My Champagne Problems

31: Chavost

'Sometimes the right answer is the simplest one'

Having sorted through my thoughts and conclude with a definite line of action, I set forth towards the living room.

With strides fuelled with determination-driven confidence, I cover the length of the hallway and proceed down.

I clear my throat.

"Er..." I arrest my words, gulping down my nerves, I continue now having gained the attention of my subject.

"What is it, Liv?" Gentleness is detectable in his tone. His eyes--hidden behind the black-rimmed frame of his glasses, detach from his laptop screen that's atop his lap and focus on me.

"Do you need something?" Wesley asks again, his tone never faltering.

Not being a fan of many words works up too much of a disadvantage for me on eves such as this. My words held hostage in my mind, I push them--with much effort--towards my lips.

"Do you by any chance know where can I find the boxes we brought when we moved?" I mentally praise myself for articulating it with rather such effortlessness.

His brow rises for a brief second as though in thought. "The ones from your old place?" He states sounding it out as a question.

"My best guess," he takes a moment to think, "would be the basement," he says after much deliberation.

"Try the storage unit in the West wing," he adds in suggestion. "Although, can I asks why do you need them all of a sudden?" He inquires with an undertone of suspicion.

"I'm trying to find my trophies and certificate," I explain my pre-rehearsed excuse. "It's probably in there," I add as an afterthought.

"Oh, alright," he nods. "Do you need any help?" He asks, to which I shake my head negatively.

Mumbling a quick "thanks," I leave the living room and proceed towards his suggested location.

With my mind running a mile a minute, I managed to locate the said storage room with surprising ease.

A rather small room when compared to the usual room sizes spread across this humongous mansion. The walls painted a rather dull colour of deep faded blue, with mounts of boxes and filing cabinets pushed up against them.

I put my germaphobe to rest when I realize that for a storage unit that is evidently so neglected, this place is rather dust free.

'Okay! Now to the real task at hand'

Having so much to cover in such little time, I dive head-first into the sea of cardboard. Rummaging through each folder, each packet and every box, I leave no spot unexcavated!

It takes the batter half of an hour before I land my hands on anything remotely useful. But when I do, it sure feels rewarding!

"Got it!" I mumble under my breath in unsurpassable triumph. My eyes glued to the worn faded grey folder. Its cover peeling away to reveal the cardboard backing inside it.

Pulling it open with much haste, I flip through the pages loosely running my eyes over each one in search of my birth certificate.

It doesn't take much time, my eyes catching sight of the familiar piece of paper within the first five pages.

But disappointment and dejection soon flood, engulfing the initial feeling of triumph with its dark aura.