Chapter Four(The bottom)
1081 Words
The next morning I woke up with my back screaming in protest. That bed was a torture device disguised as furniture. I sat up slowly, every bone in me complaining as I moved.
I could hear voices outside, the sound of motorbikes revving, someone shouting in Thai. The sounds of normal life happening while mine was falling apart.
I pulled out the piece of paper the desk clerk had given me yesterday, studied the address he'd scribbled in messy handwriting. If I was going to find a husband who believed I was poor, I needed to be somewhere even more convincing than this dump.
I showered in the bathroom that had questionable water pressure, got dressed in my plainest jeans, a simple t-shirt. I looked at myself in the mirror. No one would recognize me as Vivian Chen, CEO of Chen Industries. I looked like any other struggling foreigner trying to make ends meet in a country that wasn't her own.
Good.
I grabbed my bag, headed downstairs. The same clerk from yesterday was at the desk, still playing on his phone.
"You check out?" he asked without looking up.
"No. Just going out."
He grunted.
Outside, the heat hit me like a physical thing. It was barely nine in the morning but already the air felt thick, oppressive. I flagged down a taxi, showed the driver the address on the paper.
He frowned at it, said something in Thai that sounded like a question.
"Yes," I said, even though I had no idea what he'd asked. "Take me there."
He shrugged, started driving. We left the already shabby neighborhood behind, went even further into areas where the buildings looked ready to collapse, where laundry hung from every available surface, where chickens wandered freely in the streets.
Twenty minutes later he stopped in front of what looked like it had once been a house but was now divided into multiple apartments. The paint was peeling so badly I couldn't tell what color it had originally been. The roof looked like it might cave in if someone sneezed too hard.
"Here," the driver said. "You sure?"
I paid him, got out. He drove away quickly, like he couldn't wait to escape.
I stood there looking at the building, at the narrow alley beside it, at the trash piled up near what I assumed was the entrance. My first instinct was to get back in a taxi, go to a proper hotel, abandon this entire insane plan.
But I thought about Dr. Morrison's face when he'd said "two years." I thought about my father forgetting who I was a little more each day. I thought about Chen Industries falling apart because I had no heir to leave it to.
I walked up to the building.
There was no doorbell, no proper door even. Just an opening that led into a dark hallway that smelled like mold, cooking spices, something else I couldn't identify. I stepped inside, let my eyes adjust to the dim light.
"Hello?" I called out.
Silence.
I walked further in. There were doors on either side of the hallway, most of them open to reveal tiny rooms crammed with belongings. At the end of the hall I could see stairs leading up.
"You looking for room?"
I jumped, spun around. An old woman stood behind me. She was tiny, barely came up to my shoulder. Her face was wrinkled like crumpled paper but her eyes were sharp, assessing.
"Yes," I said. "I need a place to stay. Cheap."
She looked me up and down, taking in my clothes, my bag, probably calculating how much she could charge me.
"I have rooftop," she said in heavily accented English. "Very cheap. Fifty dollar one month."
Fifty dollars for an entire month? That was less than I'd paid for a single night at the hotel. Either this place was worse than I could imagine or this woman was desperate for money.
"Can I see it?"
She nodded, turned without another word. I followed her up the stairs that creaked under our weight. We passed two more floors, each one looking more decrepit than the last, until we reached a door that led outside.
The rooftop was exactly what it sounded like. There was a mattress on the ground, a small camping stove, a bucket that I assumed was for washing.
"Bathroom downstairs," the old woman said. "Share with other people. Water sometimes no work. Electric," she pointed at a single outlet, "sometimes work, sometimes no."
I stared at the space. This was worse than anything I could have imagined. Worse than the hotel room. Worse than any scenario I'd envisioned when I'd decided to pretend to be poor.
I couldn't possibly stay here.
But then I saw the old woman watching me with those sharp eyes. I saw the way her hands shook slightly, saw the worn fabric of her clothes, saw the desperation she was trying to hide.
She needed the money. Badly.
"I'll take it," I heard myself say.
Her eyes widened slightly. Like she hadn't actually expected me to agree.
"You pay now?"
"Yes." I pulled out cash, counted out fifty dollars, handed it to her. She took it quickly, like she was afraid I'd change my mind.
"You stay long as you want. One month, two month, no problem." She tucked the money into her pocket.
"My name Suda. You need something, you ask me."
"Thank you, Suda."
She nodded, turned to leave, then paused. "One more person coming today. Also rent rooftop. You share space, okay?"
I froze. "Share? You didn't mention sharing."
"Rooftop very big. Room for two people. He pay fifty dollar too, so I make hundred dollar." She said it matter of factly, like this was perfectly reasonable. "You both stay separate side. No problem."
Every instinct screamed at me to refuse, to demand my money back, to leave immediately.
But Suda was already walking away, already disappearing back down the stairs.
I thought about chasing after her or calling out her name.
I can't do that.
I stood there in the blistering heat, looked at the pathetic mattress, at the tarp, at the single outlet that only sometimes worked. I was going to be sharing this space with a complete stranger. A man, apparently.
This was a disaster.
But I'd already paid. I'd already committed. Going back now would mean starting over, finding somewhere else, wasting more time.
I didn't have time to waste.
- Writer
