One Love . . .

The First Message

I think everything is FINALLY running smoothly. The laptop is set up, all of my chargers are in their proper place, and I even remembered to text my parents. They have this weird idea that I have to message them.

Drake is snoozing on the bed next to me. It's only seven thirty, and he managed to fall asleep for the past three hours. I hope he intends on getting dinner for himself because I'M not getting him anything.

This is the most unorganised person I've ever met. He actually wanted to borrow my razor, because he couldn't find his. I told him, very polietly, where he could put that razor if he ever asked for any of my things ever again. Plus, he snuck a DOG into this hotel. A DOG. There is a very clear policy on pets. I'm no snitch, but this thing is literally a rat. It's one of those shaved dogs, where only it's face has hair. It makes absaloutly no noise, but only sleeps on my bed.

"Okay, time to do some editing." I say, logging into my editing software and uploading my daily vlog. I decided to call this one 'The Time You Met My Insane Roomate'. This one took effort. Trust me, it's hard to talk about someone if you're sharing a room with them.

Oh, and another thing. Drake thinks YouTube is stupid. He hates it. He thinks it's a sad excuse for television, and people with no talent can suddenly get money they didn't earn. As for his profession? Male model. Literally. I mean, his job is completely related to him being pretty.

Forty Five minutes later and one call for roomservice, I upload the vlog. My phone buzzes, and I take another bite of my burger. McDonalds. And get this, I didn't even have to go through the Drive Thru! Drake got off his butt to get his own food, and I gave him money to buy mine. I'm actually really grateful he went and got the food. I don't have a car, so I'd have to use his. Only, he had the audacity to come home and ask WHAT'S IN THE COMBO.

I stare at my iPhone screen. Theres a jumble of letters on the screen, no number. Slowly, I open the text:

TWITTER CRA$H

I read it again. It still says the same thing? "Shmurr?" I say, laughing. That actually reminded me. I have to tweet about the new vlog.

There's a knock on the door. I hurry to answer it. Bright blue paint drips down the surface. Jagged, painted words read out TWITTER CRA$H!!!

My heart picks up. This is scary.

I open twitter and confusion washes over me. My twitter isn't logged in. I type in the stuff, and hit the blue 'Log In' button. 'The username or password you entered did not match our records. Please double-check and try again' pops up. My freashly plucked brows furrow. I type it in again. And again. Then it dawns on me. My account doesn't exist. There's no record.

Frantically, I try on my laptop. Still nothing. I keep typing it in. Maybe I have the wrong information. I don't believe it. Caps Lock isn't on and I KNOW this is what I typed in a million times before. I use this for marketing! I can't not be on it all of a sudden!

The text message pops into my head. Twitter crash. SOMEONE HACKED MY TWITTER! Someone nearby!

"OH MY GOSH!" I yell, slamming my iPhone on the bed. The rat jumps up and runs into the bathroom. My twitter is ESSENTIAL for my advertising. I need that to promote videos and interact with fans! Everything, every single social media I'm on, is tethered to my career. How could this happen? Who hacked me?

Something dawns on me. Whoever did as a LOT of control.

A/N: ONCE MORE A CLIFFHANGER! MWHWHHAHAHAHAHA! ANYWAYS, PLEASE COMMENT! IT WOULD MAKE MY DAY! AND MAYBE VOTE! AFTER ALL, YOU CAN VOTE ( especially if you got the 'whats in the combo' reference)FOR AS MANY STORIES AS YOU WANT AND YOU'RE DEFINETLY NOT WASTING IT! THANKS!