Hiya! I'm new here, so I'm just going to say that I'm from Spain and I'm completely in love with our two girls (and I can see that everybody here does, too :P), so hello everyone and please, don't be so much hard with me because obviously, English isn't my first language, so I probably will do some grammar errors (I hope you forgive me).

Well, about this story… my little sister bought last month the videogame 'Grand Theft Auto V', and my mind started racing about mixing Los Santos world with our favorite characters, BUT this is not like a crossover, and the history doesn't happen in an imaginary city, instead of that, I've chosen San Francisco.

I hope you like this :D I'll post every time I could, maybe weekly. Kisses for everybody!

GRAND SKIN FIRE, CHAPTER 1.

1. EMILY FITCH. CHERRY.

She used to hate her life. Her mind raced like crazy (in fact, still does) and she just felt out of place wherever. Every day of her fucking life since she was 15, she felt it. Like a fish without water. Like a lion without meat. She started to smoke when she was 16 because she loved the feeling, wasted, killing herself so slowly. Maybe that's why she went away, who knows… maybe that's why she left. Well, it was her fucking mother's fault, but she couldn't call her 'mother' without having nauseas. In fact, she never called her mother, she was just Jenna, and although she loved her poor father to bits, her mother would always be Jenna: a fucking bigoted woman.

So, yeah, let's talk about Emily. When she was 16, she was on the streets. Surviving and fighting, and doing some shitty things that she'd never thought she could do, but hey… life didn't ever mean so much for her, then.

She killed once. Well, killed… it was that girl, Sophia, a fucking moron. Maybe it was the best to do, but she didn't even want to think about it. Sophia was successfully saved on the black hole of her heart. In fact, the following day of that death, she dyed her hair: cherry red. She was, possibly 18 or 19, no more. She was a fucking young lady that though that the life couldn't be worse.

It could. When she met Cook, her life went worse than before, probably the worst it could be. She didn't work for him, well, she never wanted to and she never did, but he knew. He knew about her life, about Sophia… he knew too much. She felt trapped at first, but Cook wasn't as bad as she though and they became friends after a while.

Everything wasn't that bad. She won a proper life, Cook gave her some money. A nice flat on Downtown, Los Angeles, her motorbike, and knowing that her money had the word 'drug' printed on it, but well, she couldn't care. It was that, or death.

Emily reached the 24 and she felt lost. A year without hearing nothing about Cook, some random shag in night clubs with a person she knew… shit. Pure damn shit.

She moved. She decided to move, well. She wanted to erase the pain inside her, she wanted the fuss, she wanted that no-control situation that she usually had and she lost when Cook went away… all those things, came together one Thursday night, when she was on a filthy pub in the middle of Los Angeles, drinking a beer, listening some Johnny Cash (fucking cliché for a pub, isn't it?) music and trying, for once, not to think. Then, someone cleared his throat, and when she saw HIM, she wanted to feel something.

She didn't.

"I never thought that I'd see you again."

And she laughed, so hard, so empty, because fuck, he really had his point. She thought that it would be better if he wasn't seeing her, but he did. "It seems that life is being good with you, Jam-Jamiekins." And she meant it. Her brother looked so good. Almost nine years without seeing him and he grew up so much. He wasn't her little brother anymore. He was like nothing. She could be civil, at least.

"Come on, Emsy, would you hug your little brother?"

She smirked and shook her head, what the fuck he thought? Anyway, she replied. "Why are you here, fucking worm? You don't even have 18 years old." He shushed her and sitting by her side, Emily had to roll her eyes because, perfect, it was fucking perfect. She just wanted to have a beer wherever she could and her brother appeared. And it was so, so weird. "Oh, I see…" she said, sarcastically "you want to re-catch or some bully shit like that."

"Hey, I just heard that you come here some days and well, I've been here twice. I wanted to see you."

She laughed: fucking funny, that kid. It was not like he was guilty, but in nine years, he could have tried it better. "And all this sudden interest appears becaaaaause…"

He cleared his throat again, looking at her straight on her deep brown eyes. She smiled… her pervy brother had changed her voice and he seemed like a proper young boy. His sandy hair and his big hands remained her at her father.

"Look, Katie tried to find you so hard during all those years. You won't believe it, probably, but I don't give a shit about th…"

"Pffffffft, don't make me laugh." She cut him, taking a sip of her beer and asked the waited for another. Emily stared at her brother, raising an eyebrow. "Do you want one, kiddo? I promise that I won't tell Jenna about it."

He did an angry face to her, putting his fists on the table. "FUCK OFF, EMILY."

"Yeaaaaah, come on. Fuck off, as always, isn't it?" she raised her voice, looking at him and then, all the people in the bar turned around to see them "Do you know what, Jamie? You are disturbing me so much."

He sighed, shaking his head and looking at her, again. "She… Katie is in San Francisco. Lincoln Boulevard. Maybe you…"

"HOLY SHIT!" she exclaimed, downing another beer and cutting his little brother and his speech about Katie "How many fucking cocks has she swallowed to live there? Anyway, let me think about it… nope. I don't give a fucking shit." She laughed because the situation was totally worth it.

"You are drunk." He said, a little bit worried.

She just smirked, again. "Who cares, James? Wow, it's so fucking late for a girl like me. Being alone in the streets, you know." She teased her brother, standing up. "Yeah, send my best wishes to Jenna and daddy, jeez… a fucking kick on their asses too, if you can."

When she rubbed the long hair of her brother and went outside the bar, she knew it was over. She shook her head, smiling: what the fuck was that? She could see the worry on her brother eyes but she didn't feel anything. She looked like shit, but she was just like shit, so who cared? She didn't want Jamie's pity. She didn't even want a brother.

In that moment, she thought about her sister. Katie Fucking Fitch, hahaha, that fucking stubborn cow was living in one of the richest zones of all San Francisco. Yes, she felt it for Katie, she always did and she always would. Fuck's sake, she was her twin sister! She felt horrible then, and she grabbed a fucking fag and smoked like a gas machine. Fucking Katie… the curiosity filled every inch of her body.

One of the best things of being 'Emily' is that she had a fast mind. She always had, in fact, and she reached her mobile phone on her purse, dialing the proper buttons. After three tones and a fucking world of impatience, she listened it, and she smiled.

"CHEEEEERRYHEEEEAD! Are you still alive or what?" She laughed. Thomas Tomone was like that. A fucking black guy and his fucking black family and his fucking nigga accent, and his fucking swagger mafia too, but she loved him. It was marvelous, in fact. He was born in Senegal, Cameroon or a place like that, but when he was 11, he immigrated to the States, to live the American dream. The place of opportunities, they say. He lived in San Francisco since two years ago, and yeah, he owed her a great favor. She was wasted but she was clever, so, so clever.

"So do you, I see… listen Tommo, I need something."

He laughed and Emily smiled because Thomas laugh was clean, and fresh. "I'm ALL ears, babe."

It was easy. She just needed to check a little thing. Obviously, her sister, Katie Fitch, had something to do, there. She wasn't surprised about the reply of her friend at all, because he was nice. And when she asked, he replied. Easy.

"I know her! She's married with a famous bloke, Frederick McClair, hahaha, the moron… do you know him?"

Yep, she knew him. Well, everybody did… he was famous because his family owed a fucking luxury cars company. He was a TV star too, he ran a TV show about car races and all that shit, so she didn't lie about it. "Yeah, I do."

"They have paparazzi glued to their asses every day, every night, 24/7, I tell you. She's hot, that girl… enormous tits, fit body… in fact, she's a little bit like you, Cherry."

She smiled. "Just a coincidence, man." His laugh was stronger and she rolled her eyes, because as it wasn't evident that they were twins… anyway, Thomas was a good man, at least, it didn't carry so many problems with him and she used to enjoy his company sometimes.

"OH, OH! Before I forget about it, guess who made a great appearance here, like a week ago? JAMES COOK!"

And she swallowed, because James Cook meant shit, and darkness, but she missed him like crazy, and well, she didn't want some things that the boy carried with him, not right then, but she needed him, eventually. He made her life interesting. "And his damn head is on what?"

"I'd really like to know it."

They ended hanging out the call and Emily jumped on her motorbike, Harley Davidson. Cook's present, obviously, and maybe stolen. She painted it: red, she changed the tires: red. All red (as her).

That night, she turned on her little TV, stretching on the couch and with a can of beer on her right hand, and she laughed. She laughed so hard when she saw her fucking sister on live, on a fucking gossip press show.

"Fu-cking hell." She mumbled, shaking her head.

When she felt asleep, minutes later, drunk and smiley, she knew it. Of course she fucking knew it.

Los Angeles was over.

And there, some days after that night, there she was. Sitting in her motorbike, looking at the fucking Golden Gate with a huge grin on her face and smoking a cigarette. Feeling like new.

There she was and there she would be.

"Let's kick this fucking city." She shouted, looking at the flashing lights, the skyscrapers… the smoke running through her veins, her lungs, her body and her soul. She threw it down to the floor and pulled up her motorbike. She started in that 'mostly' new city. And she drove faster than ever.

She rented a motel room for a week, in Geary Street, because she had money. Of course she had. She sold her fucking flat to an Indian family, six in a flat of two (but she didn't care, as always).

She didn't believe in banks so she saved all her money in a little safe box, under the motel's bed. That was all she needed for then. The room was shit, really shit, but she had a TV, a bed, a closet and a clean bathroom. It was enough.

A Los Angeles Lakers sweaty purple jersey, with O'neal 34 number that she bough when she was young, baggy pants, broken white sneakers. Greasy hair, woolen grey hat, an Obey cap, a metallic piercing in the middle of her bottom lip and an arm's tattoo in latin language where it could read 'Ergo sum id quot sum', something like 'I am what I am', the fucking song by Gloria Gaynor. That was her lifestyle.

She was Emily Fitch. She was Cherry and she came to cause some trouble.

[…]

If you want it, let's do it.

Ride it, my pony.

My saddle, is waitin'

Come and, jump on it.

Jump, jump, jump, jump…

The bass, running through her ears. Her feet, moving. Her head, fuzzy, as usually. She didn't like when she was sober because her mind was faster than her. She drank because she didn't want to consume coke, or powder, or MDMA, or whatever cool new drug someone offered her. She didn't want to and she wouldn't, in fact, she lived well with her beers, her cheap vodka, her cigarettes and her occasional weed.

'If Jenna saw me, she would feel disappointed. I like it.' She thought smiling.

She left the night club as soon as she felt bored, because Cherry was like that. She was bored, she went: easy, wasn't it?

"Hey, you… do you have a lighter?"

She was walking. Just walking. She liked to walk sometimes because no one disturbed her. She wasn't innocent, and pure, and anyone wanted to have a word with her because she always was wearing an angry and empty face.

When she listened that voice, she turned around and offered that girl her lighter.

"A fucking nice person in San Francisco, hoo-ray." She was beautiful. Rather, beautiful. Her blue eyes, her brunette, almost black hair and her curious smirk. Emily thought that she wouldn't mind have a girl like that in her bed, yeah… Emily Fitch was gay. As a window. She lived so well, with that.

"I'm not from here."

The other girl smiled, lighting the fag. "As I've said, not so many nice people around here. Thanks for the lighter, ehm…"

"Cherry." She replied, and the other girl just smirked.

"Eff. Nice name, by the way."

TA-DA! That's all for now :)

Really hope you'll like my weird mind, haha.

PS: the song I used in this chapter, could be "Rihanna – Jump" or "Ginuwine – My Pony", whatever you like to listen.

#MARV.