie had stepped outside to talk I immediately informed her partner that Sophie was not a lawyer and that Sophie’s daughter had not died. He seemed puzzled, but also like he’d expected to find out that Sophie was a fraud. I shared as much as I could before they returned inside. Alyssa’s partner told me about her situation and that she didn’t have a place to go at the moment. I offered my bed should she require it, and he went to retrieve some things from the house and bring her an overnight bag. Shortly after he left I retreated downstairs while Sophie and Alyssa talked. I began to hear powerful weeping and realized that Sophie was telling Alyssa about her daughter. I bit my tongue while waiting for an opportunity, which arrived shortly. Alyssa joined me in my bedroom and we talked. I told her what I knew and showed her what I had gathered. I told her of my plans to file a police report after the holiday weekend (St. Patrick’s Day, I expect the police to be processing drunks through Sunday, so finding time to meet me for paperwork seems unlikely).

Alyssa and I make our reports on Monday.

#chapter #inprogress #biographies & memoirs

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eternalbails · 5 years ago

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Today was the first day I can remember coming home to an empty lounge room.

See, there's a Canadian couple here who rent what could be generously called a study, but it’s actually the size of a walk-in closet. There’s barely enough room for their mattress in there, which rests on the floor. Because they live in what amounts to a double occupancy sleep capsule, they are always in the living room. This is strange considering they are traveling the world and presumably looking to get out there and soak up as much adventure as they can, but after five minutes of speaking to them you will realise that they are the most boring people you have ever met, and this will make perfect sense.

Now when I say boring, I truly mean it. One question about where one of them works will lead to a ten minute explanation of when they get there, what they do at what time of day, what they do down to the most minor detail, where they go for lunch, and various other intricacies that don’t belong in polite conversation. By the end of it, you would be able to go to work in their place and do everything perfectly, such is the torturous detail of their explanation. I find that people who have nothing to say simply take that nothing and do their absolute best to stretch it out, and that’s precisely what’s happening here.

On top of this, they are ridiculously cheap. I can understand traveling the world on a budget, but when previous tenants left a kitchen light on for fifteen minutes this prompted a vitriolic text message that I was proudly shown by one of them, which said something to the effect of “I’m in Australia trying to have a good time, I’m not here to waste my money on some crazy electricity bill.” Now, this infraction wouldn’t have added up to a five cent piece, but that is either unknown or purely immaterial. Everything must be cut to the bone, every food item has a clearance sticker on it, and the living room is the place to be, because there’s no entry fee and no Myki tap-on required. This cheapness also extends to buying and replacing household goods, but more on that later.

Now my other flatmate, nice as he is, has a similar strain of brain worms as the couple. Though he is more well versed in talking to others without putting them to sleep, he too is ridiculously cheap. He was away on a two month holiday when I moved in, and when I arrived I noticed these plastic storage containers on the balcony. I didn’t know what was in them - not my boxes, not my problem or concern. Upon returning home, my housemate brought these inside and when they were opened I discovered that they contained small, open bags of pasta and rice. Now I love a good deal, and saving a bit of cash on something is definitely a thrill. But keeping open food in non-airtight storage outside for two months as opposed to taking out a fiver and buying some more store brand pasta and rice? That’s extreme even for my deal-loving ass.

I bring up the other flatmate and their shared brain parasites to illustrate that there’s a definite camaraderie between the two parties, and I think this gets in the way of him realising that these people are commandeering the common area, not contributing to the house, and playing us for suckers as best they can. Now, more on household stuff. Before I arrived this place didn’t have ice trays, cleaning wipes, a Pyrex measuring jug, or a knife sharpener. Trying to cut a tomato? Enjoy crushed. There was one frypan that had been left on a burner too long leaving the bottom curved like a bowl and unable to sit still on the stove. In a pinch early in my time here, I punched the bottom of it as flat as I could make it, which was greeted with amazement by the couple. Similar too was the reaction to how I ‘fixed’ our washing machine. Upon doing my first load of washing here, I noticed my clothes coming out of the machine steaming hot after a cold wash. Realising the hot and cold hoses were simply reversed, I un-reversed them. Again, this was apparently miraculous, and according to one of them, “I had no idea what was going on! I just know a lot of the logos and stuff have come off my clothes because of the hot water.” So yeah, we’re not dealing with theoretical physicists here, let alone big spenders.

Now here’s the best part. For some reason the sleep capsule has a door that goes straight into the bathroom we share, so it’s like the closet has an ensuite. So far I have been locked out of my own bathroom by the couple four times, and I’ve been here a little over a month. The first time this happened, not knowing about the other door and thinking that it just looked like a closet from inside the bathroom, I legit pissed in a fucking bottle in my bedroom that I pay money to live in. I was so desperate to piss I went through the recycle and found a container with an opening wide enough for me (😏😏😏how YOU doin’? 😏😏😏), washed it out and did the best with what I had. Since then I’ve learned about the second entrance and have had to either get the couple to open the door or go through their bedroom to get to the bathroom, which is how I know about their life in the closet.

That’s not quite everything, but I’m in a much better mood now than when I started writing this, so I’m going to stop and try to enjoy that.

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blackbrian6-blog · 6 years ago

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The Financial Confessions: “A Scary Roommate Situation Left Me Nearly Homeless”

This post is brought to you by Wealthsimple.

Screwing up your finances is one of the most horrifying things that can happen during your adult life. Although nobody is perfect, the reality is that one misguided decision can have a tremendous effect on a person’s future. And when the negative outcomes of those decisions spiral out of control, it can lead to some dangerous situations. For instance, I’ve made many, many money mistakes in my life — several of which I’ve written about on this site. But none of those mistakes haunt me as much as one decision from several years ago that placed my financial stability and safety at risk.

The story begins back when I was a college student on the hunt for housing. I desperately wanted to live with my good friend, Kylee*. Initially, Kylee suggested we share an apartment together for $2,200, but I couldn’t afford to spend $1,100 on rent. I felt discouraged by our apartment hunt and considered applying for student housing instead. In retrospect, this would have been a smarter long-term financial decision. But, of course, my 20-year-old self was far more concerned with satisfying my social needs than my practical ones.

One day, Kylee came to me with an idea: Instead of going with an overpriced apartment, we would go bigger. The plan was to rent a house and fill it with more people to make living expenses cheaper. She pitched it to me like it was going to be one big, happy reality show. And while I’m pretty embarrassed to admit it, I was immediately sold on the idea. (To be fair, Jersey Shore was also really popular at the time.) We would do our homework while sipping wine outside in our beautiful backyard. There would be barbecues all summer that we’d talk about for years to come. Plus, we were going to save money! What could possibly go wrong?

After touring the location once and meeting only three of the seven potential housemates, we agreed to sign the lease. $7,200 per month. To be honest, I’m not sure how I deluded myself into believing that shelling out $850 to occupy half of a bedroom was “a steal.” However, in effort to pretend like I was a responsible adult, I used my lump sum financial aid check to pay ahead for three months of my rent. I continued this pattern for the rest of the school year. This meant I never really “felt” that money disappear. Plus, I remained optimistic by justifying all the perks that came with the house. I was now within walking distance of my campus. I had a view of the ocean. And best of all, we had our own washing machine.

But eventually, on any given day, the general vibe of the place was somewhere between an unkempt hostel and never-ending spring break party. In other words, it wasn’t a functional place to live — and it didn’t take long for things to take a turn for the worse. Around December, tensions were rising among all the housemates. Of course, that’s to be expected when cramming nine twenty-somethings under the same roof, but believe me when I say the situation started seriously getting out of hand. Some memorable issues included people having sex in the only downstairs bathroom during most hours of the day and night. There were other problems too, like people smoking cigarettes indoors, neglecting to clean up their messes and, the most criminal of all, stealing food. I wish I could say we all handled these disputes like rational adults. But after my car was mysteriously scratched days after sending a text asking about a missing container of hummus, I knew it wasn’t going to go down that way.

I was finding it increasingly difficult to justify staying there. I constantly joked about it with friends to convince myself it was fine. Yes, I had to remember to label my hummus immediately if I ever wanted to eat it, but hey, I was saving $300. (Technically, that money went directly toward my other bills, so I never actually saw that savings.) And it wasn’t like I was totally alone in the house with a bunch of strangers. I had Kylee, who had a patience level I could only hope to develop over a lifetime of serious meditation. All I had was a fear that I had paid close to $8,000 to hide for nine months spent in one small corner of an entire house.

There were just over two months left on the lease when everything came crashing down. One morning, two police officers greeted me at my doorstep as I was leaving for class. It turns out one of my housemates had been accused of a serious crime, and they needed to interview the rest of us as witnesses. (For the sake of privacy, I won’t go into details about the exact nature of the crime. However, I’ll say it was serious enough to make me realize there was absolutely no way I could stay living in that shitshow any longer.) That evening, I stuffed my suitcase with as much clothing as it could fit and headed for my friend Maya’s* place, six blocks away. I spent about a week sleeping on the floor of her bedroom before her housemates rightfully became annoyed with my presence and asked what my plan was. Of course, that was the problem: I didn’t have one.

Remember how I had paid my rent up front every three months? Well, I had no way of getting that already-paid money back. And my part-time jobs weren’t going to make me enough money in time to put a deposit on a new place to live.

I returned to my former home one day to chat with one of my housemates, Mason*. He was the guy responsible for collecting the rent money from everyone. I explained to him that I had been gone for the week because I didn’t feel safe anymore. I also mentioned that I wanted to find a subleaser to take over my spot for the final two months so I could make up my loss. He laughed. “I don’t really get why you’re worried since he (the roommate dealing with the police) hasn’t technically been convicted of anything yet,” he said. “There’s only two months left on the lease. If I were you, I’d just stick it out and avoid him.”

Avoid him. I was at a loss for words. Mason’s advice was to continue hiding in my own house. Nevermind that one of the women who lived with us had already placed a deposit on a new place because our problematic housemate made her uncomfortable. On top of that, Kylee had started sleeping over at boyfriend’s so often that I rarely saw her. She wasn’t even around when the chaos ensued. I didn’t have those options.

Despite what Mason said, I tried to find a subleaser anyway. I put an ad on Craigslist and hoped for the best. No bites. Not one. I was caught between two terrible choices: stay and potentially risk my safety, or walk away from $1,560 that I would never see again, with nowhere to go. My savings balance was barely above the threshold where the bank starts charging fees for having an account. For lack of a better word, I was fucked.

Eventually, one of my coworkers noticed I looked severely stressed and exhausted at work. After nearly breaking down when explaining my situation, she graciously offered to help. I slept on her couch for an entire month and a half before I had enough money to stand on my feet again. Between all the double shifts I picked up that month, I must have worked between 25 and 30 hours during the weekends alone. The only time I went back to the house was on move-out day to retrieve the personal belongings I left that I felt were worth keeping. And once I found a new roommate whose personality and livelihood was a better match for me, I paid my friend back for her kindness and never looked back.

I share this story because that year would have ended differently for me if I didn’t have a friend who was willing to save me in that moment of crisis. I know not everyone has the privilege of help, and every time I reflect on this experience, I realize how lucky I am that I didn’t end up living on the street. But more importantly, I know now this situation could have been avoided had I been more careful with my decisions — especially when they involved my finances.

The truth is I didn’t pay several months of rent ahead of time to prove to myself that I was responsible. I did it because I didn’t want to think about it. I lived like I was destined for this negative, self-fulfilling prophecy, wherein I would always struggle financially. If I ever came upon what I considered “extra” money, I spent it. To be honest, I didn’t even consider saving to be a real possibility for people who weren’t already wealthy. I thought I had to have all the resources in place first — the right career, a degree, a certain amount of disposable income — before I could even start feeling like I was allowed to form a long-term plan.

But in reality, there is no rulebook that says you have to be at a certain point in your life to start thinking strategically about your finances. I started getting serious about saving immediately after I left that scary situation, even though I hadn’t yet secured a new home. Years later, I make sure a portion of my income goes toward developing a fund that allows me to make those adult life decisions with confidence. If you’re interested in taking that step to better prepare for your own future, Wealthsimple makes the process super easy and stress free. It takes less than 15 minutes to start building a personalized investment portfolio on their platform that lets you connect with money experts who can help you reach your goals.

Remember, the scariest things that can happen to your finances might not be some expected. Whenever I look back on this horrific situation, I feel an immense gratitude for what I have today. It’s so easy to say paying for things we don’t want to pay for sucks, especially emergencies. But when you have specific funds set aside to comfortably care for yourself — whether it means buying a tire when yours pops on the freeway, or securing a deposit on an apartment — suddenly paying for those things isn’t so annoying. It’s as if the very act of paying for an emergency on your own becomes a constant reminder of how far you’ve come with your money, and to a greater extent, your mindset.

Learn how you can protect your tomorrow by investing today with Wealthsimple. *Names have been changed.

Savanna is a freelance writer in Northern California whose hobbies include all things theater and dog-related. She hopes for a world where avocados will be included in the price of her entrée and a 12-step program is widely available to people who obsessively collect air miles. Follow her on Twitter here.

Image via Unsplash

Source: https://thefinancialdiet.com/the-financial-confessions-a-scary-roommate-situation-left-me-nearly-homeless/

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cryptswahili · 6 years ago

Text

Living On Bitcoin Day 2: Being “Unbanked” Has Been Easy … But Also Hard

This is the second instalment of reporter Colin Harper's "Living on Bitcoin" experience in San Francisco. Find out what happened to him on Day 1 here.

I woke up on Christian’s couch stiff-necked and cotton-mouthed. A bit more fitting for the “living on internet money” survival vibe, yeah?

A friend of a friend of Christian’s roommates (who are starting a business and moving to LA today) was out cold on an air mattress next to a stripped Christmas tree, snoring into the streams of soon-after-sunrise light filtering through the window. Another blow-up mattress adjacent to the couch was vacant. Its former occupant, Julian Martinez, a copywriter at Quantstamp and Christian’s friend, had left early in the morning, politely folding his sheets before he left.

I trundled into the kitchen in search of coffee. Christian and his housemates grind their coffee and use a french press, which seemed rightly authentic for San Francisco. The Philz whole coffee beans were stashed in a cupboard along with some almond flour (also on point), spices and other ostensibly hipster culinary staples.

Christian came in and we prepped the press. Sitting down for a cup in the dining area, the view from his apartment window seat offered up a gorgeous morning landscape of the residential area with the bay at its back.

As he and his girlfriend left to pick up breakfast, I was confronted with the task of condensing the whole of yesterday’s events. In the flurry the day had become, I recorded the experience in scatterings between my phone, laptop and journal, typing or jotting whenever I had the time or inspiration struck. The words were distributed. It was just a matter of pulling them together and making them fit.

So most of Saturday was spent reconciling how to pare down the experience (2,900 words later, I didn’t do a very good job). Christian and his girlfriend brought me back a croque madame from a local bakery and the San Franciscan sourdough lived up to its reputation. I wouldn’t wrap up the first draft until probably 6:00 p.m. that night.

Of course, there were interruptions (like eating) that involved my careful attention and purchase planning. I still hadn’t done a point-of-sale (PoS) with bitcoin, and I thought I would have the opportunity at lunch with Curry Up Now.

The once-foodtruck, now-local chain has become a sensation with its uncanny Indian-Mex and world food fusion fare. Chicken tikka masala burritos, deconstructed samosas and aloo gobi tacos coexist with Indian street food, pub food with a curried twist and even fried ravioli with masala dip.

At one point in time, they accepted bitcoin, and most resources (like coinmap.org) indicated as much. But when I called to confirm, a hurried employee shot down my hopes.

“No, I’m sorry we don’t,” she said, a bit short and stressed, with the commotion of a popular restaurant audible in the background.

Hanging up, I hoped it wasn’t an omen for the other restaurants I was planning to call.

Bummed as I was not to get to buy direct, the menu left me salivating so I ordered a tikka masala burrito with Uber Eats using my Bitrefill-bought Uber credit.

Amazingly, when it arrived, I managed to lock myself out of Christian’s apartment while he, his girlfriend and a future roommate went to lunch. At least I had food and rooftop access.

I took the mishap as an excuse to take a break from writing and go enjoy the view on the roof. Up top, I tore into my burrito (which is a divinely inspired culinary design, I’m convinced) and surveyed the vibrant view of a lazy Saturday.

I wasn’t too concerned by the lockening, mainly because I knew Christian and friends would be home shortly. Plus my phone had a healthy charge so I could get somewhere if I needed to, though my BRD wallet had been a glitchy cause for concern. But I wasn’t going to starve while they were gone, so locking myself out was more of a dunce-cap moment than a shot in the foot.

They got home when I was halfway through with my burrito. Great when life works out like that (sucks when it doesn’t though). Like the way transportation was panning out — and not just for me.

Running around in Ubers all week is going to beat up my wallet pretty good and already has. Christian offered to mitigate the problem by renting me his bike, so when he got back he took me to the house’s garage to dig it out.

When he opened the door, there was a pile of bikes chained together, none of which belonged to Christian’s house. They belonged to his neighbors, but their bikes were gone. Earlier, Christian had been griping about his roommate Matt leaving the cover off the rooftop grill — looks like he might have forgotten to lock up the bikes (and the garage), too. I wasn’t the only one with bike woes.

Sucks when it doesn’t though.

If I can buy a bike with bitcoin while I’m here, I intend to donate it to Christian’s house — a gesture of good faith for letting me shack up.

Maybe that will be my first IRL transaction in this tech city.

I stayed in the rest of the day, in part to write but also because there wasn’t much of a reason to go anywhere. If I needed food, I could order through Uber Eats. In fact I would have to, because day 2 was the day that I realized that most all of the places that used to accept bitcoin in 2013-14 no longer did. Almost all of the places I researched were either gone or had stopped taking crypto a while ago.

Hill tried to warn me, saying many of the places she visited were now out of business. The Cups & Cakes Bakery that garnered international media attention for being one of the first businesses to accept bitcoin, the sushi joint where she took the San Francisco bitcoin community out to dinner — both were gone. I’ve searched for the Buyer’s Best Friend grocery store, whose owner was inspired to take bitcoin after reading Hill’s series, but, as far as I know, its physical locations have vanished. Google suggests that there’s a delivery service that you can use, but the company’s website just redirects me to a 404 page.

I assured Hill that I had found other alternatives, some of which might have sprung up after her experiment. One by one, a series of disappointing phone calls discredited all of my research. All of the places that used to accept bitcoin no longer do. Some that I found on the resources I used (coinmap.org and finder.com) weren’t even in business anymore.

My fear after calling Curry Up Now was being confirmed. Apparently, the restaurant’s rejection of the cryptocurrency had been the unfortunate portent of a trend of restaurants that formerly accepted bitcoin but don’t anymore.

My expectations had been completely thwarted. There are fewer storefronts and restaurants that accept bitcoin now than there were in 2013-14. So far, Uber credit has been keeping me afloat. I had yet to actually completely an in-person transaction for anything (except for when I paid Christian for dinner but that doesn’t really count). The thought of it made me realize that I didn’t even need to be in San Francisco to do the experiment. I could have been back home — I could have been anywhere.

That frustrated and fascinated me. So long as I had internet, I could buy gift cards from Bitrefill and Paxful and credit to eat/travel/sleep. I could buy just about anything a traveler would need: flights, hotel rooms, and gift cards for food and groceries. If I really needed to, I could even subsist on the cheapest, most ubiquitous fast food, like buying McDonald’s gift cards to eat in the farthest corners of the world. There’s Subway, too, and other chains you’d find just about anywhere.

These services work even if you’re unbanked, something that was touched on in a podcast episode I had with Christian that night for POV Crypto. Speaking to the experience so far, I mentioned the trend of restaurants either no longer accepting bitcoin or going out of business after accepting it (whatever that represents).

“Sounds like you’re having to use a lot of infrastructure to survive,” he said in reference to how Bitrefill and Paxful have helped me out. “Which is still cool because even if you’re unbanked, you can use bitcoin to live.”

And he’s right about that. Even if I haven’t (and maybe can’t) pay merchants directly, bitcoin is still fulfilling its use case as a decentralized payment method. At once, it makes it difficult to survive on it in the physical world, but simultaneously, it makes it easy to survive online.

It’s either too easy or too impossible.

The rest of the night was filled with dinner, paid for by one of our coworkers, John Riggins. When I asked Riggins for his wallet address, he didn’t respond.

After grub, we (Christian, his girlfriend Michelle, Riggins and I) all sat down for a game of Catan. A trading game involving resource cards that represent imaginary wheat, lumber, ore and cattle really gives you perspective when you try to live on internet money.

It made me think that, even in the worst case, maybe I could barter my way along. Or that, just like the shifting economics of the game, when certain resource cards would become more valuable depending on situation or player, it made me think: Someone will eventually come along who will take my bitcoin for food or a service or anything, right?

I’m going to get out and about to really see for sure the next day.

This article originally appeared on Bitcoin Magazine.

[Telegram Channel | Original Article ]

#cryptocurrency

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ellahmacdermott · 6 years ago