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 beau, Fix. Unsurprising, calm… typical. My name is Virginia, and keeping in mind that I used to be a normal American high schooler, purchasing my garments real doll 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 on the off chance 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 chilly, hard rationale, moves like smoke, and lives alone in a supersecret, superwanky studio underneath Delphic Entertainment mecca. The sound of his voice, low and hot, can make my day in three seconds level. He’s likewise a fallen holy messenger, kicked out of paradise for his adaptability with regards to adhering to rules. I for one trust Fix horrified ordinary, and it took off running for the furthest side of the world.
I probably won’t have routineness, yet I do have soundness. To be specific, as my dearest companion of twelve years, Vee Sky. Vee and I have a resolute bond that even a clothing rundown of contrasts can’t break. They say opposites are inclined toward one another, and Vee and I are evidence of the legitimacy of the assertion. I’m slim and tallish – by human principles – with enormous wavy hair that tests my understanding, and I’m a sort A character. Vee is considerably taller, with debris light hair, serpentine-green eyes, and a larger number of bends than a crazy ride track. Quite often, Vee’s desires trump mine. What’s more, not normal for 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 pounding with club music, swimming with counterfeit IDs, and jam-loaded with bodies delivering sufficient perspiration to take ozone harming cheap sex dolls substances to an unheard of level. The design inside was standard: advance floor sandwiched between a phase and a bar. Gossip 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 evildoing for cluttered teenagers… otherwise called Satan’s Handbag.
“Groove it, child,” Vee hollered at me over the thoughtless 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 means by which Saturday night should be. You and me gettin’ down, letting free, stirring up ordinary young lady sweat.”
I gave 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 spans, I needed to push my foot once again 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… what’s more, my heart lurched.
