AFTER THE RAIN (Bonus edition)

4. Blocked chakra alert!

Stormy swung around and looked at him with genuine surprise. "Absolutely not. I don't do drugs."

"But you just said –"

"That was the first and only time, and it was the worst experience of my life, thank you very much, so you can stop being so judgey."

Marcus was skeptical. There was no way this rainbow-haired, tattooed hippie-chick didn't do drugs. She probably had her weed dealer on speed dial.

"You don't believe me!" Stormy said, sounding genuinely angry, which threw him slightly – it was the first time he had ever detected a hint of it in her.

"To be perfectly honest... no," he responded matter-of-factly, and he could immediately see this pissed her off even more.

"Why not?" She sounded indignant.

"Well, no offence, but look at you."

Stormy glared at Marcus, widening those devastatingly green eyes at him. They were so piercing that they gave him a little chill.

"Grumpy-grump and judgmental," she hissed over the loud rattle of the engines.

"Well, you have to admit it, you're not exactly..." he paused, looking for the right words. Although he had always found it hard not to be completely honest 100 percent of the time, he didn't want to offend or upset her. He wasn't a total bastard. Besides, who knew what a pissed off Stormy-Rain would look like? "You don't exactly embody normality, Stormy," he finished more gently.

"Well you know what they say about normality," Stormy scoffed.

"No...?"

"It killed the cat." She let Marcus's hand go and pointedly faced the front, turning away from him.

"That was curiosity," Marcus corrected.

Stormy nodded. "That too, Marcus. That too."

***

Stormy wasn't sure she liked Marcus. Which was unusual for her – she liked everybody. Even the grumpy-grump bank manager guy who kept sending her rude letters. Although she did appreciate the way he decorated them with the big red pretty stamps.

Marcus was judging her by her window dressing and that wasn't very nice. And she certainly didn't need his negative energy as this giant metal capsule was about to catapult itself into the air.

And the plane seemed to be gaining an awful lot of speed. She looked out the window and the lights were going by in streaks, like in sci-fi movies when the ship drops into hyperspace and the stars blur past them. Not natural.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a piece of amber that she'd taken from her crystal collection. She placed it carefully on the armrest next to her, and couldn't help but notice that Marcus shot her a sideways look as she did. She knew what he was thinking; it was written across his face. It amazed her that two people from the same family could be so different. His cousin Damien was a free thinker, a true free spirit, and this guy was a total douche box.

"Aaaahh..." Stormy let out a series of nervous squeaks as the plane started lifting. She shut her eyes tightly and clutched onto her chunk of amber for dear life as she felt her stomach and possibly all her internal organs falling to her feet.

The tilt of the plane was getting more and more extreme as it lifted higher and higher into the sky. Stormy willed herself to think happy thoughts again: rainbows... daisies... cuddly puppies and colorful butterflies tumbling out of the sky and plummeting to their painful, fiery, grizzly deaths... AAAHHH! Her happy place was no longer happy, and the angry roar of the engines was getting even louder as the plane climbed.

They were going to crash. She was sure of it.

She'd had an intuitive feeling since yesterday that something was going to go wrong. She often got these sixth-sense kind of feelings, and over the years she'd learned to trust them. She considered herself to be a bit psychic in that way. And the further up into the clouds the plane went, the more the feeling intensified.

She wasn't necessarily afraid of death, since she knew reincarnation was inevitable. Take her pet tortoise, for example – he was obviously the reincarnation of Elvis. She'd known this immediately from the way he'd reacted to the song "Jailhouse Rock". He'd suddenly stopped snacking on his lettuce and had looked up, a knowing expression on his little face. He'd also looked like he was mouthing the words, and there was just something in his eyes... it was a dead giveaway.

But what she didn't like was having to die next to Marcus – the bearer of negative energy.

Ding-ding. A noise rang out over the slightly quieter engines and the plane seemed to level out. "Please note that the seat belt lights have been turned off." The voice over the intercom sounded very calm, which helped to relieve some of Stormy's concerns, and she heaved a sigh of relief.

"Do you mind, now?" Marcus suddenly asked loudly as she felt someone pulling at her fingers. She finally opened her eyes and looked down to see that one of her hands was gripping his thigh so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. How had her hand landed up there? She'd thought she was holding onto the armrest.

She quickly removed her hand, after giving his thigh the subtlest investigative squeeze – he was very muscular. "Sorry. I didn't mean to." She looked up and met Marcus's gaze, but instead of looking irritated with her, as she'd expected, there was another expression on his face. She couldn't quite make out what it was, and as she scrutinized his look, he dropped his head quickly and cleared his throat. (Blocked chakra alert! He'd be complaining of a headache next.)

"Sorry, would you mind getting up, please? I want to go to the bathroom." His voice was overly-polite and stilted, and he was suddenly refusing to make eye contact with her.

"Sure." Stormy got up nervously. She felt a little unsteady on her feet, especially when she imagined what lay beneath her – nothing! The vast, empty nothingness of air.

"Thanks," Marcus said politely as he walked off up the aisle. He stopped suddenly and turned back to her. "Can I get you a drink on the way back, Stormy?"

"No, thanks." Strange muscular man – polite one second and rude to her the next. It was a miracle he actually went to the loo, what with that blocked chakra and constipated uptightness.

So why the hell had she felt that ting-tingle again when he'd brushed passed her? Their shoulders had touched oh so briefly, and yet it had been electric. She'd literally felt a little shock zip through her body, and now something inside her fizzed, as if it had been shocked to life and was threatening to bubble over.

She sat back down and watched him as he walked up the aisle. Why on earth was she attracted to him when she didn't even find him attractive? She didn't like clean-cut, close-shaven, bright-white-Colgate-smiling, Polo-shirted, smart-pants-wearing, laced-up-shoes and perfect, neat-haired guys. He wasn't her type, at all – but her body seemed to be saying something very different. It was all most confuzzling.

Especially when she was suddenly overcome by thedesire to follow him into the bathroom and join the mile sky club; but shequickly banished that thought when she remembered that he had basically calledher a "druggy weirdo".