The Matchmaker

Chapter 1

Sunshine. 

People "like to" describe sunshine as beautiful rays of glory filtering in but I like to describe it as a complete nuisance and damn wake-up call that assaults my poor pupils after a long night of total darkness. 

Groaning from the sun's persistent rays, I unzip my sleeping bag and with an aching back, roll out like a sausage escaping its casing before getting up and stretch to another spontaneous day of absolutely nothing shorter than uneventful. 

After a segment of various stretches, I grab my sleeping bag and dump it somewhere in the god-awful and forsaken closet of misfit clothes. 

If only I could afford to turn up the heat in this place; being almost broke isn't fun, especially when your next meal and heat source relies upon the happiness of others. 

I should probably back track and give a little biography (warning, there isn't much and it's probably pathetic) about my miserable life.  

Firstly, it's Catherine with a "C" and if anyone goes around writing it with a "K" I simply put one finger in the air...in my mind anyways because I don't have a cussing tongue or the balls to do that (I'm a saint. I know).  

Secondly, I'm twenty-one and horribly lonely. Yes, I'm still a virgin, no, I don't do drugs (but I secretly like holding cigarettes to look badass), and no tattoos stamped anywhere on my skin or piercings that will give me some unfortunate skin disease. I still get a tickling sensation just thinking about the cubic zirconia rashes from my childhood. 

 Frankly, my entire existence revolves around me working my ass off to afford a decent package of instant noodles. 

Thirdly, I'm in this miserable and depressing state because my dear parents (may they rest in peace) died when I was four and left me with my Gran. Loving old Gran on the other hand, passed away when I was eighteen, and since then it's been a lonely life. I refuse to lodge painful memories to the depths of my brain, my conscious and subconscious mind have dutifully repressed them like all aspiring young entrepreneurs that swallow traumatic experiences. 

Shoving the curtains aside, the light blinds my eyes and I let out a hiss. Making a face, I trudge back towards the centre of my freezing cold apartment and proceed to mechanically do my basic routine.

"Catherine! Open up!" Or maybe not.

Groaning, I curse the interruption and walk grudgingly towards the door. Yanking it with force, I see a seething and cross looking Ms. Zhao, the proprietress of this fine apartment complex with astronomical rent prices. 

Her eyes narrow dangerously, and I gulp involuntarily, plastering a fake genial smile, "Ms. Zhao, how are you?" 

"Awful but you can make it better. Where's the rent you owe me?" 

She's just a gem, a real swell gal. 

Though inwardly applauding her severe bluntness, I visibly wilt at the words, "rent," and "owe." 

"I'll pay the rent by the end of this week, I promise," my smile doesn't falter even as she snorts with contempt. 

"Look at this girl, she's under the impression that just because she's pretty, she doesn't have to pay me rent! Your cute smile is useless to me."  

"Thank you so much for your understanding," I responded breathless, quickly shutting the door at her gaping mouth, a sigh escapes my lips. 

I'm an awkwardly clumsy individual who barely stepped out of her adolescent phase of tripping and falling in heels or applying make-up without looking like a clown.