What is it that defines something as being wrong? I tried most days to not ponder too much over this question. The end of the month had arrived quicker than expected and here I was pulling on my black jeans, scuffed up trainers and scraping my hair up under my cap. As I headed towards the door I looked in on the door of the bedroom in the darkness, the moon shone a streak of light across the empty bed. That's my reason, no one was there any more to look after me, and everything had become chances and a gamble. My thoughts had been soured over the last few months, those last few months alone. I had nothing and if something is there and too easy to be taken, why shouldn't I go out there and help myself. I wasn't hurting anybody after all. I had to admit it was always easier when the hotel was unoccupied but this time of year it was always busy.
A few minutes later I ran my fingers along the window, knowing roughly where the catch was, the little gap where I could slide my finger in and open it enough to fit through. Silently I slid through, landing on the couch under the window which always broke my fall. I'm not a thief, just a borrower and the item I needed to borrow was on the side table as always next to the phone. I made my way over, hurriedly shining a light from my little LED torch onto the paper. Scribbling down the code I needed, I crawled along the floor back towards the window. I had only got halfway there when I heard the door slam and the light burst on, illuminating the room. Shit! I lost my cool persona and got up to run like the wind back towards the window.
"Hey!" a voice called after me as I toppled out of the window and back down onto the tarmac below. A sharp pain seared through my arm and thigh but with no time to do an injuries check, I tore back over to my own front door.
It was the next morning when I made my way down to my desk and laptop that I realised something was missing, franticly thumbing through my keychain it was clear to see that my stick was missing. Not a major problem many would think but my stick was firstly, my life's thoughts and workings. It was also full of every single story and note that I had written, 24 of those being fanfictions of various genres. I felt sick inside, my little secret life was on that stick. I came to the conclusion that it must have fallen from my keychain as I had raced to escape the previous night. There was no other way, I would have to go back in there and find it.
That night, dressed for darkness as I had the night before, I made my way out and across the car park to the window. Jumping up to the ledge I fiddled with the catch, it had had some sort of attempt at a fix since my last visit but I was used to that. I prised it apart finally and slid back through. I sighed with relief that the room was in darkness, at least I could make my visit short and sweet. I couldn't see it anywhere, I retraced my steps from the night before and decided that it must be somewhere beneath the side table. It was hard to see anything on the plum red carpet in the darkness so I crawled underneath; flicking my torch from side to side hurriedly I searched in desperation. A few moments later the light flicked on, making me jump in surprise and bang my head hard on the table above me. "Fuck it" I hissed under my breath. I glanced upwards to see a figure in the doorway. He walked slowly into the room, his arms folded across his chest.
"Looking for something?" he said eventually, holding out the very usb stick I was looking for between his finger and thumb. Fuck it again, he had caught me. Stupidly I sat crouched under there for a few minutes while he stood there. Something in my head told me that if I sat there for long enough he might get fed up, turn around, switch the light off and close the door behind him as he left. Alas, in reality that was not going to happen.
"Well?" He asked after a moment or two, his tone growing a little more impatient. I sighed and dragged myself out from under the table and stood up to face him. As I did so my jaw literally dropped in horror as I realised whose hotel room I had broken into.
"Fucking hell" my thoughts fell out of my mouth without me even realising it and emerged in a stupid squeak. The dull thud as my torch fell from my fingers and rolled across the floor, resting a few inches from his feet. There in front of me, with a not very amused look on his face was Colin Firth, well known actor and subject of several of my fanfiction stories. Those fanfiction stories that were stored on the tiny blue usb stick in his hand.
"I'm so, so sorry. " I started. "It's mine, could I please have it back." I kept my head down so that he couldn't see my face.
"That depends." He began, rolling the stick around in his fingers and taking a step towards me. "Are you going to tell me why you are in my hotel room?"
I stood for a moment, going over a million different amounts of bullshit I could come out with at this moment. None of it was going to cut it, I came clean. "I live next door...I come in through that window every month. I'm not here to steal anything I promise."
He did not answer and instead moved towards me and with a quick grab, pulled away the cap I was hiding beneath. He looked surprised as all my hair tumbled down to my waist and for the first time looked me straight in the eye. "Sit down." He instructed. I did as he asked.
"I come back from a day's filming, I'm tired, the last thing I expected was to come back to find an unexpected yet may I say, rather attractive intruder in my room!" He sighed, sitting down opposite me.
"What's your name?" "Do I have to tell you that, I mean wouldn't it be easier if I just took my stick and went home?" I replied, staring down to my knees. This was too awkward.
"Yes, I think I deserve that at the very least. After all, I am quite intrigued at your visit."
"OK, ok..." I put my hands on my forehead. "My name is Elise." I wasn't divulging any more.
"You see, I don't think that is correct."
"What?" I frowned up at him.
"Well..." he began, reaching to the side table and opening a laptop. To my horror he inserted my usb stick into the side and casually began browsing through the files. "I was pretty sure your name would be something like...'Strawberry wine'."
"No, I've never heard of that one." I lied, trying to call his bluff. The colour visibly drained from my face.
"That's very strange." He got up and poured himself a drink."You see, she writes some very interesting stuff. I guess if you are not the author in question I can dispose of the usb stick. That saves both of us a lot of trouble!"
"No!" I half shouted, bloody hell there was months of hard work on that thing and I had no back up copies. Yes there were versions online but that was not the same as having my own hard copy. Damn my stupid idea to attach it to my keys, I should have left it in my top drawer where it belonged. He looked surprised at my outburst and sat back, obviously awaiting an explanation.
"It's me...Ok it's me. I just don't really want anyone knowing about it or seeing it. It's private."
"Private? Strange how you uploaded it onto four different fanfiction sites." He said, handing me a glass of wine, which I very much needed at that moment. I swigged it back, and cringed.
"You know about the sites, how the hell do you know about that?"
"I'm not stupid Elise; do you really think that every actor or musician has never googled their own fanfiction? It's a basic curiosity mixed with just a little ego. "
"I suppose." I sighed, not really enjoying the fact that he could see all the weird and wonderful things I had thought of.
"Take this one..." he began. "It's called 'All of me'. I read this one twice already, the idea is great but...I mean that would never happen, and that...Well I would never have done that. The kiss scene, in the kitchen, just ridiculous..."
"Ok, ok." I butted in. "So you don't like my writing, I get it. It's fiction, it's not real, just as much as when you are portraying a role in a film. That's not real, it's whatever you make the character and that's all I've done. So don't start judging me because that's just not fair, anyway 'All of me' was written for a friend so don't you dare fuck with that one!" I got up and closed the lid on his laptop angrily. "And for your information, I thought the kiss scene was written very well actually, I worked hard on that." I pouted, crossing my arms. No matter how embarrassed I was feeling or who I was standing in front of, it was still bloody hurtful to hear criticism on your work. Either that or the wine was talking.
"I beg to differ; the whole situation was very staged, so predictable and dull. You could have guessed what was going to happen from the third paragraph. If you're going to write something, at least make it interesting!" He argued back, grabbing me suddenly by my shoulders.
"This, Elise is how you should have written it." Before I knew what was happening he kissed me hard on my lips, I froze for a moment, his hand on my cheek as he pulled me closer, kissing me deeper, his tongue urging inside my mouth. His other hand in my hair, gripping me tightly. When he eventually pulled away I stood open mouthed, not really understanding what had just happened. Was he pissed off at me or incredibly turned on, or maybe both I couldn't tell. He turned back to the table and picked up his phone.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm afraid at the end of the day you have just broken into my room twice so I am going to have to call the hotel security."
