Roatan Plunge | Love Travels #2

One - Lorena

It's a harsh truth that no matter how epic your fan blog is, you will not be able to pay the bills with that success. I know, because even after my latest five posts went viral, the blog has netted me just over six dollars this month.

Which could be because I have no idea how to run a website for actual money and mostly spend my time writing about everyone except the club's all-star players.

But I can't be blamed. They are annoying rich jerks and they already get enough press.

I deposit my earnings into my account and take another glance at the final balance as I hop onto the train. The numbers are screaming 'just get a job, Lorena! Any job will do,' but my pride will not allow it. I may have bombed the last six or sixty interviews but I will prove everyone wrong and find something perfect.

The train door closes behind me, narrowly missing my purse as they do. Resisting the urge to curse out the doors—there are children present—I make my way through the crowded aisle until I find a place to stand. The train jerks to a start and I pull up Real Barcelona news on my phone, searching for ideas for my next blog post. I might as well get as much writing done as I can while I'm technically unemployed.

As we approach the next stop, people shuffle about the train, making their way to the doors. A little girl crawls onto her mother's lap to leave room for me and I smile as I make my way to the bench to sit down.

Even in this loud, crowded train full of obnoxious teenagers and one yapping dog, the tell-tale echo of a seam ripping apart is all that greets me as I lower myself onto the ugly blue bench. And an uncomfortable warmth of public transit plastic is all the proof I need that the sound emanated from me.

I really would like to speak to whoever is in charge of the seams on women's dress suit things. Honestly. I pay good money for these items and I can't even convince one of them to last a whole year before I'm sitting here hoping everyone else gets off the train so I won't have any witnesses when I stand up and flash my last clean pair of underwear—a sparkly red thong—to the entire crowded train car.

Thankfully, everyone has the decency to pretend they did not notice what happened. Everyone, that is, except an older man sitting across the aisle flashing me a cheeky grin.

Ew.

My phone, fast becoming the harbinger of nothing but bad news, buzzes in my hand, the screen showing the number my landlord's agent uses when he calls. The last thing I need right now is to be homeless.

"Hello?" I say when the call connects. "What can I do for you?"

I fish around in my purse until I find a somewhat opaque reusable shopping bag I can fashion around my waist like a sort of backwards apron. I'm going to have to get off this train eventually, so I might as well multitask.

"Lorena, it's Javi. I'm sorry to call again but I still don't have your rent for this month or last and I really need to know what's going on."

"So sorry, Javi. I meant to call you but I've been so wrapped up in this family emergency I've not even had time to eat properly." I hold my breath, hoping my lie will hold him off at least a few more days until I can land a job. Maybe THE job. And then I can pay the rent, or at least borrow the money from Carla until I get this all sorted out.

"I'm so sorry, Lor—Lorena. I didn't know. Do you need anything? I can have the guys bring some food by maybe, or—"

I cut him off before he offers me anything more inappropriate than food. "Javi, I'm not even at home. I appreciate the offer, but really, I'm fine. I'll give you a call once I'm back in town and we can figure it out?"