Layla
The vapor engulfs the room, and I cough like my lungs are trying to hack their way up my throat. I can feel the bruises forming as I blindly stumble and fumble my way around the unfamiliar hard edges of the furniture in the cluttered house.
Tearing my throat raw with the violent coughs, I finally reach the outside.
Doubling over with my hands on my knees, I try to breathe air into my starving lungs, but I'm burning up and struggling on which hell is currently worse.
The heat is licking up my veins, and I feel like I'm on fire, as I start shedding my clothes as quickly as possible, cursing the day I decided I liked Sally enough to try and save her.
"I don't think it worked too well! I feel the urge to tell you I spent five years possessing Bonnie's body when she was fucking Clyde, and I'm pretty sure that's a lie!" she calls out as I heave for more air.
"Or is it? Did you fuck Clyde while making me watch?" she calls out with an indignant gasp, taking an abrupt turn with no blinker to warn me.
Utter failure. I possibly have chemical burns on my internal organs for no reason at all.
"No, I did not fuck Clyde," I bite out in frustration.
"The only Clyde I know has four legs and a long snout, and before your sick mind goes there, I will kill you for making any disgusting jokes like that—"
My words stop short when I see a man barely grinning, as though he's entertained. His eyes rake over my Ghost Busters panties and a bra that I actually made.
I'm a terrible seamstress, so the bra is horrendous and makes my nipples look unintentionally pointed in different directions. And maybe slightly warped…
Why? Just why?
"My life sucks so hard," I mutter under my breath as I pinch the bridge of my nose, putting my other hand on my hip, as I exhale harshly.
After an awkwardly silent moment of collecting myself, I lower my hand and stare at his long, darkish hair first…because, first…because, it's not the norm.
Long hair on guys doesn't usually work, but…some exceptions are definitely legit.
He's tall and rough around the edges with just the right amount of beard. In fact, he's the sort of gorgeous specimen that will no doubt have Sally spewing all kinds of crazy sex lies the second she—
"Ooooo la la. Hello, you sexy, devilish savage," Sally purrs, appearing beside me. "Tell him I'm a porn star from the nineties. Or was it early two-thousands when they started keeping the downstairs painfully tidy?" she asks, tapping her chin with her index finger while seriously deliberating the matter.
Sometimes she knows she's lying but enjoys it. Sometimes she has no clue if she's lying at all. The urge to lie is growing stronger, regardless of which kind of lie she's telling.
"Can I help you?" I ask the man, not even bothering to scrape together my dignity by this point.
Sally takes a lot out of me.
He gives me an incredulous look.
"Just to be safe, tell him I have a neatly trimmed landing strip instead of the tangled forest," Sally goes on. "I'd check to see what's actually down there, but I can't physically move my underwear," she adds while passing her hand through her pelvis.
I need to start carrying around salt.
"Rather odd way to introduce yourself, don't you think, little Thorne?" the man asks in a weirdly sexy gravel-like tone that doesn't usually do it for me.
He's an anomaly, it seems. Wrong hair. Wrong voice. Entirely too tall. Much too broad shouldered—he could crush me. Still, it's like it all just works on him, for whatever reason, and even at this terrible moment, I simply can't help but notice just how well it works.
I'm genuinely too emotionally vulnerable to be cold and dismissive of attractive men right now.
Sally makes several thrusting motions because she doesn't have a functioning brain cell.
I'm a little distracted by the fact he seems oddly amused, which quickly reels my headspace back in to the fact Sally humming Ghost Busters…and actually singing the part about there being something strange in the neighborhood.
When she wildly points to me and thrusts her hips again, it becomes abundantly clear I did something awful in a previous life to deserve the shit that happens to me.
"I'm Rivers, not Thorne. I'm not related to the Thorne family by blood," I reply on autopilot, recovering from the surprise of having an audience who…looks like him. "And if seeing a girl in her fashionable underwear isn't a memorable first impression, then I don't know what is."
"Are you trying to be memorable?" he muses.
"Seems that way," I chirp, not missing a beat. "If you're a client, I've been working on your supply list. Deliveries will start as soon as Monday, and I swear I will be clothed during all future encounters."
"Prude," Sally pops off immediately. "I'd pull that hair of his while asking him who's been a naughty savage," she adds, mocking a playful bite in the air.
Heaven help me.
"I'm Kier Crescent . Head of House of Crescent ," he informs me as he intensely studies me, absently running a hand over his beard.
Yep. I'm off to a great start. One of my other wealthy clients, who will help afford a good life, is getting a memorable first impression of me.
"Very nice to meet you, Mr. Crescent . I usually wear clothes. Would you like to come inside?" I ask, the overheating gone as I quickly start pulling my clothes back on.
All my necklaces are clanging together, the protective charms tangling and jingling as I jostle around, drawing more gloriously awkward attention my way with the noise.
A few other people are on the street and gawking. Some are taking pictures…or possibly live-streaming this entire situation, so I make sure to hide my face and just give them my mostly panty-clad ass. The fun never ends.
I'm going to be the crazy gypsy girl of the town. Awesome.
I was the crazy gypsy girl in the last town too. Shit happens.