Chapter 1 - Writer's Block

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XIMENA

The blinking cursor has me in a trance. I've been staring at my monitor for the last hour or so, hoping that words come to me but the vague storylines in my head can't even form a sentence. I've looked at my old notebooks and nothing sparks an idea. It also seems that I've used every character name I thought of in the past. My peers refer to me as the romance writing machine. Well, the machine has hit an enormous writer's block.

My eyes are fatigued and I feel a headache starting so I close my laptop. Sitting on the living room couch, I turn the TV on for some distraction, while I wait for the pizza I ordered some time, but don't really pay attention to it. I feel miserable when I don't have enough time to write, and now that I have plenty I can't produce anything, making me feel even worse.

I've always been realistic about the limits of my writing career. Success won't be guaranteed forever and I always have the uncertainty of whether people will like my stories or the characters. When each of my past books has appeared in a bestseller list I truly feel blessed and relieved. The support of my readers has helped me lead a comfortable life and have a stable financial situation. I'm also grateful for the additional perks that come with being semi-famous such as traveling and the wonderful events my publishing company organizes.

It was during one of these events, a book launch party, that I met Damian, a temperamental sci-fi writer. I felt stunned by his handsome looks; sun-kissed curls, tanned skin, and big brown eyes. Our relationship was so clichéd romantic but I loved it all; the flowers, evening walks, the romantic dinners, wild nights of sex after dancing at the hottest clubs. It had me high in love and my muse could write hour after hour without feeling fatigue or running out of ideas.

Half a year ago, one of my stories with a wedding theme got excellent reviews and I've been not only touring around the usual book stores but also doing presentations at wedding conventions. Damian's latest book, on the other hand, didn't receive a warm welcome. I tried to cheer him up, telling him that people were not ready for his brilliant mind. He became distant, resentful, even said that I was just lucky, and on the days when I was preparing to travel to an event he would disappear.

"That's the fastest pizza ever," I mumble as I hear the doorbell.

Instead of my pizza delivery guy I find Laura, my editor, standing outside. She gives me an unsympathetic look and bumps my arm as she stomps inside.

"I was ready to call the emergency services. Give me at least a sign that you are alive!" She shouts while pointing at my answering machine. "I couldn't leave you a message anymore because it is full. It's been three days since we last talked."

"I'm alive, somewhat, but I am," I half joke.

"How much longer will you be mourning that cheating asshole? It's been months! At least tell me you've been outside."

"I have been outside. It's just that I feel like I don't have a place around here anymore. Everything reminds me of him. I even went on a date last night with a guy I met at an event. Laura, that guy was so dull. Spent most of the date talking about his achievements. I swear I felt as if I was interviewing him for a job," a chuckle escapes me at my bad fortune.

"Have you seen Damian since you broke up?"

"You asked me the same thing three days ago," I laugh. "I haven't seen him in the past days either and he's probably avoiding me as well."

"Are you afraid of him?"

"What kind of question is that? I'm not afraid. I'm more worried about what I could do to him for what he did."

Laura gives me a concerned look. The bell rings again and this time it is my pizza. She eyes the box as I set it on the coffee table so I pick plates and glasses for two, add a bottle of wine, then sit next to her on the couch.

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