Skye and the City (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 2

Five minutes later, I'm in my regular clothes again with my metaphorical tail back between my legs - I tucked it safely inside my jeans. Less chance of an accident that way!

What happened just now was such a humiliating experience - not that I should be surprised: bad luck trails me like an obsessive stalker. Whenever I think I've finally shaken it, it turns out it just got distracted temporarily - probably by chocolate - and it quickly catches up with me, even keener than before to ruin my life.

That poor guy, though . . . Tornado Skye snatched him up in her path and wrecked his life, too. I wince in humiliation as I push the main door of the restaurant open and head outside into the brisk April air. Only I would end up falling facefirst onto a guy's private parts, especially when he was right in the midst of a personal crisis.

You see, much like Liam Neeson's character in Taken, I have a special set of skills . . . But mine are very different from his, and you certainly shouldn't rely on me to rescue your kidnapped kid or bust a human trafficking ring wide open. 

Because my unique skill set involves . . . an incredible ability to fuck up monumentally and then somehow make a bad situation even worse. Honestly. If I thought it could potentially be a moneymaker, I would consider running modules in it.

But I doubt anyone would actually pay for those. And, if I'm perfectly honest, I probably couldn't actually teach anyone how to be this much of a disaster . . . Because I don't really know how I manage to do it myself. I just know it's always been the case.

And it's one of the reasons why I had to escape the small village in the Scottish Highlands where I spent the best part of my 25 years  . . . My reputation preceded me everywhere I went. I think people started to believe I was a bad luck charm; that if they spent too much time with me, I would coat them with my misfortune somehow.

And, honestly? I can't really blame them.

There was another big reason I decided to move to Glasgow, too. But I'm not going to go into that yet - you'll probably think I'm ridiculous. And I suspect you're already starting to draw that conclusion about me without adding any further madness into the mix.

What the hell am I going to do about money?  I wonder now, fingering the ten pound note George reluctantly handed over before ordering me never to darken the restaurant's doors again. (He has no need to worry - hot humiliation is still swirling through my entire being, and I suspect ever returning to the scene of the crime would cause a Pavlovian reaction for sure.) I need to find a job, and soon. Waitressing seemed like a good way to make money quickly, but I should have realised such a fast-paced environment would prove almost impossible for me to conquer.

You know how there's people in this world who thrive on pressure? I'm not part of that group. Not even on the fringes. I'm miles away, peeking around the corner, in hiding from them in case they try to recruit me. I'm not lazy, but I just can't really do anything in a hurry. I mean, it took me almost a year to make the decision to move to Glasgow. Although once I finally committed to the idea, I moved uncharacteristically quickly for a change. But my current living situation is definitely a case for why I shouldn't do anything under pressure.

I slump onto a bench in George Square, staring towards the City Chambers building. My vision blurs with sudden tears. I hate how easily I cry; it's as if the faucet behind my eyes is permanently ever-so-slightly loosened, and the tiniest of emotional knocks will immediately cause it to spring a leak. I doubt even a plumber could help with that. 

My previous employment experience is pretty much limited to working on a hotel reception desk . . . A job I fell into while at college, and one I didn't particularly enjoy. But I had held the position for so long that I somehow eventually became good at it. I don't think I would necessarily be that great working in that role anywhere else, though. A new hotel would be way outside of my comfort zone, unless they wanted to offer me a probation period of approximately five years!