Surrender 01 - Surrender

sending her, she began tearing open the envelope. She knew she was a couple months behind on the rent, but she’d made payment arrangements. She sat on the edge of her bed, slowly pulling the piece of paper out. Starting at the top she began reading, hoping it was simply an announcement about sink repairs — it didn’t take her long to figure out it was an eviction notice.
    Dear Ms. Christiansen.
    Four months behind.
    Tried to make arrangements.
    Eviction proceedings.
    Must be out in two days.

    Monica's heart sank in her chest as she crumpled the paper in her agitation. Her fear soon turned to panic as she began to worry about what she was going to do. Monica let out a sigh as she fell backward onto her bed. She automatically reached for her covers and wrapped them around her, seeking comfort in the familiar scent of her quilt.
    She really needed for things to go right for once in her life. It seemed nothing had lately, so she decided to gaze blankly up at the ceiling tiles through blurry eyes instead of thinking about what was beyond her control.
    Her long, dirty blonde hair splayed across her pillow, her body tucked tightly into the crisp white linen sheets and white goose-down comforter. Her hand was still gripping the letter as it hung over the edge of the bed, and thankfully, she began to drift back to sleep.
    Just as the paper touched the floor, a loud crack and ominous rumble shook the apartment. Instantly startled awake, Monica looked around to see what was happening. She could hear a slight tapping on her window that was increasing in tempo. Fall was quickly approaching in Seattle and it wasn’t uncommon for thunderstorms to occur at this time of year.
    Being raised in Africa, Monica was no stranger to massive thunderstorms and was always intrigued when they happened, instead of being fearful like so many people.
    She moved her gaze from the streaming water cascading down her window, to the clock beside her bed. It now read eight fifteen and she had to be ready and at work by nine.
    “Holy crap, I'm going to be late,” she cried as she jumped from the bed, flinging her blankets to one side. Sprinting toward the bathroom, she nearly slipped on the abandoned clothes that were scattered across the hardwood floors.
    Next, the cold, broken tile of the bathroom sent chills up her legs as she bolted through the doorway. The bathroom was small and quaint, complete with toilet and a single shower stall and vanity that barely managed to hold her hairbrush and few pieces of makeup. It was a good thing she wasn’t like most women with massive amounts of salon products, because she didn’t have the space to store any of it.
    She turned the faucet in the tub on, then pulled the lever, bouncing on her toes as she waited for what seemed like forever for the small hot-water tank to send the heated stream through the rusty pipes, and start trickling out of the shower-head. When the water was above freezing, she jumped in, and then sighed when it finally reached body temperature.
    As the warm water ran down her frame, she couldn’t help but think of how her life had gotten so off track.
    She honestly didn’t understand how she’d arrived at such a juncture in her life. She had a terrible job, a crappy little apartment, well, at least for a few more days, and nothing in her savings. She was single, broke, and downright depressed. She reminded herself that she didn’t need a man to make her happy. That didn’t help make her feel better in that moment, though.
    Preparing herself for the cold, she shut off the water, and quickly jumped from the small stall and grabbed her towel, getting the water off her before the cool air could turn it into ice.
    Monica moved in front of her cracked bathroom mirror while wrapping her hair in the towel. She looked at herself wondering how a good girl, the daughter of missionaries who’d lived all over the world in mostly poverty stricken countries could be where she was at. Didn’t she get some bonus points for her sacrifices? On the other hand, it wasn’t like her current predicament was anything that she couldn’t handle. She’d been through worse and still managed to walk with her head held high. Maybe she should just go stay with her parents.
    Her mother had called just last week, telling her Aqaba was beautiful this time of year. It was a resort town, complete with golf courses and scuba diving in the Red Sea. It was much different from the many countries they’d stayed