Queenpin Of Wales

Chapter 1

Miami was stunning. I'd never seen the States until now, I turned 21 in the winter and once the snow started to melt I saved all of my money to come to see the east coast. I wanted a change of weather to be honest. I have always wanted to see New York but I knew the weather would be the same as it was in my hometown. Miami was warm and loud. I hated silence. Loud noises seem to make me feel peaceful. Silence draws out my anxiety deep from the pit of my stomach. As though I was getting into trouble. In my mind, a quiet room is a dangerous room.

My mom thought I was insane. A young 21-year-old woman venturing out on vacation by herself in a 'foreign' country. Foreign? America? It's like Canada's big brother. Not that different. Yes, I do understand her concern but now in the digital age, any man who tries to touch a woman they're immediately blasted on social media. I'm 70% safe. Hopefully.

It is called the Ball & Chain. It's a Cuban culture club, I love Latin music and culture, especially the atmosphere. Extremely loud music and thousands of people huddled shoulder to shoulder in this club. I bought clothes for this trip to Miami, I only ordered the best. I bought a knock-off skims dress. A tight black long spaghetti dress with two slits crept up on my thighs. It shaped my body perfectly though, the shitty part was that it also brought out my flabby stomach. I wasn't fat, though I had a few soft spots I'd like to change drastically. I bought Versace platform heel dupes just to make the end of my dress not touch the floor. I'm not tall, I'm a weird height. I'm tall enough to reach the top of the fridge, but everyone around me is taller. I didn't feel alone, nor was I nervous about walking around the busy club. No one was staring at me, they were divulging their pleasures in their own happy little lives. I walked the perimeter around the dancefloor to the bar. The lounge area had a few empty spots left. My eyes were set on the barstool at the end of the bar. The bartender had his eyes on me, either to tell if he was going to ID me or if he is checking me out. I plant myself on the barstool, spinning my body on the stool, crossing my legs at my kneecaps.

"ID?" The bartender came over. Thank god. I got nervous if he was going to hit on me. I'm not good at people complimenting or hitting on me. Men hitting on me for that matter made me feel nauseous. I couldn't quite explain it. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling; it just made me feel out of place. I opened my purse handing him my Canadian ID. His brows furrowed and raised an eyebrow. "What's your full name?"

"Myla Blue Fehr. December 21, 2001." I laughed knowing what he'll ask next. "Now, I'll have Alabama Slammer. No grenadine please." He handed me back my ID turning to his array of shelf liquor and pulling out the Southern Comfort and Amaretto. I closely watched as he prepared my drink. The cleanliness of glasses was filled with each shot of liquor. The orange juice swam in the medium glass like it was meant to be there. In a few moments, it will be meant to be in my stomach in a minute.

"Blue? Really? Did your parents call you that because of those eyes?" A deep feminine voice came out from behind. She sounded like she was singing each vowel that rolled off her tongue. My head turned seeing a tall brunette with dark eyes move herself along the crowd pushing herself to the seat next to mine. She was wearing a sheer dress with stars scattered all over the fabric, her dress swayed along her body as she sat herself down wearing a black bodysuit underneath. The bartender came back with my drink in hand, asking this woman what she wants. "Hm...so many decisions. What the hell, I'll have a Painkiller." She laughed resting her chin on her hand. As her hair sat low in a bun.

"What's that? Sounds like a hell of a hangover." I looked down at my drink stirring the mixture with a straw. I felt her eyes on me giving a cheeky smile."Naturally. I don't drink often. So one is enough for me. It's rum, pineapple and orange juice with some sort of coconut cream I think." The bartender returned quickly placing the drink before her. "Start a tab Trev, put whatever she's drinking on it too." Her short matte acrylic nails hit the counter. Her dozens of gold rings sparkled immensely with the bundles of diamonds on each finger. "Thank you, but I'm a big girl. I think I can pay for my drinks." I took a hefty sip of my drink almost downing it in one drink. "Not likely darlin'. If Trevor takes your money, he'll lose fingers. Right, Trevor?" The bartender shook his head without hesitation not saying a word. "Haha! Are you the owner or something?" I chuckled taking the last mouthful of my drink setting the empty glass down in front of me. She smiled again showing her perfect pearly whites. "You can say that. I've put so much money in this place and done a lot of my business here. I should be the owner." She snapped her fingers pointing down alerting the bartender, Trevor, over to take my drink. Quicker than I sat it down.