I am a superhero, no doubt. The moment I climb on that motorcycle, I know exactly what to touch, what to press, how to sit to make it go vruuum and shoot into the night. Because of course it's night and I operate on coolness alone.

I guess I should give some props to Damian too, since it's basically his body doing all this, but I'm the one in charge, it's my mind calmly taking all this in as I zoom down the hill and into the city, and it's my brain that seems to have acquired super GPS powers because I know exactly where I'm going.

Even if I know I'm going fast, it's so easy to focus, to predict the actions of incoming traffic. With my awesome suit and dark tinted helmet, I am the height of cool. #motorcyclechick #girlscandoittoo.

I am however saddened realizing I can't possibly take a selfie and post it online using those grandiose hashtags. First off, I'm not sure Damian even has Facebook, let alone Instagram because I didn't get the chance to ransack his phone, and I didn't even think to search for my own purse. It was a lovely, tiny Chanel, too.

Second, even if I could solve this logistics issue, I'm technically not a girl anymore and no one knows I'm still me inside, so I would appear like such a hypocrite to post a gorgeous man body doing all this cool shit.

Yikes! Where did that curse come from? I am a lady and I abhor gratuitous cussing. Especially in the presence of ladies such as myself. And yet...

Some random blue sedan cuts my path and a string of expletives leaves my mouth in an instant. Even the dreaded f-word surfaces and I'm one second away from flipping off the woman who almost made me crash.

She is a wonderful, competent goddess, brave enough to climb inside the metal monster and brave nighttime traffic.

She is also a completely incompetent bitch who wouldn't know the turn signal from the window wipers if they hit her in the head, and who endangers people's lives by driving like a damn boot.

A fabulous, high heel, Jimmy Choo boot.

Ah, my head is spinning and it hurts. It feels like my brain is on overdrive, focusing on a million tiny things at the same time. Other drivers, signals, the next turn I have to take. Clutch, shift, gas. I don't even know what those are, but my foot and hand are pressing down and turning and pulling up, and somehow, this metal monster underneath me responds and turns and goes slower, then faster.

How do people stand their mind going so fast? I swear, I'm getting dizzy. Damian knows so much. His body moves like a well-oiled machine, and how did that technical analogy even come to me?

I'm panicking. I'm freaking panicking! I'm losing myself and I'm swearing inside my head and out loud and it's not even in his voice, but in mine, and I suddenly know all these nasty words and phrases and what torque means. Who needs to know what torque means?

I swear to God, all this information is invading my mind like I'm fucking Bradley Cooper in fucking Limitless. I didn't even see that movie, it was so boring.

I stop at a red light and prop my feet down. I'm actually panting, proving I have some semblance of control over this body and not just the other way around. What's happening to me? Is Damian going to take over me and I'm going to fade into nothingness, my light, my exuberant personality snuffed out forever?

Oh, what a loss. I wish I could let dramatic tears fall down my cheeks and have a good cry, but I'm sure I'm not a pretty crier anymore, and Damian's tear ducts don't seem to work anyway. I hate being a man! Why am I even in this stupid, yet gorgeous body?

A car pulls up next to me, and I look to my left involuntarily. A woman is driving (again) and she's arguing on the phone. Yelling her lungs out into it by the looks of it. I can hear her angry voice even if I can't catch the words. A sexist part of me I never knew existed, so it must've come with the body, is already calculating how likely it is for her to run into me when the light turns green because being on the phone while driving is a terrible idea.

Fortunately, she yells one final time and throws the phone on the passenger seat. The light is still red. She glances at it with glazed over eyes, folds her hands on the steering wheel and leans hear forehead against them.

I can't be one hundred percent sure, but I think she might be crying. I want to comfort her so badly, but my two hundred lbs of hunky body won't move from my position. She raises her tear-stained face and lets out a final sob. A blue, sparkling butterfly appears, flapping its wings with vigor.

It's so shiny and beautiful, I forget all about the woman. The butterfly flies around her head, but she fails to acknowledge it, her tired eyes fixed on the traffic light. The tiny flying jewel completes a few more circles then flies away, out the window which I'm pretty sure is closed, then into the air. It stops in front of me for a few seconds, but I can't do anything but stare. I'm afraid that if I touch it, it would disappear.

For once, my body is as stunned as I am, relishing in the beauty of what's before us. The butterfly raises higher to the sky and I follow it with my gaze. A sharp breath leaves my lungs. There's more of them, tiny flying jewels of blue, yellow, green and red flying among the trees. The colors are so vibrant. The way they fly is so graceful and there are so many of them, like tiny gemstones in the dark blue canvas of the night sky.

How have I never noticed them before? I guess I've been too absorbed with what's at ground level that I forgot to look towards the skies. #soblessed #forevergazing #skysthelimit.

But no, I have looked. All those nights spent in exquisite lounges above the twentieth floor... I've looked over the horizon on a million nights such as this. I've posted 2348 selfies from tall vantage points with a perfect view of the skyline. And yet...

And yet, I've never seen the bejeweled butterflies. How could I not when now, they are all I can see?

An angry honk brings me back to earth. The light turned green and the car next to me which produced the sapphire butterfly has already driven off.

Biting back a string of new curses, I kick off and continue my race towards Starbucks. How many different curse words does Damian know? Why are they lodged in my brain? And why would anyone need that much cussing diversity?

I discard that line of thought and try to get another look of  the butterflies. I instantly almost crash my motorcycle so I decide against looking up. Fortunately, I manage to reach my meeting spot in one piece and park next to Fifi's Beetle. I guess there is an advantage in driving a motorcycle. Easier parking.

I climb off my cool ride, take my helmet off and stare at the sky again. I still see the colorful butterflies, only this time, the image makes me shudder the tiniest bit. I'm not sure why, because they're gorgeous, but I decide to shrug it off and head inside. #punctualitymeansrespect #sistersforlife.

Fifi is already there, her head of unruly black hair distinctive among the crowd. She now has a green extension complementing the red and blue one she had before, and it greatly improves her grunge aesthetic together with her dusty t-shirt, cut up skinny jeans and high-heel rocker boots. What shocks me is how tiny she seems. Could be because I'm staring at her from my 6 foot 5 physique, or however freakishly tall I am now.

I walk over to her and take the seat across the table. She's on her phone, scrolling through Instagram, so it takes her a few seconds to notice me there. Then, her brown eyes widen as she takes me in, from my amused smirk to my awesome leather suit. She keeps staring and I expect her to tell me the seat is taken, reserved for her best friend.

Florence Fourmi, my best friend, does no such thing. Her astounded expression is replaced by a goofy smile.

"Seriously?" I can't help but ask.

"Ohmigod," she breathes, "your voice is just as amazing as your face."

To be fair, Damian does have a glorious voice. Well, for a man. But still! "Aren't you expecting someone?"

"You, obviously. That's why you're here, aren't you? My prayers have finally been answered."

Get a hold of yourself girl! God, I want to roll my eyes so badly. Just because a ridiculously handsome guy sits at your table, it doesn't mean you have to forget all about your best friend. I would never to such a thing. #chicksbeforedicks.

"Okay, enough's enough. It's me, Carolyn."

Fifi blinks at me.

"Didn't we just agree to meet here?" I ask. Why is she so slow? "Why are you here in the first place?"

Fifi just blinks some more and my patience is wearing thin. "Seriously, I need your help. Can't you see I'm stuck in a man's body?"

"You mean a god's body." But she shakes her head and the next time she looks at me, she's less lust-crazed and more receptive. "This is stupid. Carolyn just paid you to prank me. Like in punk'd but cooler. Where's the camera?"

"There's no camera. Look, I can prove I'm me."

"How?" Fifi's eyes widen again. "Are you going to tell me a secret only you know?"

I was going to yell it in her face until she got it, but that's a better idea. "Sure, why not. Your middle name is Eugenia and you hate it."

She cringes, but leans back, her arms crossed over her chest. "Ha ha, but this information is obtainable online."

"You once got so drunk, you offered yourself to the Sheikh of Sharjah in exchange for three camels."

"That was unfortunately live streamed on Instagram."

"I know, I was doing the live stream."

"Also verifiable online."

This is getting a bit complicated, so I need to bring out the big guns. "You lost your virginity in tenth grade to Harold Galbraith, but you told everyone except me it was to older brother Howard who was way cooler."

"He was way cooler and it's the only reason we both got popular in the first place..." Her hands dart to her mouth. "OMG Carolyn, why are you in a man's body?"

"I know!" I want to scream and panic, but I'm convinced it would look so stupid on Damian, so I just give a brooding shrug. "I just woke up like this and I have no idea why and how it happened."

"I thought something must've happened. You've been missing for five days."

"Five days? Didn't you file a missing person's report on me?"

Fifi shrugs, too. "No. I just thought you ran off to Monaco with... Well, now that I stop to think about it, with this body you're in."

"FYI, his name is Damian Bradley. And for heaven's sake, Fifi! I could've been murdered!"

"Or living out the romance of a lifetime."

I want to whack her again. #priorities #strangerdanger. But I'm saved the trouble when the door to the Starbucks opens and two men come in. My entire body stiffens, and I'm not sure why. They're wearing the same awesome gear I am, so we must be on the same team. But a sense of cold engulfs me, and the more I look at them, the more I feel like they're not really human. Like something is missing to complete an otherwise perfect disguise.

They still have their helmets on, the tainted glass making it impossible to see their faces, but I have the feeling they're looking for me. I'm proven right once they stop and head our way. They completely ignore Fifi as they remain standing next to the table.

"Can I help you?" I ask, for once grateful for Damian's intimidating voice.

"Hello, Bradley," one of them says, his voice holding a strange hissing undertone. "We were just wondering if you happened to get lucky."

Are they insulting me? Like Damian picking up Carolyn is not the best thing that could've happened to him?

"As a matter of fact, I've picked up the most gorgeous piece of work. Such a strong, confident woman, but yet full of life and love."

The two men look at each other, and I'm sure they're seething with jealousy.

"He's fucking with us," the one on the right says, just before both of them pull out identical, big barreled guns.

"Time to take out some of the competition, then."

👸👸👸

Word count: 2133 - I'm starting to have these because I'll need to keep count for phase two.

I needed some fun and produced this. There's a lot of subtle plot unraveling in this chapter, and the next one will serve to explain what Carolyn did see and what part it plays in her future quest.

Stick around and I hope you're still having fun with the story. I know I am!

Total Word Count: 6099