My Wish Upon A Star

Chapter 2 - You're my Tasteless Pimp

Chapter 2

You’re my Tasteless Pimp

A friend of mine in high school used to say that you shouldn’t do anything you wouldn’t want to explain to the paramedics. With that in mind, as I waited for the paramedics to get me out of the cab, I cursed the day I had decided to go shopping in my god damn puffy blue dress. Couldn’t I have waited like a normal human being?

            The taxi driver was out of the cab and yelling furiously at everything and everyone, still making no sense what so ever, his forehead bleeding.

            At least for me, it didn’t feel like anything was broken. A few shards of glass had cut my arm so I might need stitches but as far as I was concerned, I was fine.

The boys in uniform didn’t seem to share my conclusions though. They took their sweet time to get me out of the stupid cab.

Cars were honking furiously around, people were gathering around the scene and I cursed that damn silver fancy car that hadn’t stopped at the light and hit my cab  because now everyone was going to see me in all my puffy powder blue glory. Unless the paramedics cut the damn dress off of me—that’s what they usually did. I wasn’t wearing underwear though, so that could be awkward. But at least it wouldn’t be completely humiliating like getting dragged out of a car in a ridiculous dress.

When I was finally out and on a gurney and bombarded with question and checked for injuries, wind kicked up my dress and I automatically tried to stop it from hitching up and showing my snatch to everyone. Seriously, this was not my day.

            All I wanted was for them to cut the damn dress off of me already—they could hide my bare bottom with those hospital gowns or something—so I could stop looking so stupid.

            But that didn’t happen. Instead, I was drove in the ambulance to the closest hospital. They put that awful neck brace thing to not take any chances if I had head or neck injuries, though I had repeated countless time that my head was god damn fine!

            Luckily, a ride in the ambulance meant no waiting in the ER, so I automatically got dragged through the whole painful shebang of me in a blue powder dress getting probed and looked at. I needed three stitches on my arm, but was fine regardless.

            Problem was, they wanted to keep me for observation for at least another two hours to make sure my head was really alright. So I had to stay put, sitting on the cot, alone and pathetic and covered in frill—at least I had taken off the neck thing. And nobody could come and enjoy my pity party because my mother was giving a lecture right now, my father was in Portland, and my not-really-boyfriend-boyfriend Victor was also working and I would have to be dying for him to leave his work—actually he might not even come for that. My friend Abbigail was working today, pitching a new project and I had called her and she could only come and get me in one hour, and there was no way I was going to take a cab back to my apartment. I had been humiliated enough for one day.

            Pouting, my arms crossed over my chest, the frill of the bottom of my dress making me look ridiculous, I lied back on the uncomfortable bed and scowled at everything in sight.

            A deep from the throat kind of laugh resonated beside me. And automatically, when I gaze at where it came from, I wanted to bash my head on the concrete floor and beg to be taken to the OR, or die—die a morbid death because the dude in the cot beside me was hot.

And I did know that normally, I didn’t look bad, I looked hot, but I looked mean. I mean, I’m mean. Like, really mean, as in, I’m a bitch. I’ve came to terms with that knowledge. But all of that aside, right now I was on a hospital bed in the ER and I’m wearing a freaking powder blue Star Fairy dress, pouting like a child. So I was losing at least seventy five percent of my sex appeal right there.