Disclaimer: I own no one but Sandra. *Sigh* Everyone belongs to Baz Luhrmann A/N: I would like to thank Blessed Sprit and Ewen Lover for inspiring me to write this chapter. Thanks Guys!

Christian rushed out of the café. He had to get away from Sandra and the book. He would rather be anywhere than that café. He wasn't saying that he didn't like Sandra or anything it was just to hear her mention his book was too much for him. "Where to go," he muttered to himself. If he went home, his landlady would be pestering him all day about the rent. But that was the only place to go. "I guess I'll go home. Maybe I'll find inspiration there," he exclaimed quite loudly that all the people on the street stared at him. Christian looked around, gave a weak smile and rushed to his destination. Sandra looked into the small apartment she had just rented. It was small and was sort of run down. There was only a small bed, a desk in the corner, a dingy kitchen, and a door that she presumed led to the bathroom. "I guess it will do," Sandra muttered to herself. She only rented it because it was cheap and she wanted to save all the money she possibly could. Sandra laid her suitcase on the small bed and began to unpack. While she did she thought about Christian and she began to sing softly.

"I wanted to be like to you I wanted to everything So I tried to be like you And I got swept away

I didn't know that it was so cold and You needed someone to show you the way So I took your hand and We figured out that When the tide comes I'll take you away

If you want to I can save you I can take you away from here So lonely inside So busy out there And all you wanted Was somebody who cares..."

Sandra slowly ended her song when she heard a crash next door. Sandra quickly hurried over to investigate.
Christian soon got home. His small little apartment that didn't include more than a small bed, a desk, a kitchen, and a restroom. He collapsed on to the bed and lay there for a while. He just thought about all the things that happened that day. The coffee incident, Sandra, her wanting him to sign her book. He sighed. "Look at me!" he spat, "Reduced to nothing!" He quickly got up and made his way to the small kitchen. He was kind of hungry after all; all he had today was a cup of coffee. As he looked for a bowl in the cupboards he heard a faint sound like someone was singing. As he listened he could hear some parts. "...if you want to, I can save you..." He heard. It was a woman's voice and seemed to be coming from somewhere in the building. As he walked towards the singing, he wasn't watching where he was going and crashed into his small desk. CRASH! "Ow!" he exclaimed. Suddenly he heard his door creak open. Christian still looking at the ground muttering curse words under his breath. "Um, sir? Are you okay?" asked a familiar voice. "Yeah, just sore tha—"but he stopped speaking. He had finally looked up and saw whom the voice belonged to. It was Sandra Clark.
Sandra stared at Christian. He was sitting on the floor, surrounded by a fallen desk and shards of paper, and he staring back up at her. She was confused for a moment. Why would a great author, like himself, be living in a run down hotel? She was lost of words for that moment. Suddenly he spoke up. "Wh...what are you doing here?" he managed to get out. "I live here," she mumbled back. "Oh," he told her. They both just stood there for a while not saying anything. Christian on the floor and Sandra standing by the door. Sandra sensed the awkwardness and turned to leave when she heard Christian call her name. "Ms. Clark? Was that...was that you singing earlier?" he asked her quite quietly. Sandra blushed a beet red. "Yes," she muttered, "I love to sing." Christian just looked down again. "Well, I guess I'll be going," Sandra said, "Goodbye Mr. James." "Goodbye, Ms. Clark," Christian answered back. Sandra quickly shut the door and her way to her apartment.
Christian stayed on the floor for a while longer after Sandra left. Then he remembered he was sitting in a giant pile of papers. "Better clean up," he mumbled and began to clean up the mess on the floor. As he picked up the papers he read what was on them. Old poetry, mostly sad and depressing. "Wait a minute! Why didn't I think of it before?" he exclaimed, smacking himself on the forehead, "I could sell these instead of coming up with completely new poetry!" Christian smiled a gigantic smile. Yes, the plan would get him out of debt and maybe he could even save a little bit of money for himself. Christian quickly gathered all of his papers and put them into a small leather suitcase. He would got to the local publisher tomorrow and hopefully they would publish his poetry.

Songs Used- All You Wanted-Michelle Branch