Even if I hate Damian Bradely with a passion, that's not going to solve my current predicament. And sadly, neither will all the screaming. It just make Fifi retreat and hide behind the motorcycle and disturbs a family of innocent rats living in a nearby dumpster. The rats then make Fifi start screaming, and there is too much noise altogether.

So I stop, take a deep breath and think. Damian's throat is definitely not made for expressing powerful emotions because it's already raw. Weakling.

Criticizing him gives me no pleasure since I'm in his body so I'm a weakling too, and it doesn't offer a solution. I need to clam down and figure this out like the mature lady I am. My mind instantly goes to my happy place and I remember a fabulous night at Burj Dubai when I looked ravishing in an Alexander McQueen. The memory calms me, but ultimately doesn't help. 

I need to tap the problem-solving part of my brain. #allittakesisfocus

I can't focus on shit because Damian has zero chill. Another wave of rage floods me, but I close my eyes and let it pass like innocent waves of a stormy sea. I've totally got this. Damian can't get to me, can't make me rage. Besides, all I have to do is win that competition the Devil organized and I'll ask him to get me back into my tight, toned body so that I can leave all this behind. Maybe I will even ask him to remove this travesty from my memory so that I can keep on being me, no dubious out -of-body experiences attached.

Well then, if that is not a solution, I don't know what it. #itallcomesnaturally #brilliantgirl

Right, now that I've decided what I want to do, I need expert advice.

"Fifi, what if I actually win this competition? Do you think I'll get my body then?"

Fifi takes her eyes off the rats that have camped under the motorcycle and stares at me with wide, confused eyes. "What are you talking about?"

Oh, right. I think I might not have mentioned that last bit to her, focused as I was on expressing my frustration. "Damian claims that the Devil is willing to give their soul back to whoever finds some thingie for him. What if I find it and ask him to give me my body back as a prize?"

"Carolyn, that's genius!" Fifi shrieks and the rats flee in terror.

I silently don't blame them, but I keep my face hopeful because #friendshipgoals.

"So... What does he want?"

"Um... A piece of soul?"

Fifi clutches her chest. "Whose soul?"

"Not yours!" I want to snap, but I don't. The truth is, I can't tell from the letter. Damian just says he wants a piece of soul, staying infuriatingly vague about it. Maybe he didn't know either. But that's silly, of course he would know what he was looking for.

"I'm not sure," I finally answer because with each passing second Fifi's eyes get wider and I'm afraid they'll pop out of her head. "And I'm not sure how to find out." Asking the evil motorcycle dudes seems like a bad idea.

"I know what would help," Fifi says unexpectedly, her eyes back in her head, a grin on her face. "Some Mate!"

Oh, yes, I forgot, Fifi thinks drinking Mate fixes everything. But I don't have a better idea, so I just shrug, hop on my motorcycle and vrum vrum my way back the her apartment. #onestepatatime

In Damian's body, everything looks smaller. Her cream couch and stone-white walls, the white wood library case filled with photos and trinkets from our many travels. Even the ceiling looks lower. Oh, right, probably because I'm about one foot taller.

"Mate, mate, mate," Fifi chants, darting to her tiny kitchen which is, in accordance with modern open space living, right off the couch. "I'm getting the good glasses." And she shuffles towards the library case, dragging her feet on the floor.

The moment her socks make contact with her Ouija carpet, shiny sparks fly out of it. I follow their progress through the air, my heart rate increasing the tiniest bit.

"Do that again," I call.

Fifi turns to me, two tall, green glasses we've picked up from Argentina in her hands. "Do what?"

"Drag your feet across the carpet."

"Carolyn Danes! A lady does not drag her feet. A lady walks with poise."

I want to point out that she and poise are two very separate concepts and that she'd just dragged her feet, but I realize that's Damian being a prick, so I shut up. "Humor me," I say instead.

With an overdramatic sigh and an eye roll, Fifi moves back on the carpet and starts shuffling. More sparks fly out of it, in different colors which shift together with the letters or numbers she's hitting.

"Try a wider circle," I instruct, moving my hands in circular motion.

Fifi just makes a bigger zig zag, as if I hadn't perfectly shown her what I want.

"Oh, just let me do this." Even if I'm still wearing boots, I get on her carpet and start rubbing letters and numbers. The sparks fly higher, in different shades of orange, red and yellow, like the tongues of some ancient, hellish fire.

"No, I can do it as well," Fifi insists, dancing around me, her glasses in hand. The sparks flying from her feet are a pale yellow that smother mine.

I nearly knock a glass over as she comes towards me, each movement bringing her closer, as if she's practicing some sort of ritualic dance with me. I try to move around her, but she only rubs closer, no longer even trying to move her feet, just gyrating her butt towards my crotch.

I freeze and she hits her butt against my hip. With a light cough, she straightens. All sparks die out.

"Why did we stop?"

I narrow my eyes at her. "What are you doing?"

She just stares, her mouth hanging open.

"Fifi, did you think I wouldn't recognize the South American mating dance we learned together when we went to Peru?"

Her cheeks catch fire and she looks away. "You have no idea how attractive you are."

I have every idea how attractive this body is. I fell for it myself, even if there was a sleazy profiteer under all that charm. And Fifi can't even imagine what a good kisser he is. Not like I'm going to tell her because then she might want to try it out her self, and best friends or not, this body is totally not attracted to her.

"Not the issue. Let's try getting me back into my body, please."

"And how will dancing on the carpet help?"

"Sparks start flying when we do."

Her eyes widen again and that look is beginning to get old fast. "Like magical sparks? Like Frozen? Or Cinderella?"

"More like Hellboy, but yes, magical." I start rubbing my feet on the letters and numbers again. "Just let me do it."

"I don't like the roughness in your voice, missy. We're in this together."

"No, we're not. I can see magic and it's my soul he stole."

She doesn't get the message and continues dragging her feet, sending out sparks in too many colors that don't even match. I increase my rhythm too, and suddenly it's like a Dance Dance Revolution competition on twelve square feet of carpet. I'm a little shocked that I've actually gotten that calculation down correctly.

Ugh, I need my body and my brain back. I don't want to randomly think about math while I'm dancing. It's dreary and decidedly uncool. #notthatkindofnerd

Colorful sparks dance in the air, every color imaginable, and I swear it's starting to smell like fire a soot. I even think I see some floating around our heads, forming an evil vortex of smoke and destruction. I don't like this, I don't like this one bit, and I can bet the carpet doesn't like Fifi's dancing, because she's mostly twerking at this point anyway.

"Fifi, just let me do it."

"No, I've got this." She sticks her tongue out at the side of her mouth, twerking harder and right into me.

We tumble into each other, and with a dramatic scream from both ends, we fall over and off the carpet. Fifi's butt hits the coffee table while I take the floor shoulder first. The impact barely phases me, and I'm quick to sit up and look around.

The sparks are all gone, as are the ominous clouds of soot. But there's something small, red and naked in the middle of the carpet, little black horns breaking out of its head, a long, thin tail coiled around its fat baby-like feet. I think it's about the size of a chihuahua and doesn't look far from it, its years bat-like and pointy.

"Eek," Fifi yells, hoisting her feet off the floor. "A rat! How did it get in here?" She quickly scans the coffee table for something to throw at it, but she doesn't even have a lifestyle magazine there and the glasses still in her hands are a set and far too precious. #travelgoals

"It's not a rat," I say, standing. Because even if I've never seen such a thing, I know Damian has. "Fifi, I think we just summoned a demon."

👸👸👸

Chapter word count: 1517

Total word count: 9687

And I'm baaaack. Here to finish this story, get it rolling and have some fun while we're at it. This chapter is a little short, but I don't think I could've found a better ending. Looks like Carolyn and Fifi got themselves into some trouble here.

Stay tuned for more evil shenanigans as I try to fly my way to the ending. Let's have fun. 😁

I'll be updating as I write, so stay tuned for the next installment... Whenever I actually finish it. #letsdothis #onc2020