THE NIGHT SHE FELL INTO HIS WORLD

•=•=QUINN=•=•

The piercing sound of my phone startled me out of sleep, my hand swiftly reached out, groping aimlessly on the bedside table. My fingers finally grasped my phone, and I glanced at the screen.

[It's time! Take your pill or just die]

Indeed, I was the person who saved the reminder in that manner. That’s the extent of my mental health struggles. A ruthless sinister joke. The urgency in those words wasn't overstated; it was my reality.

My hand shot out to the trolley next to my bed, shaking as it grasped the pill bottle. I shook it, and the sound—

Crap, there's just one pill left!

I suddenly felt dizzy, and I started gasping for air. My fingers struggled with the cap, and the capsule fell into my hand. Without a second thought, I placed it in my mouth and gulped it down, the dry bitterness scratching uncomfortably as it traveled down my throat. I quickly grabbed a bottle of water and drank it.

I leaned back against the wall, my chest rising and falling as I allowed the empty bottle to fall from my grip. It rolled across the floor, the noise unnaturally loud in the silent room.

The medication was prescribed for twelve-hour intervals. Not following the time is a high risk for me. I'm suffering from a rare condition called APLASTIC ANEMIA. The notion consumed me, a harsh reminder of how delicate my existence had turned.

Hugging my knees to my chest, I secured my arms around them firmly. I could sense the pill beginning to take effect, the dizziness and nausea that nearly overwhelmed me gradually fading away.

"What a terrible life," I muttered resentfully, my voice hardly louder than a whisper. "I've never encountered someone more cursed than I am. Tuition costs was accumulating. Rent was past due. And this expensive lifeline is depleting my few wages excessively. I don't even have any groceries at home."

I tucked my face into my knees, my voice stifled yet intense. "I'm really fed up with this." The tears flowed quickly and intensely, soaking my pajama pants. "What actions did I take in my previous life that warrant this dreadful fate?" I murmured in a fractured manner.

When I was younger, I lived in an orphanage after my mother's death. At eight, I was adopted by a family who initially showered me with love, making me feel like I belonged.

However, I soon realized their kindness had a price. They took me to the hospital, and for two months, I was always being injected with a black liquid. Then, they started taking my blood biweekly for their biological daughter, who had a blood disorder. I was not a daughter to them; I was a donor. By sixteen, the repeated blood draws left me with APLASTIC ANEMIA, forcing me to rely on costly medication. I felt exploited and trapped.

Even though they ensured I had enough medication to last, they continuously took my blood. Each week, each month—it was always insufficient. They required additional resources. I was their saving grace, their safety net, the unrecognized sacrifice they never appreciated. Yet as soon as I reached eighteen, everything transformed. Their cherished daughter, Lila, was healed.

And abruptly, I was no longer necessary. I turned into a liability instead of an essential. They let go of their housekeepers, compelling me to handle their responsibilities without protest. Unnoticeable when I wasn't required. An attendant when they executed.

Whenever I pleaded with them to purchase my medication, they required me to earn it—by cleaning their house, preparing their meals, and following their demands.

Lila was the most dreadful of them all. Harsh. Brutal.

A girl who had lived her entire life benefiting from me, only to then destroy what little I had remaining. Lila tormented me cruelly, leading to my r*p*, which they blamed on me.

By the age of twenty, they no longer needed me. They pushed me to the street,with hardly any cash and just one bottle of medicine—the sole thing sustaining my life.

Since that time, my existence has been a nightmare. Perhaps I ought to simply end my life. No one knows me, no one would care or weep. The landlord, who only appears to collect late rent, would likely discover my rotten body.

I rose to my feet, my legs unsteady, and hurriedly bathed with the small amount of water I had requested from my neighbor the night before. The water supply in my small studio unit has been turned off for three days now.

Even though today marked my bi-weekly payday, that thought still failed to provide me any comfort. What was the point of a paycheck that couldn't sufficiently cover even the essentials?

Once I finished, I took a deep breath one last time, bracing myself for the day to come. I exited, securing the door after me.

•=•=QUINN=•=•

"Quinn."

My heart almost jumped out of my chest. I looked back to find my landlord in the hallway, his expression as harsh as granite.

"Good morning," I said, my voice hardly more than a murmur.

"B*tch, why have you been avoiding my calls? Your rent was due last week, and I haven’t received any payment.’ He crossed his arms over his chest, squinting his eyes.

"I apologize.l'm on my way to work now, and I assure you I'll send the money by today's end," I said, clasping my hands together in a quiet pleading gesture. I could merely wish for him to display some compassion.

“I honestly have no clue how you spend all the cash you earn from being a hooker.” His remarks hurt like a blow.

"You don't need to insult me, sir. I am not a wh*r*. I just work at a bar," I retorted, my voice shaking with a blend of anger and embarrassment.

"Anyhow. Just ensure you send my money today, or I’ll be throwing you out." His gaze scanned