"Fuck, fuck, fuck... Ugh!!" I groan loudly, shoving my beloved, right now not-so-beloved, laptop away.

With both of my hands, I grab my head in frustration, ready to pull out a few of my hair strands.

"Damn it all to hell and back!" I growl, standing up abruptly from the couch, my ass now numb from sitting on it for 5-6 hours straight, only to come up with nothing.

Not a single word. Nada.

My useless brain decides to shut down every damn time I'm in front of my laptop trying to write something. Anything. But nothing conjures up in my once creative grey-matter no matter how much I tried.

I start pacing back and forth, bringing some feeling back to my numb ass but my dumb head is still throbbing due to the stress and not being able to write.

You see my life, my career, depends on it. I'm an author for God's sake. Don't take me wrong. I absolutely love writing. It's my passion. But with all the pestering and hounding from your editor for new pages and suffering from almost 2 years writer's block does something to every sane writer.

Writer's block is such a pain in the ass and right now, literally.

Pacing, I come in front of the wall mirror and halt to take in my dishevelled state.

Blood-shot brown eyes, unruly brown hair that hasn't been washed in days and neither combed through. Messy, unkempt, wrinkled clothes that I have been wearing for... I don't know, the last three days, maybe? Atleast, I managed to look like a homeless hobo. I scowl at my bedraggled state.

If anyone is to look at you right now, they'll barely recognise you as The famous author, S.N.Rows, who wrote four award winning romance novels. No one would even give you a second glance.

I lift my left arm to take a sniff of my armpit and cringe at the natural Eau de parfum that I was emanating. How many days has it been since you took a bath? Ugh...

My eyes move back to my face, locking with the pair of dead, brown eyes in the mirror. The unfortunate events from the past two years that were responsible for my current state flash before my eyes as I continue to look at the tired and frustrated woman staring right back at me from the mirror.

An exasperated sigh escapes my lips and I rub my hands over my face, as if it would help me wipe off some of the exhaustion off my face.

Looking back into the mirror, my eyes zero in onto my flat stomach. I gingerly place my hands over my abdomen, a lone tear escapes my left eye and lands onto my cheek.

If only I wasn't a failure as a woman, I would've had proud stretch marks running over my belly, a proof of the beautiful life growing inside of me. Today, I would've been a mother to a two year old daughter or a son. My fiancé would still be in my life and wouldn't have left me.

I don't know what went wrong, there wasn't end to how many obstetricians and gynaecologists I had consulted, only for all of them to tell me everything was fine. There wasn't any severe complication. That it was just the stress of too much work and meeting deadlines. But no matter what they said, when I lost my 2½ month old baby to a miscarriage I felt like I was a failure. Both as a woman and a mother.

My fiancé and I tried to be there for each other but the loss was too much to bear that he decided to break up with me when I needed him the most. I was the one who was carrying a child and I was the one who went through all the shit. It was my body who had to go through it all and that bitch had the audacity to say that he couldn't handle it.

Asshole.

A few months later, when I was still trying my hardest to cope with my loss, I found out that his new girlfriend was pregnant with his child, which only added to my misery. I fell deeper into depression and started to blame my weak and useless uterus, for everything.

That day, I broke. Again. And to drown myself in my misery, I went to a bar that day and started drinking myself into oblivion. I had to. I needed to stop feeling at that moment. I wanted to feel numb.

Drinks after drinks, as I began to get more inebriated, I lost control of how many drinks I had. My stomach became like a bottomless pit and my head started to became fuzzy.

I remember talking to some stranger on the bar in my befuddled state.

"Hey, Miss! Take it easy on the drinks." The stranger took the glass from my hand and placed it on the counter.

"What's your problem?" I slurred.

I grabbed my drink again only for him to snatch it back again and drinking it in one go.

"There. You've had too much. Are you here with someone?" He asks.

But his words don't register properly as I was beginning to lose any conscious thought.

"Hey, hey! Lady! Wake up." A voice called out, and I could feel someone slapping my cheeks lightly, but I couldn't reply as I had already passed out.

The last thing I remember of that night is waking up in a strangers bed, as he faced away from me, deep in sleep.

I grabbed my purse and heels and hightailed out of there, not bothering to look back. Although some vague memories of that night keep resurfacing from time to time.

It's been over 2 years now and I still feel the loss of my baby, although the pain has reduced to a dull pain, it still haunts me. Not wanting to put myself through another situation like this, I decided to go on birth control. Not that I needed it because I didn't have it in me to go around prowling for dicks when I was depressed.

Moreover I had much important things to worry about. Like my failing career.

All of this was the onset of my downfall as an author. My depression led to the start of my writer's block which in turn forced me to think harder to write anything, thus spending all my time trying to write only to achieve nothing. My desperation to write had me falling deeper into the black hole of the writer's block.

And the cycle continued. Stressing about writing, the stress and failure triggering my depression even more. I fell to the point, that I needed medical assistance. After going through endless sessions of therapy, countless anti-depressant pills, I was finally able to get a little better.

After I rose up from my pitiful state I tried writing again, trying harder and harder everytime, everyday only to come up blank. All my time and efforts went wasted leading myself to be abstinent from the frivolous activities. I lost focus on everything around me, secluded myself just to force myself to write again.

Being heartbroken by my fiancé's departure, I couldn't bring myself to give love another chance.

For the last two years I've been miserable and in desperate need of a break.

I break out of my reverie when my phone begins to ring. Shaking my head at my pathetic reflection, I retrieve my cellphone from the table, which was lying next to my laptop.

Simone Zane calling...

Another groan leaves my lips at the caller id. Simone, my editor, also my only friend, was being a constant pain in my ass, egging me on to write anything and give her something to save both our asses.

I sigh and pick up her call even when I didn't want to. All I wanted to do is crawl into my bed and binge watch Netflix and waste my time some more.

"Hello?" I say into the phone tiredly.

"Hey girlie. What's up?" Simone's overly perky reply comes through.

"Ugh... I was just complimenting myself on achieving a new hot couture of a derelict and also drowning myself in the pool of self-misery. You know, just depressed stuff." I shrug nonchalantly, trying to make a joke of my mental and physical state.

"Oh shush. Stop thinking about the things of the past. What you need is a relaxing vacation, in a faraway dreamland. Do yourself and me a favor and take a break? Hmm?" She suggests.

"How can I, Sim? You know quite well that if I don't have anything pleasing to give to our publishing company within this year, both our asses will be fired! You're forgetting that your ass depends on me too and my dead brain isn't cooperating with me. How can you suggest a vacation right now?" I ask her tiredly.

"All the more reason to take a break, no? Look today, I'm not going to force you to write something for me. Screw the higher-up's orders. What I really want from you is to invest in yourself. Find yourself again."

"You won't be able to cure your writer's block if you continue to stay in this shit-hole and keep worrying yourself to an early grave. You're well aware what constant stress did to you once, right?" She asks in a soft voice, knowing all too well what I've been through. She was the only one who was there for me all along.

My parents disowned me after they found out that I was pregnant with a commoner's child. They are rich, high-class snobs who knew nothing better than to stare people down who were beneath them, socially and especially economically. I cut off my ties with them because of their crude behaviour towards me, my fiancé and especially my child. My child wasn't even born yet and they were already calling it names. They called it a bastard child. And that's when I decided I had had enough. I have never seen their snooty mugs ever since.

A weary sigh escapes me at Simone's words and when I don't reply to her she continues.

"You need to explore and find something worth writing about. You need to get back your spark again. Hell, get laid girl. It will help. You've been celibate for too long. Enjoy for once, and you'll be surprised that it actually works." Simone's voice comes in a calming tone.

I ponder over her words and think about all the possibilities that I've been missing out on by continuously wallowing in my misery.

Sighing, I agree with her. "You're right. I need to take a break. I can't keep going on like this. I need to do this for myself."

"Fucking finally! So where are we going?" She asks, her voice full of enthusiasm.

"Oh, oh, let's go somewhere where there are tons and tons of hot, sexy, decadent guys to indulge ourselves with?" She continues dreamily.

I chuckle at her excitement. We discuss our vacation plans and finally decide on Maui, Hawaii. We both have been wanting to go there and sink our bare toes into the warm sand and feel the cool sea waters over our skin. Living in Michigan, the 10th most populous state in America, is taking a toll on me. That's why I suggested to Simone that I want to go somewhere where I can relax. And what could be better than a Hawaiian beach?

We talk some more and when I feel like she has fried my brain enough into non-existence, I hang up.

Giving up on my writing attempts for now, I finally decide to take a much needed bath and put something in my system to quench my hunger.

Thinking back to Simone's phone call, the realisation finally dawns on me.

I'm finally going on a vacation... After such a long fucking time. I'm finally doing something for myself. To better myself. To find myself again...

*******

A/N: So what do you guys think?

Also a heads up! If there are any plotholes, I urge you to ignore them but do let me know. I'm posting the unedited version of this book right now, but I'll come back later to edit it.

Until next time,
Love
S ❤️