'But fuck that little mouse, cause I'm an albatraoz,' I sing, turning up the radio. My windows are down, and the sunny morning breeze is doing its magic, as I veer my ways expertly over to my long-time-no-see friend, Carla.

Actually, she wasn't my friend. She was the daughter of one of my mom's producers, and she wanted me to get some script or another. I don't actually remember.

Weird.

Tristan was long gone by the time I woke up. I did find the Tylenol right beside my bed, on the nightstand, along with a really cold cup of coffee. I did go overboard with the drinks last night; but then my mom couldn't even look straight, much less reprimand me for taking off midway through the birthday bash, so I guess all was forgiven. And, when she did mention Carla whoever-she-was, I took it as a sign to get out.

'Ram pampalam, bambalam palam balam.'

I shake my shoulders out, my fingers loose on the wheel. I almost forget that I'm angry, letting myself go with the flow.

Wait. What was I angry for?

My Camaro jerks in my hands. I suddenly grip the wheel tight, my song cut short. The engine sputters, my speedometer levels falling rapidly.

'Shit.Shit.Shit.'

I manage to make it to the edge of the highway before my car engine coughs and dies. 

'God.' I slam my head onto the steering wheel. 'Why?!'

I get out, shut the door with my foot, pull up the bonnet and stare at the engine. 

I have no idea what to do. 

I search my back pocket for my phone and oh - surprise, surprise! - turns out I forgot to charge that piece of junk last night. 

Hopeless and awkward, and totally desperate, I stand under the burning sun, waving at passing cars for a lift. None of them stops.

And then it cruises over. A dark red ferrari, with tinted black windows. Even though the windows are up, I can still hear the music at high volumes. 

'I'm an albatraoz.'

I smile and knock on the window. I watch as it slowly rolls down.

'Need help?'

My smile freezes on my face. I bend down, my face level with the window, to see the guy.

Archer Miles smirks, right back at me.

/*\*/*\

I wake up, drenched in sweat. My heart races, and I feel short of breath. My head pounds, a million times a second.

I turn to face the nightstand. On top of it, placed neatly, is a strip of Tylenol. My fingers tremble weakly as I pick it up and pop out a tablet. I reach for the cup of coffee right beside it, and wash down the tablet with it.

The coffee is cold.

I automatically look to my right, where the bed has been slept in. Tristan is not there, meaning he probably already left.

I tie my hair up and force myself out of my bed. I try my best to look presentable, getting rid of the clothes I wore last night, and taking a much needed shower.

Not that it helps. 

I make my way down the staircase. The hall is being cleaned by a flurry of maids, and I wrinkle my nose at some of the trash. For people with class, they sure don't know about a dustbin.

My parents are already at the dining table. My dad sips coffee, spectacles perched on the edge of his nose as he peers over the morning newspaper. My mother has her head in her hands, her eyes firmly shut.

Hungover. Of course.

'Morning, Kaitie.'

'Morning, Dad.' I pull out a chair for myself and pick out some waffles.

'You took off yesterday.' Mom states, her eyes still closed. My head pounds as I reply, 'I'm sorry. It got too stuffy. Where's Jeremy?'

'At his apartment, probably. With some girl,' Dad looks up from his paper, his eyes narrowed at Mom. 

'Sienna. You are still drunk, apparently.'

'Am I, Stratham?' She rubs her forehead. 'My head hurts. Who thought hosting would be so hard? Anyways,' she turns partially to look at me. 'You remember Carla Weson, darling? She went to kindergarten with you.'

I stiffen at the mention of Carla. I literally just had a dream that I was on my way to visit Carla. How spooky was that?

'Yeah?' My voice is hesitant.

'Well, Peter Weson is the producer of I Found Love, and I really needed to pick up the script from him. Shooting starts this Tuesday, so I need to be prepared. Would you be a dear and get it for me?'

My mind is compelling me to reply in the negative, but I don't want to infuriate her. 

'Sure,mom.'

/*\*/*\

It is reluctantly that I turn up the volume of I'm an Albatraoz on the radio. The breeze flutters in through the open window, and I'm hit by déjà vu. 

How is this even possible?

'Ram pampalam, bambalam palam balam.'

I don't sing along. I just don't feel like it. I had experienced this, all of this. I had felt angry, so angry, at Archer, and at my Mom. I remember feeling angry and letting it flow with the music.

Bullshit. And then what? My car is going to break down?

Literally when that thought ended, my car jerks in my hand.

'This can't be happening.' I think, steering to the edge of the road, slowing down till my car engine sputters and dies.

I almost slam the door shut before I pull up the bonnet and look down at the complicated contraptions of my car engine. I pull at the strands of my hair, with no idea what to do. 

I reach for my phone in the back pocket of my jeans. 

Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead. Please don't be - 

Oh, fuck. Who am I kidding?

My phone is dead, and I am waving at passing vehicles, right under the hot sun. Sweat rolls down my forehead. 

Coincidence. That's all what this was. Stupid subconciousness cooking up a stupid dream so close to reality to freak people out.

It is what I repeat to myself until I see a red Ferrari cruising to a stop right next to me. I'm an Albatraoz blares from its speakers. It's tinted windows are up, and I am suddenly filled with a sense of dread.

How come this is happening? 

I stare at the tinted windows, shocked out of my life. It can't be. This is totally freaking me out. I don't raise my hand to knock on the window. I don't smile. 

I just stand there, my limbs on lockdown, my brain paralyzed out of my wits.

I watch, devastated as the window rolls down. 

'Need help?'

I don't want to look. I want to turn away and walk in the opposite direction. I want to get away from here, go far away, somewhere I won't be alone with him.

I take a deep breath and force myself to bend down, my face level with the window, to see the guy.

Archer Miles smirks, right back at me.

/*\*/*\

Ka-boom.