Crazy House

Chapter 1: Do you like cherries?

"Ma'am, can I help you?" the man asks with a southern drawl so unfamiliar that I begin to wonder if I had ended up where those swamp people live. He gives me a double take when he sees my frown, and his smile dims a bit. "Ma'am?" He asks tentatively.

I ignore him as I look at my surroundings. There's a grassy field on the other side of the train station I just left, across from the car repair shop where I sought refuge. It's humid outside and the sun's glaring down. I glance at the guy again, and realize he's looking at me strangely.

Oh. I guess he's waiting for a reply from me.

"Um, yeah. Do you know where any hotels are?" I ask him, adjusting my Chanel purse strap on my shoulder.

"There ain't another motel until you get to Rockyville," he says in a sympathetic tone as he mops the sweat from his forehead with a towel.

Motel?

Rockyville?

"And where is this... Rockyville?" I ask him as strangers walking by give me odd looks. They've probably never even seen a Chanel in pictures, let alone in real life. There's certainly no way any of these hicks owns a halfway decent bag- brand name, that is.

"It's a town over, about ten miles away, but I don't reckon you'll be able to make it by foot in those heels." The man says, glancing at my Kathryn Wilson heels. "There's a bus stop over there, though." He points to the bus stop that's already crowded with people. "Or you can call a cab," he adds as I stare at him in shock.

Ride a bus?

I've never rode on a public bus before, but then again, I really don't want to walk.

"Hey, Uncle Bobby!" a masculine southern voice yells as the purr of a car engine fills the lot. The car pulls up to where I'm standing with the man who must be Bobby.

The car comes to a stop, and a tall guy with short black hair starts to walk over to where we are. As he walks over, his green eyes rake over me, but I'm not sure if he's looking at my body or my clothes.

Out of nervousness I readjust my sunglasses, making sure no one can see my fresh black eye.

"Oh no, what do you want, Tristian?" Bobby asks with a frown on his face.

The guy smiles at him. "Uncle Bobby, you owe me," he says crossing his arms over his chest.

Bobby scoffs, "I owe you money, my ass."

The guy unfolds his arms to waggle his finger at Bobby. "Don't bail out now. We made a bet on who was going to win the Saints and Cowboys game. Saints won 56 to 24, and if I'm not mistaken, those were the exact numbers I put down when betting, while you had your money on Dallas. Pay up, old man." He sticks his hand out expectantly, and I just watch the encounter in silence.

Bobby swears and places a couple of twenties in the guy's hand.

Does he really make bets with his nephew?

The guy counts the money out with a smile before sticking it in his back pocket and turning to me. "Now, lovely, may I ask who you are?"

I blink a couple of times as I glance him over. He's cute and all, but I don't know him. Plus, I'm pretty sure he's in his twenties or something, and I'm only 17. He's a total stranger. But... I guess it can't hurt to speak.

"I'm Ariel," I tell him, brushing my hair over to one shoulder.

He shoots me a mischievous smile as he sticks his hand out to shake mine. "I'm Tristian. Now may I ask, Ariel, do you like cherries?"

I tilt my head as I try to figure out why he asked this random question, but his face gives nothing away.

"Uh, no," I finally answer as he lets go of my hand.

"Okay, then can I have yours?" he asks cheekily.

Bobby's mouth drops open, but I have no idea why.

"I don't have any cherr- oh." I stop my sentence as I realize what he's referring to.

Before I can even open my mouth to say anything, the bus going down the street catches my attention.

"Oh, well there went your ride, sweetie." Bobby says sympathetically as he watches the bus recede into the distance.

"That was your ride?" Tristian cocks an eyebrow. "I could give you one." He says with a sly grin, obviously intending the double meaning.

No way am I taking a ride from a stranger.

Especially not a pervy one, even if he seems harmless.

I think I'd much rather walk.

I glance down at my heels and my bag, knowing that I won't be able to make it two miles, especially in this heat.

Hell, I'd never make it in tennis shoes without bags in cool weather.

Maybe the only shot I have is riding with Tristian.

I just stare at him for a second, slowly realizing that he's my only hope. "Okay, but I only want a ride in the car to the hotel. I mean, motel." I tell him and he smiles.

"Of course, I promise to keep my hands to myself." He assures me as he leads me to his car and waves goodbye to Bobby.

As we drive to the hotel I can't help but think about how my life turned upside down. One day I was living in Beverly Hills in a mansion, nice car, amazing friends, and a hot boyfriend. Now I have a black eye, possibly a cracked rib, and I'm in Louisiana in a car with some horny stranger.

Can my life get any worse?

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Q/N: new story, going to be very humorous.

Thanks for reading,

Quirah

Edited January 13, 2014 by icefire7773

People, its the first chapter, more of a prologue, I'm not going to spill the whole story and give away Ariel's background, yet.