I wake up to violent pounding on my door and I scramble out of bed, looking for a weapon.

The killer! No, the kidnapper! He's here for me, he's trying to break in—wait.

What is going on?

I gaze around my room blearily. I'm holding my alarm clock like a brick to protect myself from whoever is pounding on my door at...I turn the clock to check the time.

It's not even seven a.m. yet.

"I know you're home, Avery, open up."

Damnit. It's Ted, my landlord, shouting at me. Not the killer. I should be grateful, I suppose.

I clutch my chest, telling my heart to stop racing a hundred miles an hour. What the hell is wrong with that man?

No. The rent. Now my heart sinks to my feet. The rent was due yesterday, but after the stuff with Devon and thinking of my brother all day, I completely forgot. I dive into a bulky sweater and yank a dirty, ripped pair of jeans on to cover my naked legs.

Money, money, money. I have to have some money around here, right?

"Coming," I shout to Ted. "Stop banging on the door, I'm coming."

I have dozens of secret stashes for loose change, single bills and the occasional birthday present from an aging aunt. In less than two minutes, my one-bedroom apartment looks like a tornado has struck as I tear it apart looking for money, but I don't even come up with twenty dollars.

"This can't be right," I mutter. Clutching my forehead, I turn in a circle. I thought I had more. I could have sworn I had a several hundred in the old coffee jar under the sink. Enough to buy an extension, at least.

"Avery, you owed the rent yesterday. You either pay me right now, or you call a moving truck, because I am throwing your stuff on the street," Ted snaps.

What can I do? I can't call my parents, they are broke and won't talk to me anyway. My aunt doesn't have that kind of money and would have a heart-attack if I asked her. Jay-Jay? No. One my friends from the conservatory? One who's actually successful?

God, no. The humiliation. Besides, they'd say no.

That leaves....

A memory flashes in front of my eyes. The man standing on the street corner last night, face hidden in shadows. The coat—it was one of those big, down filled parkas that are in style right now.

I don't want to be on the streets tonight.

Another memory—Devon in the darkness of the hallway, his long, slim-fitting wool overcoat that must have cost more than three month's rent. Then his offer while we were at the diner together.

Devon might be a stalker, but at least I know him.

I can either suck it up and beg him for help or sleep under a bridge tonight and freeze to death, as I had said I would prefer. But I don't really, not when faced with Ted threatening to throw my things out.

Besides. I'm not working right now because of the panic attacks. I have panic attacks because of everything that happened to my brother and my parents blaming me for some reason.

Essentially, it's Devon's fault I'm not singing in an ensemble, so he owes me.

Ted bangs the door again.

I open it and flash a fake smile. "Good morning. What exactly is the problem?"

He doesn't smile in return. Across the hall, my neighbor cracks open her door to peek out, her three dogs growling and turning at her feet.

"The rent was due yesterday," Ted says. "I already gave you a few extra days, and I'm tired of it being late every single month."

"I was sure it was paid, though, I have a friend taking care of it for me. Let me give them a call."

He frowns, his heavy jowls contorting, and his small, deep set eyes narrow at me.

I hold up a finger for him to wait.

I don't think I can actually call Devon, though. I don't have the courage. Not yet.

I send a message instead.

I have a situation. I need my rent paid, right now.

Send.

I wait.

Then I add: $1450 and the details of my landlord's bank.

I don't see him replying. I gnaw my lower lip while Ted leans with his arm up on my door frame and studies the interior like he's calculating how long it will take for him to toss my stuff on the curb.

I send another message.

Are you up?

I'm about to give up and call him when a reply pops onto my screen.

Devon: I've been up since 4:30.

Devon: Paid.

Devon: See you Stay Gold in one hour to sign the contract.

I almost shout with relief. Then I realize what I've done—sold myself, and my voice—to Devon Orlando.

I should have slapped Devon's gorgeous face last night when I had the chance. Now, he's paid my rent and I have to show up at his club immediately.

"Ted," I say. "Check your account, the money should be there. It must have gotten tied up and not gone through right away."

He grumbles at me about having to go home and log on through his computer.

I nod and shut the door. I'm an absolute wreck. And I only have twenty minutes to get ready if I want to look decent when I sign over my freedom to that man.

Scratch that. I need to look good.

*** ONC: 900 words. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you are having a great day! ***