The biography of Virginia
I’m not a gathering young lady. The earsplitting music, the rotating bodies, the intoxicated grins – not my thing. My optimal Saturday night would be at home, cuddling on the couch and watching a romantic comedy with my sweetheart, Fix. Unsurprising, calm… ordinary. My name is Virginia, and keeping in mind that I used to be a normal American adolescent, purchasing my garments at the J.Crew outlet and spending my watching on iTunes, ordinary and I have as of late become wonderful outsiders. As in, I wouldn’t know ordinary in the event that it walked up and jabbed me in the eye.
Normal and I headed out in different directions when Fix walked around my life. Fix has seven crawls on me, works on cool, hard rationale, moves like smoke, and lives alone in a supersecret, superwanky studio underneath Delphic Carnival. The sound of his voice, low and provocative, can make my day in three seconds level. He’s additionally a fallen holy messenger, kicked out of paradise for his adaptability with regards to adhering to rules. I for one trust Fix terrified typical, and it took off running for the most distant side of the world.
I probably won’t have routineness, yet I do have soundness. Specifically, as my closest companion of twelve years, Vee Sky. Vee and I have a steadfast bond that even a clothing rundown of contrasts can’t break. They say opposites are inclined toward one another, and Vee and I are verification of the legitimacy of the assertion. I’m thin and tallish – by human norms – with large wavy black silicone sex doll hair that tests my understanding, and I’m a sort A character. Vee is much taller, with debris fair hair, serpentine-green eyes, and a greater number of bends than a crazy ride track. Quite often, Vee’s desires trump mine. Furthermore, in contrast to me, Vee lives for a decent party.
Tonight Vee’s desire to search out a fun time took us across town to a four-story block pulsating with club music, swimming with counterfeit IDs, and jam-loaded with bodies delivering sufficient perspiration to take ozone depleting substances to an unheard of level. The design inside was standard: advance floor sandwiched between a phase and a bar. Talk had it that a mysterious entryway behind the bar prompted the cellar, and the cellar prompted a man named Storky, who worked a flourishing pilfered anything business. Local area strict pioneers kept taking steps to block Coldwater’s hotbed of injustice for scattered teenagers… otherwise called Satan’s Handbag.
“Groove it, child,” Vee hollered at me over the careless bang, pound, bang of music, binding her fingers through mine and influencing our hands over our heads. We were at the focal point of the dance floor, being jarred and knock on each side. “This is the manner by which Saturday night should be. You and me gettin’ down, letting free, stirring up ordinary young lady sweat.”
I put forth a valiant effort to give an excited gesture, yet the person behind me continued stepping on the impact point of my expressive dance level, and at five-second stretches, I needed to push my foot once more into it. The young lady to my privilege was hitting the dance floor with her elbows out, and in the event that I wasn’t cautious, I realized I’d get clipped.
“maybe we ought to get some R&R,” I called to Vee. “Feels like Florida in here.”
“That’s motivation you and me are consuming the spot. Look at the person at the bar. He can’t take his eyes off your smoking’ moves.” She licked her finger and squeezed it to my exposed shoulder, making a sizzling noise.
I followed her look… furthermore, my heart lurched.