All Chapters of The Don's Crazy Obsession: Chapter 1 - Chapter 5

I hate my job. For some reason, it's not enough that it takes all my time and energy, now it wants my soul. It's past nine p.m. and I'm still here, well past my patience threshold, begging God in all the languages I know to please make it stop. Sitting for two hours listening to boring analytics would do that to you… right after doing a lot of boring analytics yourself for about eight hours prior. Naturally, accounting is not the most fun thing to do- or listen to- but it pays well, and that's why I'm still here, the epitome of calm and grace while our head of department eats into time that should ordinarily go into my sleep therapy. For Pete's sake, I have to be up at five a.m. to continue this whole process tomorrow. I need all the rest I can get, and with my car in bad need of repairs, I have to walk to and from the bus stop, which is not exactly convenient since I wear four-inch corporate heels to work.In fact, I don't remember the last time I wore anything but corporate past my

I need serious help. But what kind, is the question. A therapist? A team of heavy-weight bodyguards? A witch to remove the curse on my head- the one that makes me wander without obvious effort into disturbing situations?There are millions of people in this city, yet for some reason, I'm the one that had to stumble on that secret, murder rendezvous last night; the one that fate led to witness a congressman's head literally shot open, brains and blood splashing on the floor in a way that would make anyone's skin crawl. The thought of it still makes me shudder.Five people were shot prior- obvious from the dead bodies strewn about the asphalt before I even got there- and though seeing a public figure wasted like that was a gory sight to behold, crazy things are always happening in this city, gun-assisted murders inclusive. But it gets crazier when the killer sees you, the disoriented witness, who, up until that moment, didn't know that you were severely unlucky. And while I'll recover f

I still don't know how Dyna managed to drag my ass here. But past the gyrating bodies, the neon lights and the ear-deafening bass, I can see just why she did. Crazy red lights and amnesia-inducing alcohol are just what I need to forget how scared I was last night. In minutes, I am drunk. Not wasted enough to topple from my heels- which are four-inches from the ground, by the way, attached to leather boots that reach up to my thighs- but slow enough to finally relax. Tequila therapy. I didn't know I needed lots of it; didn't think I would have to get so drunk I can barely see straight anymore. But while Dyna and I were dressing up to come here, laughing over the misfortunes of our haters at work, the police had come. The duo had dropped by "in respect to a murder that occurred in the area," and since I live close to the scene of the crime, wanted to know "if I saw something." They've been asking my neighbours a couple of questions too, so I'm not the only one they've visited. Natura