Burning Moon (Wattpad Version)

Chapter 17

I felt like a shoe.

An old, decrepit shoe.

A rejected, redundant, superfluous shoe that had been tossed out into a cold muddy puddle on the side of a busy road in rush-hour traffic.

A miserable, forlorn heel left to fend for herself in the world were all the other shoes had a plus one and weren’t being mashed into the tarmac by woman drivers in SUVs.

A sad shoe, with scuffmarks down the side, a hole in the toe and a peeling soul.

A shoe that finds herself in the mouth of a pug with bad breath, on the foot of a homeless woman with bunions, on the unfashionable hoof of a sweaty glam rocker with a fungal infection.

Now times all that by one hundred, to the power of eleven, round it off to the next decimal place, throw in two extra zeros for good measure and add it to infinity -- and then maybe, maybe -- you can begin to understand how I felt right now.

Oh, and did I mention that the shoe had also been regurgitated by an anaconda after it accidentally ate the glam rocker?

The boat ride back to the mainland had been a painful affair, literally. No longer in the Damien daze, I had very much noticed the steep incline that we had to climb down to reach the boat. No longer in possession of the hero’s hand, I’d slipped down some steps and grazed my elbow, bruised my bum and had a lovely little bump smack bang between my eyes.

The misery that I felt as I sat on that boat, in between someone’s soon-to-be seafood super and a raver on too much ecstasy, was… was… *

*Mentally checking Thesaurus for a word that makes ‘excruciating’ sound like something used to describe the sensation of a raindrop falling on your head.

By the time I’d disembarked, it was already early evening. Phuket had turned her lights on and the night creatures in short skirts were filling up her streets. I walked up the road in search of a Tuk-Tuk and I couldn’t believe that a few days ago I’d been afraid of taking one on my own. Bad Karaoke rang out and the smells of street food filled the air.

Since I’d been away, my Internet fame had clearly escalated because despite my current state, I wasn’t oblivious to the staring and pointing aimed in my direction. At first it didn't bother me; I could almost ignore the whispering, and could block out the gasping and pointing, but when a woman walked up to me with a concerned look in her eyes and asked me if I needed help, I lost it.

I claimed centre stage in the middle of the street, held my arms open wide and screamed, (My mother would have been so proud)

“Yes, people! It’s me. Get over it, okay!”

They all stared. Some people took a step back, and an alarming number of them took out their phones and started dialling. Oh, shit! Surely they weren’t going to call the cops over a tiny public display of emotion. A Tuk-Tuk came towards me and I jumped in quickly. I had no desire to be arrested twice in one week. That was definitely my limit.

“The White Sands Hotel and Spa, please,” I managed to mumble to the driver as I got in.

The driver glanced back at me. “You look like you need drink,” he said in a thick Thai accent.

“Damn right. I just wish I had one.” And I did. A strong one.

“Here,” the little man reached over the chair and passed me a cigarette and a lighter.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Looks like good time to start.”

And for some reason, that sounded like a very bloody brilliant idea. He was right, it was a good time to start. Yes, smoking cigarettes would surly make me feel better.