Crossing Lines

Chapter 1 - Mila

My dad always said that life is what you make of it. It's your own story to tell and you're the one writing it, molding it until it fits the way you want it to.

I'm writing my own story. My life is my very own manuscript, a composition of thoughts, wishes, and fears, all shaped into words until I'm content with what I brought to paper. Sometimes, those words reshape on their own, though. Sometimes, the story I'm composing finds its own rhythm. Just like today.

"Mimi, you'd better come out now!" Jasmine's voice echoes through the apartment.

I groan and pull my favorite blanket over my head, hiding from the hurricane that is my best friend. "I told you, I can't go today."

"And I told you I didn't care! You've been in there for a week!" She knocks her strong fists against my door. "Open up, Mila!"

"No! I need to finish this chapter!"

It's true, unfortunately. I have to finish that chapter. I probably won't get anything on paper tonight, but Jas doesn't need to know that, right?

"You needed to finish that chapter a week ago. We both know you're just sitting in front of your typewriter, stuffing chips and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups into your mouth, and drinking astronomical amounts of coffee!"

I glance down at my hands, the orange Reese's wrapper in my left and a cup of coffee in my right. 

God, am I really this predictable?

"Before you ask; Yes, you are this predictable. Now come out before I knock the door down!"

"Mila..." Her threatening voice makes me sigh, and I remove the blanket from my head, quickly disposing of the orange candy wrappers before I open the door.

There she stands, shoulders squared and a menacing look in her eyes while she studies me up and down. I self-consciously push my glasses up my nose when she stares at me, and in a matter of seconds, I feel judged.

Am I wearing sweatpants and an old college shirt on a Saturday night?

Yes.

Was my last shower about four days ago?

Also yes.

But that's what writer's block does to you. It eats you alive and then throws you back up, leaving you like a glorified mess straight out of a cliché rom-com.

"Wow... You look..." She clears her throat and scratches her head, her eyes taking me in until they settle on my own. "You look like shit."

"Why, thank you. Love you too." I roll my eyes, unable to hide my irritation.

"I'm not kidding, Mila. You know I love you, but you have to get out of here today."

I groan. "Why?"

"You say you have writer's block?" she asks, and I know from the mischief in her eyes that she's brewing up a spectacularly bad idea that will probably ruin my life.

I subconsciously nod, a sense of shame and embarrassment settling in my nerves. I always keep my deadlines, but ever since that big publishing deal came through, I can't seem to find the right words.

Or any words, for that matter.

"I know what might help." My best friend wiggles her eyebrows at me, and I immediately shake my head. Why is it always about sex?

"Nope. Not doing that," I retort.

"What? Maybe you just need some...inspiration. If you know what I—"

"Oh my God! Stop, Jas!" I grab the pillow I was sitting on from the ground and throw it at her, making her squeal and laugh at the same time.

"Okay, okay. No inspiration, then. But still, you need to get out of here. And, as luck would have it, I need some company for this party tonight."