You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes when faced with your mortality?

Well, I keep trying, but the memories of my first princess-themed birthday party keep getting interrupted by something as trivial as physics.

Pink ribbons and purple ruffles leave way to force, acceleration and angles. Yes, angles, not angels, because paper angels would be a step in the right direction. It's dreary and boring, like I'm back in school again. #funisforthesoul #happymemoriesmattermorethanphysics

Physics wins out. Before I can talk myself out of it, my butt leaves the chair, and my right hand grabs its leg right as I lower myself to table level.

I'm unsure how I can move this fast, how I know exactly where to throw, but the chair jerks out of my hand and straight into the goon holding the gun. Before the other ass can make a move, I flip the table over and pull Fifi behind it. #friendsareimportant

Though I'm half sure I just pulled her to safety because I wanted to use the chair under her. I toss it at the remaining goon.

Fifi screams, because, unlike me, she actually still has some sense. All I do is keep throwing things, effectively trashing my favorite Starbucks and everyone's propriety.

Mugs and beanbags fly as well as a random laptop I pick off the table of some hipster. The sound of shooting guns doesn't even make me flinch, only gives me a better knowledge of the location of our assailants.

Assailants. Huh. Can't remember the last time I used that word.

"Get him!"

"You get him! I have shards in my eyes!"

I don't like these men. They're very rude and have forced me to do property damage and ruin the day of some perfectly nice people.

One of the baristas pulls a shotgun out from under the counter and all I can think of is how I wish I had a shotgun, too. I could take out their kneecaps in ten seconds.

Damian is a very violent man. When all this is over, we need to have words. Until then, I let his muscled arms do what they want, which in this case is toss the entire table towards our attackers before using another random chair to break the front window.

Then, through a rain of broken glass and ricocheting bullets, I grab Fifi's arm and we make our exit.

"Omigod, omigod, omigod..." she keeps saying and I fight the impulse to tell her to stop wasting her breath.

I don't want to be that guy.

"Carolyn, what are we going to do?"

The screech in her voice makes me grind my teeth. As much as I'm trying to be zen right now, her voice is getting on my nerves. Damian must have some different hearing nerves or something because I don't recall ever thinking Fifi has an annoying voice.

Now she's reminding me of Janice from Friends and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. I've lost so much of myself over the past few minutes.

You haven't lost anything.

That inner voice sounds a lot like Damian and I can't deal with this right now. I need to get out of here and think. But first, I need to take out this dagger I'm carrying strapped to my calf for some reason and slash the tires of the motorcycles parked next to mine.

Then I give Fifi the helmet for protection, instruct her to get in the back, and use my new set of impressive skills to get her out of there.

Giving her the helmet was a good idea because I swear to God she does not shut up for one freaking minute. At least the helmet is muffling her words and I can concentrate on actually driving. I need this skill in my life, just in case I get attacked again, so I actively pay attention to everything my body is doing.

I'm an impressive, well-oiled machine.

I also threw furniture at people, broke a window, avoided bullets, and slashed tires.

Half of me is panicking. The other half is aching to make a post with #badass. The hashtag suddenly has a new meaning.

I navigate the dodgiest streets and finally stop the motorcycle down a dead-end alley under Brooklyn Bridge. I have no idea why I would choose a place where we could be easily cornered, but the Damian part of my brain seems to think it's a good idea, so I let him have this one.

Fifi is panting as if we'd run here instead of riding an awesome motorcycle, and I'm once again tempted to tell her to knock it off.

"What was that?" she shrieks, and I swear bats could hear her.

"I don't know!" I try to relate and be as panicked as her, but the coolness in Damian doesn't let me be my self at all. "It's becoming aggravating."

"Yes, someone tried to kill you! What did you do?"

Every part of me feels offended. "I didn't do anything. They were obviously after Damian."

"Oh, yes, obviously." Fifi pants some more. "So you have no idea what he did?"

"No! All he left me is his body and this dumb letter!"

"Letter?" She straightens in her seat. "What does it say?"

"I'm not sure. I couldn't get past the first page."

"It's more than one page?"

I take it out and pass it to her. Her eyes widen and she flips through the pages.

"His handwriting is so beady. And it has five pages front and back?" She passes the letter back to me. "We're doomed!"

I tend to agree with her, except the masked men on motorcycles and the shiny butterflies make me reconsider. So I take a few steps away, lean my back against the wall and have another go at it.

"Blah, blah, blah, drunk driving, trees and trucks... Ah, here it is."

While I was in the hospital, the devil came to me. The literal devil. My shattered soul drew him to me. I was the perfect candidate for his deal. He would take what was left of my soul and rid me of the pain. He would give me good fortune and skills well beyond my wildest dreams.

I took it. In that moment, I didn't want a soul. And the moment the last bit of it left my body, so did the pain. I was grateful. I embraced the gifts of the devil. What I didn't realize is that the cost of my soul was really my inability to feel ANYTHING.

I learned new skills with the speed of light, my body grew in size and strength, and yet, none of it brought me any joy. That was when the devil came to me again. Offered me a job and in return I would get to feel again for a few moments.

I lower the letter. I lower that damning piece of paper and stare into the distance as my heart pounds away.

Holy shit, I've been sacrificed to Satan in an unholy ritual! My beautiful body was sacrificed in exchange for an ounce of feeling!

#tragedy #shewassoyoung #shedidntdeservethis

Anger so powerful rushes through me that my fists clench and I bang one against the wall. The brick chips and I leave a small crater in it. I would freak out if I wasn't so angry.

Damian worked for the devil! For the damn devil! And now he probably went rogue or something and those other devil worshipers are trying to snuff him out.

Oh, if I wasn't convinced that it would hurt like hell and potentially really kill me, I'd throw his stupid body under a bus.

His stupid, gorgeous and over-the-top capable body. Honestly, this is such a shame.

"Carolyn, what happened?"

"For crying out loud, Fifi, can you at least try to be less shrill?" Fortunately, I'm not an ass (like Damian) and I say it low enough so she doesn't hear me.

This body now has a soul (mine) and I'm going to make a difference. I'd wonder where Damian is, but since he obviously has no soul, he probably poofed into nonexistence or something.

Screw him! #idontneedthisshit

Look what he's making me do! I pride myself in not using negative hashtags. And now here I am, spewing venom at Fifi, although quietly, and being annoyed.

No. Zen. I take in a deep breath and my mind starts searching for an appropriate, positive hashtag.

#fuckyoudamianbradely

No, that doesn't work. #secondchances #icandobetter #redemption

What in the blue fuck am I supposed to do now? I can't spend my life in this body running from Satan's warriors. Damian took my soul, but I'm still me, so what was the point? Maybe I have to redeem Damian and then I'll get my own body back.

"Carolyn?"

I turn to Fifi who was brave enough to join me next to the wall.

"Are your eyes tired from reading?" she asks with reverence.

"Not exactly." I have to tell someone or I'll go insane. And who better to share this with than my best friend? "Apparently Damian sold his soul to the devil."

"For drugs?"

My teeth grit involuntarily. "Literally."

"Literally for drugs?"

Oh my God, someone needs to buy this girl a clue. "No! Apparently the devil is a thing and Damian made a deal with him and sold his soul."

"And now he took yours to fill the void!" Fifi says slapping her hands over her cheeks and looking appropriately shocked.

"Well, yes." Except it made no sense. Why poof himself out of existence?

"We need to get you to a priest like yesterday. Exorcise you!"

Huh, what? That sounds dangerous and not exactly smart. "What if that just throws me out of this body and I stay floating like a homeless spirit?"

"I'll get you a soul vessel! I've seen a really beautiful model online."

I blink. "Why did you even look up soul vessels?"

Fifi shrugs. "I just thought it would go nicely with my ouija board carpet."

"Okay, but I don't want to spend my existence inside a jar."

"A beautifully engraved urn."

"Just fancy wording for a jar, Fifi."

She clasps her hands over her mouth and her eyes widen so much, I'm pretty sure her left one will pop out. "Who are you?"

I have no idea. If Damian is poof, why is he whispering in my ear, forcing foreign behavior on me? Why can I read his beady writing easier?

Speaking of which... I take out the letter again.

"What are you doing?" Fifi asks as if I've taken out another random dagger.

You stab demons with that dagger.

Ah, yes, how silly of me. I should've figured that out before. I need to read more of this letter.

I skim a few paragraphs regarding how soulessness feels because screw you and your dramatic ass, Damian, and focus once I see the devil being mentioned again.

After decades of hunting potential new victims for the devil, I was actively seeking a way to end my existence. I have been warned that the consequences could be spending all eternity in Hell, but after everything I've done, chances I won't end up there anyway are slim.

Then it happened. The devil put out a notice to all his hunters. He offers their soul back to the hunter who will manage to find something he's looking for.

A rogue piece of soul. Because you see, Carolyn, every time tragedy strikes us, we lose a little bit of ourselves. And those pieces are pure and innocent. Which is why I couldn't see them. Without a soul, all I can sense are people like me. Those at the end of their ropes.

But you! You, with your innocence and love for life should be able to find it. Except you needed my supernatural senses. So this was the course of action best fitted.

I want to kill him again. Not throw him under the bus. Oh no. Toss his gorgeous body into an industrial size meat grinder.

He never liked me! All he wanted was to use me! All his beautiful words were a ruse.

#sodisappointed #asshole

Damian Bradely had managed something no one has ever done before.

He just made me feel inadequate.

Another round of screaming is in order.

👸👸👸

Wordcount: 2071 for this chapter.

I wasn't very into this when I started but ended up having fun with this chapter.

You get a good look at the plot and Carolyn finally figured out why she's in Damian's body. She has a quest that could save his souls. But will she take it? Will she actually have the patience to read the rest of the letter?

Stick around for the exciting next chapter! But much later because I think I might've hit the word count for phase two as well, so I'm in no hurry, lol.