Hello, my dear readers. I'm back!
Sorry about the little lapse, I
went on vacation! You forgive me
right? Good. Okay, well, part
four is finally out. And I have
to give much thanks to my great
editor, Aurora Dream, for revising
and proofreading my story. Thanks
so much, Aurora! That thanks
also extends to my loyal readers
who took the time to email me.
Okay, guys, hope you like this one.
Dreamwriter_1234@yahoo.com
(an email would be nice ^_^)
Disclaimer: Yeah right, like I
own Sailor Moon. Ha. But, I
do own this story.
Chronicle Four
Howling like an injured wolf, I tumbled out of my cluttered
bed sheets and crawled to my bathroom. Normally, I am not reduced
to such a sorry state of "Drama Queen," but it was that dreaded
time of the month again, a week of unnecessary blood loss. It was
amazing how a simple excretion of blood could trigger a perpetual
storm cloud to loom above me, but lo and behold, I, Miss Sunshine,
was as joyous as the Grinch on Christmas Day.
The world screeched to a halt as I eagerly shook my trusty
pink box and only one plastic wrapped tube rolled out onto my fist.
Uncertain to whether the extreme loss of blood was causing me to
hallucinate, I frantically waved the cardboard box around.
Nothing.
At that exact moment, I deduced that Fate was purposefully
cruel to me. There must be heavenly deities high above who found
my pitiful lack of luck extremely hilarious. They were probably
rolling around on the clouds, laughing so hard that their sides
hurt while I was sprawled out on my bathroom floor with one tampon
left. Angrily casting the cardboard object across the room, I
forced myself to my feet.
"Be strong, Serena. Be the paragon for every strong woman."
Hmm, that sounded like a fairly creative ad for a Secret deodorant
commercial.
It was time for Operation Feminine Overlord.
Without an ounce of makeup, meaning no eyeliner, lip gloss,
mascara, nada, I slipped on athletic sandals and trudged to my car.
Listlessly, I glanced down at my wardrobe, realizing that I was
still donning my favorite pair of smiley face boxers and a black
T-shirt that flashed my six pack (of loose skin).
Fashion Police: You, in those ridiculous shorts, pull over this
minute.
Shrugging at my comically unstylish reflection in the
mirror, I decided not to pull over and change. Since the grocery
store workers seen me in much worse get ups, I was fairly confident
they could handle my pajamas. Plus, I reasoned, it was a quiet
Sunday morning. Most people were just rousing from a rowdy Saturday
night or dragging themselves to church. Aside from the menstruating
blonde restocking in her supplies, who could possibly be awake?
Cold air blew against me as I entered the market, getting
the usual raised eyebrows from the workers. A few even waved
enthusiastically at me. Unfortunately, I had caused quite a ruckus
one time when I had tried to insert my cart into the extremely
crammed cart disposal. I was too preoccupied with cursing colorfully
and training all my energy into my cart to notice that the flimsy
chain suddenly snapped, allowing an entire stream of accidents-on-
wheels to rapidly escape. With my mouth open wide enough that a
mutant fly would easily enter in and helpless tears rolling down
my cheeks, I watched as the flood of carts began to cover the black
asphalt, each one deliberately aiming for the priciest vehicle
parked. Releasing a fierce battle cry, I began to sprint frantically
across the parking lot, running in complete circles, zig-zags,
squares, oblongs just to somewhat save my car insurance of
the compiling bill. Probably thrown off by the strange gurgle
that came out of my throat, customers and cart boys alike came out
to witness "that crazy blonde woman" zooming back and forth across
the parking lot. A few astute ones offered their assistance, and
thank goodness only five out of the fifteen carts managed to lightly
"tap" any scrap of metal. The cart boys had surrounded me, handing
me tissues and candy, which slightly brightened my mood, but I was
hoping that one would offer to cover the cost of the miniscule
scratches. After that proud incident, I became an instant grocery
star.
From that moment, whenever I made my presence known, I
noticed at least one cart boy would stand guard in the parking
lot, the poor lad appointed to somehow prevent another situation
from happening. Inject embarrassed sigh. I could hardly blame
them. For the entirety of my life, Lady Luck acted quite indecent
towards me.
Yelping as my stomach clenched in another painful cramp,
I scurried towards "women only" section, quickly seized a container
of tampons, and scurried to the "less than 10 items" check out.
"Good morning. How are you today?" I chirped, smiling
into the face of the bubble gum chewing teenager. With an impatient
toss of her pink ponytail, she gave me a "shove it, lady" look
and wordlessly rang up my purchase.
Well, wasn't she a precious bundle of joy this morning.
I fiercely fought the temptation to reach over and tightly pinch
one of her rouged cheeks like my overzealous, smooch ready
grandmother. But upon zeroing in on the mounds of foundation
layering on her skin, that temptation instantly died.
"Four dollars and eighty-two cents," she sighed in a droll
voice as she began to inflate her neon purple gum. Humming an
old tune, I opened up my purse.
And cursed. (I realize I really do need to do something
about my potty mouth, ladies do not curse in public facilities!)
"Heh…it seems to me that I forgot my money…," I fumbled.
Miss Bundles of Joy popped her gigantic bubble, revealing a pair
of rolling eyes and a scowling mouth. I wasn't sure exactly what
gave me the ultimate hint, but I was beginning to believe that
she was not a morning person. Perhaps it was the perpetual
frown or murderous glower.
"Here, I'll write you check." Never mind that it would
be for four dollars and eighty-two cents.
Deliberately sighing loudly, she pointed to the large
sign boldly and brightly blinking 'Cash Only, Idiot.' Okay, the
last adjective was added inside my head, but my already suffering
ego felt no larger than my pinky toe.
Annoying voice inside my head: Way to go, slick. You're on a roll
today.
I really hated that voice inside my head, I couldn't decide
if it was my long dead Great Aunt Verna who came back to haunt
me for purposefully slipping a toad into her soup at my ninth
birthday party or simply my conscience. She couldn't still be
angry with me; I thought I had been quite generous by not choosing
the mutant frog. The voice resembled her in numerous ways: nagging,
nasally, too outspoken, unwanted.
"Do you accept Visa?"
"No," was the flat, close to homicidal answer. Without a
doubt, I was on this teenager's list of cherished customers.
Dumping every item stored in my purse out onto the counter,
(I reddened slightly when a moldy, half eaten doughnut from two
months ago accidentally rolled out) I began to scrounge for pennies
and nickels.
"Hold on, two, four, six, and eight…"
"Is there something the matter here?" a silky tenor questioned.
Suddenly stopping mid count in my round up of shiny coins, (to my
joy I had salvaged about two dollars in pennies) I twirled around
and became scrunched face to broad chest with my worst enemy.
Slowly, my gaze traveled over the wonderful expanse of his business
jacket, flickered over annoyingly kissable lips twisted into a
sardonic grin, and finally rested at breathing taking blue eyes.
My damned, rebellious body, which never seemed to listen,
squirmed in anticipation when he leaned forward and seductively
whispered, "Good morning, Hughes." His intense, blue eyes slowly
descended, and with an arrogant smirk, he added, "Sexy boxers, by
the way."
Of course, as Fate would schedule it, the day that I actually
throw caution into the wind and sport my favorite pajamas, I confront
the most agitating, gorgeous man in Tokyo. Of course! Unconsciously
tugging the eye catching boxers down, I hoped to hide my wandering
thoughts by a fierce frown. Is this how his latest sack session
buddy, the one who replaced my seat at the ballet, was greeted in
the mornings? What a lovely way to be woken up, two deliciously
sensual lips only two millimeters from my mouth.
WAIT! Rewind.
This gorgeous Neanderthal was not a possible bedmate, I
fervently reprimanded my racing heart.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded, breathing
fire as I glared angrily up at him. Attempting to appear menacing
and unapproachable, I shook my fist at him, but that only caused
the massive pile of pennies I held to disperse everywhere. One
copper coin struck one, half-asleep gentleman smack dab at the
center of his forehead, rousing him from his check out nap.
Ducking my head, I bent down to hoard every sparkling piece of
metal, all while nailing Darien with the most hateful expression.
To be perfectly honest, I was not cross about the fact
that the Armani clad bastard physically taunted me, chose not to
accompany me to my favorite ballet, and then flaunted it in my
humiliated face. No, no I was hardly cross.
I was absolutely furious.
And what further enraged me was the fact that it was
extremely difficult for me to stop staring at his luscious,
grinning mouth, which had been so cruelly close to kissing me.
"Here, I'm sorry this lady did not have the right amount,"
his dark head nodded at my growing collection of pennies, "but here
is ten dollars to cover both of our purchases, and keep the change
as a bonus for your patience." And with his heart melting grin to
further soothe the tense moment, Miss Bundles of Joy accepted the
bill with the most flirtatious, loving smile on her face.
Question of the Day: Okay, am I the only woman residing in
Tokyo who, regardless of age, is NOT bewitched by his overwhelming
'mojo?'
My fellow colleagues of the weaker sex are too susceptible,
sometimes, almost shamefully susceptible. It only takes one, decent
looking guy (Darien was downright gorgeous, but that was beside the
point) to stroll by and BAM, hook, line and sinker…we're suddenly
in love with this stranger. Of course, I do not exclude myself in
this tendency, but at least I can point out a true, cocky bastard
out of a crowd, such as Darien.
"Look, I'm really sorry about this," I tried to offer,
and instantly her radiant smile was gulped up by a vicious
frown.
"Whatever, lady."
Oh no, this stick of a teenager, who probably did not need
to worry about her expanding hips and stomach, did not just take
that tone with me. Here I am, on the verge of shock because of my
immense blood loss, while she was enjoying air conditioning and a
(underserved) bonus!
"Well...excuuuse me, miss, but I truly did not mean to come
unprepared. I'm trying to apologize here...hey, will you let me
go!"
I found that my Hero from Hell had grabbed me by my collar
and dragged me outside. Any attempts to swat and kick at him were
futile, so I managed to throw in a few more fighting words at Bundles
of Sunshine before her mutinous expression was out of my sight. I
tried to dig my heels into the ground, but that only scuffed up my
favorite pair of sandals, so I settled for waving dismally at the
passing cart boys.
"Can you explain to me why I have this tendency to run into
you in the worst situations," Darien remarked when he finally released
me in the parking lot, crossing his defined arms across his chest
as he focused midnight blue eyes on me. Against my permission, my
eyes wandered over the lovely breadth of his shoulders and the muscles
pressing against his neatly ironed, button down dress shirt. Also
against my will, I was bombarded with memories in the abandoned alley,
his hard body pressing tightly against mine, his luscious lips running
tantalizing paths across my face and sensitive neck...
Bad Serena: Do it again, lover boy.
Serena's Spider Senses: Due to sudden movement of hormones, body
temperature is rapidly rising.
Bad Serena: Oh, it's definitely getting hot out
here!
No! I could not allow myself to be distracted. As I
squashed those intruding thoughts, I tried to concoct a witty
response to his amused inquiry.
"Uhh…," I stammered, licking my suddenly dry lips.
No one ever said I was the sharpest tool in the shed, but
I had always been proud of my slight ability to spar with Darien.
How in the world could I possibly be quick on my feet when an image
of Darien slowly unbuttoning my blouse while wetly kissing my
collarbone and running his hands across my arching body would not
leave my mind?
"How the hell should I know, Einstein?" I was tempted to
share my theory on his inherent radar that always managed to
pinpoint me during an embarrassing situation, but because of my
fear of ridicule and out-and-out laughter, I didn't.
"Maybe Fate is trying to tell us something," he patiently
suggested as he tucked a blonde cowlick behind my ear.
Tartly slapping away his soothing touch, I grumbled, "Yeah,
like to get a restraining order on you."
"I'm very proud of you, it's not usual for women to react so
swiftly when it's early in the morning and they're menstruating," he
said, patting me on the head as he produced the pink box. He might
have as well thrown a juicy steak in the midst of starving wolves…
"Give me that!" I shouted, reaching for my cherished blood
plugs.
"Now, now, don't be greedy," grinned my sadistic adversary,
dangling my precious babies above my head while I jumped up and
earnestly attempted to retrieve them. Exploding into a fit of
incoherent noises, I stamped my foot and seriously considered
kicking his shins. It would be a low hit, but absolutely worth it.
Clearly finding my sad efforts highly amusing, he tilted
his head and maintained a solemn expression while he read the
description, "For those heavy days. Oh, you poor thing, you must
be quite desperate for these, huh?"
"Desperate enough to attack anyone, or in your case,
anything, that stands in my way!"
"I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be scared or excited
by that comment."
"Like I would ever attack you on the basis of some weak
sexual urge." To create the full effect of disgust and disbelief,
I snorted (very unladylike, might I add) and rolled my eyes much
like that blasted teenager inside, who was weighed down by the
pounds of foundation on her face.
"I was generous enough to lend you the necessary funds
to purchase these items. Don't you think I deserve something?"
"You make it sound like I just took out a massive
loan. It was only ten dollars."
"So ungrateful."
"Since it looks like you're scraping by in those Armani
suits, I'll be sure to reimburse you."
"I certainly didn't have money in mind."
Serena's Spider Senses: Warning, warning! Sexual favors could
be asked in a matter of seconds.
"Of course, how could I be so blind? I have something
perfect in mind," I provocatively suggested, batting my eyelids as
I playfully toyed with his forest green, silk tie (which ended a
wee bit close to his belt line). His eyes intensely watching when
I intentionally brushed one finger across his rippling stomach, I
smiled slowly and seductively as I purred, "Bend over."
I began to laugh evilly, after all, the man deserved more
than a kick in the ass after his show of foreplay in the alley, when
suddenly an iron grip closed on my flattened hand. He leaned forward,
his nose barely touching mine, his proximity bombarding my senses.
"I don't enjoy being teased, Hughes," he growled.
"Funny, neither do I."
"I wouldn't have to if you didn't deliberately provoke me."
"Hey, I'm not the one who took the damn liberties to seduce
me in an abandoned alley!"
"So," he drawled enticingly as he rested his forehead against
mine, "you admit you were seduced?"
"Isn't that what I just said? Is your colossal ego making
you hard of hearing?" I snapped, and instantly attempted to escape
his pervading heat when I felt strong arms encircle my waist. Eyes
narrowing threateningly, I glared daggers, no, gleaming swords, at
the cad and rudely demanded that he release me before I sexually
crippled him.
"I just wanted to confirm the fact that you were seduced,
because the word seduction entails that you enjoyed it."
I chewed on my lip as I dug beneath his hogwash and translated
his words into blonde language. In other words, I had liked his
teasing touches and hot kisses. Well...DUH! But I'd rather be tied
up and tickled to death than ever admit to that arrogant bastard that
if he hadn't taken control of the situation, I would have clubbed him
over the head and drug him to my bed. Although, the thought of Darien
helpless struck me quite appealing...
Extreme blood loss combined with a pathetic lack of sex was
transforming me into a freak obsessed with kinky handcuffs and underwear
for two. I really needed to get out more, maybe allow myself to fall
victim to more blind dates.
"At least I know I can affect you somehow, ice princess," he
murmured, running his thumb across my extremely sensitive hip bone.
His drop dead gorgeous face was softened by an expression completely
foreign for a narcissistic jerk like Darien: uncertainty. This left
me momentarily stunned, because whenever he made passes at me before,
he exuded absolute smoothness. In the midst of my pondering, I had
somehow forgotten that I was in the arms of my worst enemy. I had
absolutely no clue how, or even why, when I fiercely reminded myself
that I did not enjoy his touch. My hormones did.
"Can we return to the main issue of this stupid conversation?"
"What was the main issue?"
Good question. Common sense was gradually leaking out of my
brain as Darien deliberately ran a lazy circle on the arch of my back
with his pointer finger. I couldn't permit this womanizing Adonis to
distract me; I had to clear the hazy fog clouding my brain.
"Didn't I kindly ask you to let me go?"
"Kindly? Isn't that stretching it?
"When dealing with you, etiquette is never high on my list of
priorities."
"Ouch, I'm hurt by that statement."
"Let me go, Langston."
"And if I don't?"
"You won't like the consequences," my voice dripped venomous
sweetness.
"Try me...damn it, Hughes!" immediately, he complied with my
orders and hopped around on one expensive, Italian leather shoe while
holding one, bruised limb. Yes, I had hopped off my pedestal of honor
and soundly kicked at his shins. I should have felt guilty, horrible;
instead, satisfaction gripped me as I cackled wickedly and clapped. No
one, not even the untouchable Darien, was permitted to shred my ego to
smithereens and escaped! I was invincible! I was unstoppable! I was...
"Serena Diana Hughes!" a powerful voice suddenly shattered my
victory.
Shit. There was only one person who could make me cringe with
a simple alteration of their voice. Gulping loudly, I turned away from
the sputtering, cursing man and faced the most formidable force ruling
my life.
"Hi, Mom," I innocently smiled and affectionately kissed her
cheek. Too cultured and hardened in my ways to be tricked by my
Shirley Temple act, she placed her hand on her hips, an all too familiar
motherly pose, and pointed to my enemy.
"Spare me, honey. Why did you just kick that young man?"
"Young man? Where?"
"Serena!"
"Oh! That young man!" I turned towards Darien, stepping
backwards as if utterly shocked to discover a good looking businessman
bending down to inspect the rising welt on his shins. I pressed my
lips together to avoid from laughing at his concentrated expression.
"Are you all right, honey?" my dear, unknowing mother
questioned.
"I'm fine, just taken by surprise, that's all."
"My Serena never did grow out of her kicking stage." Mother
Dearest lifted a questioning brow when she noted my apparel.
Before she could throw in a few insults, I hastily interjected.
"Yes, I know I am wearing smiley face boxers, Mom. And I grew
out of it just fine, thank you."
"Ahh, so you are the beautiful Mrs. Hughes. A pleasure to meet
you," the jerk massaged his sore shin before turning his charm to
'Impress the Mother' level. Critically eyeing him, I noted that his
smile grew brighter, his posture was straighter, and his handshake
gentler, yet firm. I had the distinct sensation that he had memorized
and practiced this act with astounding precision and accuracy.
"What a charmer! What's your name, again, young man?"
"Darien Langston."
"Yes, I remember you. You dated Rei a while back ago?"
"Yes, we're still good friends now."
"I've heard a few, unpleasant stories about you from my
daughter. I was imaging an ogre, but you're the complete opposite!"
my mother, another victim to his mojo, remarked incredulously.
"That's good to hear. But I can only imagine the stories
you have heard about me. Your daughter and I have an interesting
relationship."
"By interesting he means deranged and murderous," I quipped.
Pointedly ignoring my snide comment, my mother crossed her
arms and questioned, "When I last heard about you, I heard you were
climbing the ranks in your father's company."
"With help from daddy, no doubt." In response to my
impressive show of wit, my mother rewarded me with her ever deadly,
paralytic, 'You-better-behave-or-else' stare. It was a look that
still possessed enough poison to make me nearly pee in my pants, and,
probably during my younger years, did.
"Yes, it helps to have a father who left a huge legacy in
business, but I've been working hard so I'm not another one of
those spoiled, pampered brats."
"That must be difficult, I'm sure there's much speculation
and gossiping."
I tilted my head when my mother concernedly remarked this,
Icould have sworn her hooded gaze swung over to me.
"Of course there is, but it all comes with the job."
"It's all a façade, Mom. Don't believe a word he says,"
I stated, crossing my arms as I glowered into his lop sided smile.
My fuming a clear source of amusement to him, Darien winked
engagingly at me.
"That's true, you never know with men." She gazed sharply
at his ruggedly striking face, measuring every aspect of his
appearance with a critical eye. "But there's something about this man
that I like."
Great, within five minutes, the bastard managed to win over
my tougher than nails mother, a feat that past boyfriends never
managed to accomplish, especially after suffering daddy dear's
pee-inducing interrogations. Have I mentioned that my darling father
used to be a hardened Marine officer?
"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." As if it were an everyday matter,
he slipped a strong arm around me, his palm resting on my tense bicep.
Flinching at the electricity when he casually massaged my muscles, I
instantly attempted to leap away, but found myself soundly pressed
against his muscular side. Although my bony elbows jabbed against his
ribs, he continued to smile warmly at my beaming mother. "I have a
question to ask you: do you think I am Serena's type?"
"You jerk! Mom, if you love me, you will not answer that
question!" I fumed, clamping onto her arm as I feverishly shook
her petite frame. She rattled for a few moments, extricated
herself from my death grip, and thoughtfully responded.
In my unbiased opinion, there was no need for thought or
cautiousness. The answer was QUITE obvious: absolutely not!
Couldn't my mother see right through his pretty boy smile and
equally pretty clothes to see he was a womanizer? He was one of
those types of guys who sat around at the country club gatherings,
bragging about his latest conquests, comparing how quickly it took
to lead the poor lamb to the slaughterhouse, otherwise known as
his love shack.
"To tell you the truth, honey, I'm not sure. Why don't
you ask Serena?"
"I can't believe we're having this conversation! I am
taking this opportunity to walk away before I say anything that
will make my mom slap me upside the head," I sulked, casting dark
glances at my opposing parties. Once again, Darien's oh so
overwhelming sex appeal had managed to confuse even the sharpest
mind in Tokyo, my own mother. She had become another traitor,
added to the list of my EX best friends.
Just as I inserted the key into my sputtering piece of
junk that I lovingly referred to as my car, supple lips brushed
against my extremely sensitive ear lobe, "You're acting childish,
Hughes."
Shrieking as I jumped a mile in the air, I whirled around
and found myself alarming close to his pinstriped, gray suit.
My mother had already disappeared into the market, leaving me alone
to fend off the unwanted advances of this stubborn Neanderthal.
How could she?!
"Watch yourself, Langston," I viciously snapped, but
instantly softened my voice as my eyelashes fluttered alluringly,
"unless you want me to add another welt to the lovely one already
growing on your shins."
Darien's eyes darkened to near midnight as he pressed
his hard length fully against me and raised his elbows on either
side of my head. Although I tried to remind myself how utterly
outraged I should be, I instantly felt light headed and weak
limbed when I felt every damn ripple and muscle bunch against me.
Two hands gripped my buttocks and brought me impossibly closer to
him, making me suddenly aware of his growing arousal. At that
moment, any smart ass comments decomposed to whimpers. My head
fell back against my car, exposing my neck to his hot, wet kisses.
"S-Stop..." came my daunting command.
"I will, Hughes, once you answer my question."
"What question?" The atmosphere was growing so unbearably
hot.
"Am I your type?"
He paused mid-kiss, his heavenly lips still against the
curve of my neck while he waited for my answer.
"What was your question again?"
I felt his mouth form into a satisfied smirk at my inability
to formulate and process words. Collecting a few figments of
intelligence, I listened intently to his inquiry.
"Am I?
"Are you what?
Growing frustrated with my stupidity, he paused and
impatiently restated, "Your type?"
"What's it to you?" I saucily shot back when he lifted his
head to steadily gaze at me.
"Because you sure as hell are my type."
Suddenly angry myself for easily giving in to his
intoxicating touch and just as easily forgetting how he carelessly
cast me aside in the alley, I pushed at his chest and shouted out
whatever comment my trusty brain managed to concoct.
"Oh really? I always thought your taste dipped into the
inflatable type!"
Serena's dignity: 2 (up from 1)
Darien ego: 1000
News at six o'clock: Residents spot a seemingly sane,
striking businessman hollering about inflatable sheep and a
painful revenge while chasing after shrieking blonde down
Taichi's Boulevard.
Gotta love Serena's sass, just gotta.
Well, there was part four. What's in
store for our heroine? Who knows, its
up to my muse. Email me or critique
and tell me what you think.
Dreamwriter_1234@yahoo.com
P.S. Oh, I just made up Taichi's Boulevard
off the top of my head. If it happens
to be a real street, what a coincidence!
Sorry about the little lapse, I
went on vacation! You forgive me
right? Good. Okay, well, part
four is finally out. And I have
to give much thanks to my great
editor, Aurora Dream, for revising
and proofreading my story. Thanks
so much, Aurora! That thanks
also extends to my loyal readers
who took the time to email me.
Okay, guys, hope you like this one.
Dreamwriter_1234@yahoo.com
(an email would be nice ^_^)
Disclaimer: Yeah right, like I
own Sailor Moon. Ha. But, I
do own this story.
Chronicle Four
Howling like an injured wolf, I tumbled out of my cluttered
bed sheets and crawled to my bathroom. Normally, I am not reduced
to such a sorry state of "Drama Queen," but it was that dreaded
time of the month again, a week of unnecessary blood loss. It was
amazing how a simple excretion of blood could trigger a perpetual
storm cloud to loom above me, but lo and behold, I, Miss Sunshine,
was as joyous as the Grinch on Christmas Day.
The world screeched to a halt as I eagerly shook my trusty
pink box and only one plastic wrapped tube rolled out onto my fist.
Uncertain to whether the extreme loss of blood was causing me to
hallucinate, I frantically waved the cardboard box around.
Nothing.
At that exact moment, I deduced that Fate was purposefully
cruel to me. There must be heavenly deities high above who found
my pitiful lack of luck extremely hilarious. They were probably
rolling around on the clouds, laughing so hard that their sides
hurt while I was sprawled out on my bathroom floor with one tampon
left. Angrily casting the cardboard object across the room, I
forced myself to my feet.
"Be strong, Serena. Be the paragon for every strong woman."
Hmm, that sounded like a fairly creative ad for a Secret deodorant
commercial.
It was time for Operation Feminine Overlord.
Without an ounce of makeup, meaning no eyeliner, lip gloss,
mascara, nada, I slipped on athletic sandals and trudged to my car.
Listlessly, I glanced down at my wardrobe, realizing that I was
still donning my favorite pair of smiley face boxers and a black
T-shirt that flashed my six pack (of loose skin).
Fashion Police: You, in those ridiculous shorts, pull over this
minute.
Shrugging at my comically unstylish reflection in the
mirror, I decided not to pull over and change. Since the grocery
store workers seen me in much worse get ups, I was fairly confident
they could handle my pajamas. Plus, I reasoned, it was a quiet
Sunday morning. Most people were just rousing from a rowdy Saturday
night or dragging themselves to church. Aside from the menstruating
blonde restocking in her supplies, who could possibly be awake?
Cold air blew against me as I entered the market, getting
the usual raised eyebrows from the workers. A few even waved
enthusiastically at me. Unfortunately, I had caused quite a ruckus
one time when I had tried to insert my cart into the extremely
crammed cart disposal. I was too preoccupied with cursing colorfully
and training all my energy into my cart to notice that the flimsy
chain suddenly snapped, allowing an entire stream of accidents-on-
wheels to rapidly escape. With my mouth open wide enough that a
mutant fly would easily enter in and helpless tears rolling down
my cheeks, I watched as the flood of carts began to cover the black
asphalt, each one deliberately aiming for the priciest vehicle
parked. Releasing a fierce battle cry, I began to sprint frantically
across the parking lot, running in complete circles, zig-zags,
squares, oblongs just to somewhat save my car insurance of
the compiling bill. Probably thrown off by the strange gurgle
that came out of my throat, customers and cart boys alike came out
to witness "that crazy blonde woman" zooming back and forth across
the parking lot. A few astute ones offered their assistance, and
thank goodness only five out of the fifteen carts managed to lightly
"tap" any scrap of metal. The cart boys had surrounded me, handing
me tissues and candy, which slightly brightened my mood, but I was
hoping that one would offer to cover the cost of the miniscule
scratches. After that proud incident, I became an instant grocery
star.
From that moment, whenever I made my presence known, I
noticed at least one cart boy would stand guard in the parking
lot, the poor lad appointed to somehow prevent another situation
from happening. Inject embarrassed sigh. I could hardly blame
them. For the entirety of my life, Lady Luck acted quite indecent
towards me.
Yelping as my stomach clenched in another painful cramp,
I scurried towards "women only" section, quickly seized a container
of tampons, and scurried to the "less than 10 items" check out.
"Good morning. How are you today?" I chirped, smiling
into the face of the bubble gum chewing teenager. With an impatient
toss of her pink ponytail, she gave me a "shove it, lady" look
and wordlessly rang up my purchase.
Well, wasn't she a precious bundle of joy this morning.
I fiercely fought the temptation to reach over and tightly pinch
one of her rouged cheeks like my overzealous, smooch ready
grandmother. But upon zeroing in on the mounds of foundation
layering on her skin, that temptation instantly died.
"Four dollars and eighty-two cents," she sighed in a droll
voice as she began to inflate her neon purple gum. Humming an
old tune, I opened up my purse.
And cursed. (I realize I really do need to do something
about my potty mouth, ladies do not curse in public facilities!)
"Heh…it seems to me that I forgot my money…," I fumbled.
Miss Bundles of Joy popped her gigantic bubble, revealing a pair
of rolling eyes and a scowling mouth. I wasn't sure exactly what
gave me the ultimate hint, but I was beginning to believe that
she was not a morning person. Perhaps it was the perpetual
frown or murderous glower.
"Here, I'll write you check." Never mind that it would
be for four dollars and eighty-two cents.
Deliberately sighing loudly, she pointed to the large
sign boldly and brightly blinking 'Cash Only, Idiot.' Okay, the
last adjective was added inside my head, but my already suffering
ego felt no larger than my pinky toe.
Annoying voice inside my head: Way to go, slick. You're on a roll
today.
I really hated that voice inside my head, I couldn't decide
if it was my long dead Great Aunt Verna who came back to haunt
me for purposefully slipping a toad into her soup at my ninth
birthday party or simply my conscience. She couldn't still be
angry with me; I thought I had been quite generous by not choosing
the mutant frog. The voice resembled her in numerous ways: nagging,
nasally, too outspoken, unwanted.
"Do you accept Visa?"
"No," was the flat, close to homicidal answer. Without a
doubt, I was on this teenager's list of cherished customers.
Dumping every item stored in my purse out onto the counter,
(I reddened slightly when a moldy, half eaten doughnut from two
months ago accidentally rolled out) I began to scrounge for pennies
and nickels.
"Hold on, two, four, six, and eight…"
"Is there something the matter here?" a silky tenor questioned.
Suddenly stopping mid count in my round up of shiny coins, (to my
joy I had salvaged about two dollars in pennies) I twirled around
and became scrunched face to broad chest with my worst enemy.
Slowly, my gaze traveled over the wonderful expanse of his business
jacket, flickered over annoyingly kissable lips twisted into a
sardonic grin, and finally rested at breathing taking blue eyes.
My damned, rebellious body, which never seemed to listen,
squirmed in anticipation when he leaned forward and seductively
whispered, "Good morning, Hughes." His intense, blue eyes slowly
descended, and with an arrogant smirk, he added, "Sexy boxers, by
the way."
Of course, as Fate would schedule it, the day that I actually
throw caution into the wind and sport my favorite pajamas, I confront
the most agitating, gorgeous man in Tokyo. Of course! Unconsciously
tugging the eye catching boxers down, I hoped to hide my wandering
thoughts by a fierce frown. Is this how his latest sack session
buddy, the one who replaced my seat at the ballet, was greeted in
the mornings? What a lovely way to be woken up, two deliciously
sensual lips only two millimeters from my mouth.
WAIT! Rewind.
This gorgeous Neanderthal was not a possible bedmate, I
fervently reprimanded my racing heart.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded, breathing
fire as I glared angrily up at him. Attempting to appear menacing
and unapproachable, I shook my fist at him, but that only caused
the massive pile of pennies I held to disperse everywhere. One
copper coin struck one, half-asleep gentleman smack dab at the
center of his forehead, rousing him from his check out nap.
Ducking my head, I bent down to hoard every sparkling piece of
metal, all while nailing Darien with the most hateful expression.
To be perfectly honest, I was not cross about the fact
that the Armani clad bastard physically taunted me, chose not to
accompany me to my favorite ballet, and then flaunted it in my
humiliated face. No, no I was hardly cross.
I was absolutely furious.
And what further enraged me was the fact that it was
extremely difficult for me to stop staring at his luscious,
grinning mouth, which had been so cruelly close to kissing me.
"Here, I'm sorry this lady did not have the right amount,"
his dark head nodded at my growing collection of pennies, "but here
is ten dollars to cover both of our purchases, and keep the change
as a bonus for your patience." And with his heart melting grin to
further soothe the tense moment, Miss Bundles of Joy accepted the
bill with the most flirtatious, loving smile on her face.
Question of the Day: Okay, am I the only woman residing in
Tokyo who, regardless of age, is NOT bewitched by his overwhelming
'mojo?'
My fellow colleagues of the weaker sex are too susceptible,
sometimes, almost shamefully susceptible. It only takes one, decent
looking guy (Darien was downright gorgeous, but that was beside the
point) to stroll by and BAM, hook, line and sinker…we're suddenly
in love with this stranger. Of course, I do not exclude myself in
this tendency, but at least I can point out a true, cocky bastard
out of a crowd, such as Darien.
"Look, I'm really sorry about this," I tried to offer,
and instantly her radiant smile was gulped up by a vicious
frown.
"Whatever, lady."
Oh no, this stick of a teenager, who probably did not need
to worry about her expanding hips and stomach, did not just take
that tone with me. Here I am, on the verge of shock because of my
immense blood loss, while she was enjoying air conditioning and a
(underserved) bonus!
"Well...excuuuse me, miss, but I truly did not mean to come
unprepared. I'm trying to apologize here...hey, will you let me
go!"
I found that my Hero from Hell had grabbed me by my collar
and dragged me outside. Any attempts to swat and kick at him were
futile, so I managed to throw in a few more fighting words at Bundles
of Sunshine before her mutinous expression was out of my sight. I
tried to dig my heels into the ground, but that only scuffed up my
favorite pair of sandals, so I settled for waving dismally at the
passing cart boys.
"Can you explain to me why I have this tendency to run into
you in the worst situations," Darien remarked when he finally released
me in the parking lot, crossing his defined arms across his chest
as he focused midnight blue eyes on me. Against my permission, my
eyes wandered over the lovely breadth of his shoulders and the muscles
pressing against his neatly ironed, button down dress shirt. Also
against my will, I was bombarded with memories in the abandoned alley,
his hard body pressing tightly against mine, his luscious lips running
tantalizing paths across my face and sensitive neck...
Bad Serena: Do it again, lover boy.
Serena's Spider Senses: Due to sudden movement of hormones, body
temperature is rapidly rising.
Bad Serena: Oh, it's definitely getting hot out
here!
No! I could not allow myself to be distracted. As I
squashed those intruding thoughts, I tried to concoct a witty
response to his amused inquiry.
"Uhh…," I stammered, licking my suddenly dry lips.
No one ever said I was the sharpest tool in the shed, but
I had always been proud of my slight ability to spar with Darien.
How in the world could I possibly be quick on my feet when an image
of Darien slowly unbuttoning my blouse while wetly kissing my
collarbone and running his hands across my arching body would not
leave my mind?
"How the hell should I know, Einstein?" I was tempted to
share my theory on his inherent radar that always managed to
pinpoint me during an embarrassing situation, but because of my
fear of ridicule and out-and-out laughter, I didn't.
"Maybe Fate is trying to tell us something," he patiently
suggested as he tucked a blonde cowlick behind my ear.
Tartly slapping away his soothing touch, I grumbled, "Yeah,
like to get a restraining order on you."
"I'm very proud of you, it's not usual for women to react so
swiftly when it's early in the morning and they're menstruating," he
said, patting me on the head as he produced the pink box. He might
have as well thrown a juicy steak in the midst of starving wolves…
"Give me that!" I shouted, reaching for my cherished blood
plugs.
"Now, now, don't be greedy," grinned my sadistic adversary,
dangling my precious babies above my head while I jumped up and
earnestly attempted to retrieve them. Exploding into a fit of
incoherent noises, I stamped my foot and seriously considered
kicking his shins. It would be a low hit, but absolutely worth it.
Clearly finding my sad efforts highly amusing, he tilted
his head and maintained a solemn expression while he read the
description, "For those heavy days. Oh, you poor thing, you must
be quite desperate for these, huh?"
"Desperate enough to attack anyone, or in your case,
anything, that stands in my way!"
"I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be scared or excited
by that comment."
"Like I would ever attack you on the basis of some weak
sexual urge." To create the full effect of disgust and disbelief,
I snorted (very unladylike, might I add) and rolled my eyes much
like that blasted teenager inside, who was weighed down by the
pounds of foundation on her face.
"I was generous enough to lend you the necessary funds
to purchase these items. Don't you think I deserve something?"
"You make it sound like I just took out a massive
loan. It was only ten dollars."
"So ungrateful."
"Since it looks like you're scraping by in those Armani
suits, I'll be sure to reimburse you."
"I certainly didn't have money in mind."
Serena's Spider Senses: Warning, warning! Sexual favors could
be asked in a matter of seconds.
"Of course, how could I be so blind? I have something
perfect in mind," I provocatively suggested, batting my eyelids as
I playfully toyed with his forest green, silk tie (which ended a
wee bit close to his belt line). His eyes intensely watching when
I intentionally brushed one finger across his rippling stomach, I
smiled slowly and seductively as I purred, "Bend over."
I began to laugh evilly, after all, the man deserved more
than a kick in the ass after his show of foreplay in the alley, when
suddenly an iron grip closed on my flattened hand. He leaned forward,
his nose barely touching mine, his proximity bombarding my senses.
"I don't enjoy being teased, Hughes," he growled.
"Funny, neither do I."
"I wouldn't have to if you didn't deliberately provoke me."
"Hey, I'm not the one who took the damn liberties to seduce
me in an abandoned alley!"
"So," he drawled enticingly as he rested his forehead against
mine, "you admit you were seduced?"
"Isn't that what I just said? Is your colossal ego making
you hard of hearing?" I snapped, and instantly attempted to escape
his pervading heat when I felt strong arms encircle my waist. Eyes
narrowing threateningly, I glared daggers, no, gleaming swords, at
the cad and rudely demanded that he release me before I sexually
crippled him.
"I just wanted to confirm the fact that you were seduced,
because the word seduction entails that you enjoyed it."
I chewed on my lip as I dug beneath his hogwash and translated
his words into blonde language. In other words, I had liked his
teasing touches and hot kisses. Well...DUH! But I'd rather be tied
up and tickled to death than ever admit to that arrogant bastard that
if he hadn't taken control of the situation, I would have clubbed him
over the head and drug him to my bed. Although, the thought of Darien
helpless struck me quite appealing...
Extreme blood loss combined with a pathetic lack of sex was
transforming me into a freak obsessed with kinky handcuffs and underwear
for two. I really needed to get out more, maybe allow myself to fall
victim to more blind dates.
"At least I know I can affect you somehow, ice princess," he
murmured, running his thumb across my extremely sensitive hip bone.
His drop dead gorgeous face was softened by an expression completely
foreign for a narcissistic jerk like Darien: uncertainty. This left
me momentarily stunned, because whenever he made passes at me before,
he exuded absolute smoothness. In the midst of my pondering, I had
somehow forgotten that I was in the arms of my worst enemy. I had
absolutely no clue how, or even why, when I fiercely reminded myself
that I did not enjoy his touch. My hormones did.
"Can we return to the main issue of this stupid conversation?"
"What was the main issue?"
Good question. Common sense was gradually leaking out of my
brain as Darien deliberately ran a lazy circle on the arch of my back
with his pointer finger. I couldn't permit this womanizing Adonis to
distract me; I had to clear the hazy fog clouding my brain.
"Didn't I kindly ask you to let me go?"
"Kindly? Isn't that stretching it?
"When dealing with you, etiquette is never high on my list of
priorities."
"Ouch, I'm hurt by that statement."
"Let me go, Langston."
"And if I don't?"
"You won't like the consequences," my voice dripped venomous
sweetness.
"Try me...damn it, Hughes!" immediately, he complied with my
orders and hopped around on one expensive, Italian leather shoe while
holding one, bruised limb. Yes, I had hopped off my pedestal of honor
and soundly kicked at his shins. I should have felt guilty, horrible;
instead, satisfaction gripped me as I cackled wickedly and clapped. No
one, not even the untouchable Darien, was permitted to shred my ego to
smithereens and escaped! I was invincible! I was unstoppable! I was...
"Serena Diana Hughes!" a powerful voice suddenly shattered my
victory.
Shit. There was only one person who could make me cringe with
a simple alteration of their voice. Gulping loudly, I turned away from
the sputtering, cursing man and faced the most formidable force ruling
my life.
"Hi, Mom," I innocently smiled and affectionately kissed her
cheek. Too cultured and hardened in my ways to be tricked by my
Shirley Temple act, she placed her hand on her hips, an all too familiar
motherly pose, and pointed to my enemy.
"Spare me, honey. Why did you just kick that young man?"
"Young man? Where?"
"Serena!"
"Oh! That young man!" I turned towards Darien, stepping
backwards as if utterly shocked to discover a good looking businessman
bending down to inspect the rising welt on his shins. I pressed my
lips together to avoid from laughing at his concentrated expression.
"Are you all right, honey?" my dear, unknowing mother
questioned.
"I'm fine, just taken by surprise, that's all."
"My Serena never did grow out of her kicking stage." Mother
Dearest lifted a questioning brow when she noted my apparel.
Before she could throw in a few insults, I hastily interjected.
"Yes, I know I am wearing smiley face boxers, Mom. And I grew
out of it just fine, thank you."
"Ahh, so you are the beautiful Mrs. Hughes. A pleasure to meet
you," the jerk massaged his sore shin before turning his charm to
'Impress the Mother' level. Critically eyeing him, I noted that his
smile grew brighter, his posture was straighter, and his handshake
gentler, yet firm. I had the distinct sensation that he had memorized
and practiced this act with astounding precision and accuracy.
"What a charmer! What's your name, again, young man?"
"Darien Langston."
"Yes, I remember you. You dated Rei a while back ago?"
"Yes, we're still good friends now."
"I've heard a few, unpleasant stories about you from my
daughter. I was imaging an ogre, but you're the complete opposite!"
my mother, another victim to his mojo, remarked incredulously.
"That's good to hear. But I can only imagine the stories
you have heard about me. Your daughter and I have an interesting
relationship."
"By interesting he means deranged and murderous," I quipped.
Pointedly ignoring my snide comment, my mother crossed her
arms and questioned, "When I last heard about you, I heard you were
climbing the ranks in your father's company."
"With help from daddy, no doubt." In response to my
impressive show of wit, my mother rewarded me with her ever deadly,
paralytic, 'You-better-behave-or-else' stare. It was a look that
still possessed enough poison to make me nearly pee in my pants, and,
probably during my younger years, did.
"Yes, it helps to have a father who left a huge legacy in
business, but I've been working hard so I'm not another one of
those spoiled, pampered brats."
"That must be difficult, I'm sure there's much speculation
and gossiping."
I tilted my head when my mother concernedly remarked this,
Icould have sworn her hooded gaze swung over to me.
"Of course there is, but it all comes with the job."
"It's all a façade, Mom. Don't believe a word he says,"
I stated, crossing my arms as I glowered into his lop sided smile.
My fuming a clear source of amusement to him, Darien winked
engagingly at me.
"That's true, you never know with men." She gazed sharply
at his ruggedly striking face, measuring every aspect of his
appearance with a critical eye. "But there's something about this man
that I like."
Great, within five minutes, the bastard managed to win over
my tougher than nails mother, a feat that past boyfriends never
managed to accomplish, especially after suffering daddy dear's
pee-inducing interrogations. Have I mentioned that my darling father
used to be a hardened Marine officer?
"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." As if it were an everyday matter,
he slipped a strong arm around me, his palm resting on my tense bicep.
Flinching at the electricity when he casually massaged my muscles, I
instantly attempted to leap away, but found myself soundly pressed
against his muscular side. Although my bony elbows jabbed against his
ribs, he continued to smile warmly at my beaming mother. "I have a
question to ask you: do you think I am Serena's type?"
"You jerk! Mom, if you love me, you will not answer that
question!" I fumed, clamping onto her arm as I feverishly shook
her petite frame. She rattled for a few moments, extricated
herself from my death grip, and thoughtfully responded.
In my unbiased opinion, there was no need for thought or
cautiousness. The answer was QUITE obvious: absolutely not!
Couldn't my mother see right through his pretty boy smile and
equally pretty clothes to see he was a womanizer? He was one of
those types of guys who sat around at the country club gatherings,
bragging about his latest conquests, comparing how quickly it took
to lead the poor lamb to the slaughterhouse, otherwise known as
his love shack.
"To tell you the truth, honey, I'm not sure. Why don't
you ask Serena?"
"I can't believe we're having this conversation! I am
taking this opportunity to walk away before I say anything that
will make my mom slap me upside the head," I sulked, casting dark
glances at my opposing parties. Once again, Darien's oh so
overwhelming sex appeal had managed to confuse even the sharpest
mind in Tokyo, my own mother. She had become another traitor,
added to the list of my EX best friends.
Just as I inserted the key into my sputtering piece of
junk that I lovingly referred to as my car, supple lips brushed
against my extremely sensitive ear lobe, "You're acting childish,
Hughes."
Shrieking as I jumped a mile in the air, I whirled around
and found myself alarming close to his pinstriped, gray suit.
My mother had already disappeared into the market, leaving me alone
to fend off the unwanted advances of this stubborn Neanderthal.
How could she?!
"Watch yourself, Langston," I viciously snapped, but
instantly softened my voice as my eyelashes fluttered alluringly,
"unless you want me to add another welt to the lovely one already
growing on your shins."
Darien's eyes darkened to near midnight as he pressed
his hard length fully against me and raised his elbows on either
side of my head. Although I tried to remind myself how utterly
outraged I should be, I instantly felt light headed and weak
limbed when I felt every damn ripple and muscle bunch against me.
Two hands gripped my buttocks and brought me impossibly closer to
him, making me suddenly aware of his growing arousal. At that
moment, any smart ass comments decomposed to whimpers. My head
fell back against my car, exposing my neck to his hot, wet kisses.
"S-Stop..." came my daunting command.
"I will, Hughes, once you answer my question."
"What question?" The atmosphere was growing so unbearably
hot.
"Am I your type?"
He paused mid-kiss, his heavenly lips still against the
curve of my neck while he waited for my answer.
"What was your question again?"
I felt his mouth form into a satisfied smirk at my inability
to formulate and process words. Collecting a few figments of
intelligence, I listened intently to his inquiry.
"Am I?
"Are you what?
Growing frustrated with my stupidity, he paused and
impatiently restated, "Your type?"
"What's it to you?" I saucily shot back when he lifted his
head to steadily gaze at me.
"Because you sure as hell are my type."
Suddenly angry myself for easily giving in to his
intoxicating touch and just as easily forgetting how he carelessly
cast me aside in the alley, I pushed at his chest and shouted out
whatever comment my trusty brain managed to concoct.
"Oh really? I always thought your taste dipped into the
inflatable type!"
Serena's dignity: 2 (up from 1)
Darien ego: 1000
News at six o'clock: Residents spot a seemingly sane,
striking businessman hollering about inflatable sheep and a
painful revenge while chasing after shrieking blonde down
Taichi's Boulevard.
Gotta love Serena's sass, just gotta.
Well, there was part four. What's in
store for our heroine? Who knows, its
up to my muse. Email me or critique
and tell me what you think.
Dreamwriter_1234@yahoo.com
P.S. Oh, I just made up Taichi's Boulevard
off the top of my head. If it happens
to be a real street, what a coincidence!