PART ONE   

  I woke up like a Disney princess.  Probably.  I imagined that I looked all adorable and sleep rumpled.  I ran my hand through my luxurious black hair.  Scratch that.  My hair felt coated in motor oil and I smelled like McDonalds.  Gross.  I must resemble the Kraken right now.  
     "Thank Odin you are awake.  We need to leave.  Now."
     Who dared to invade on my morning monologue?  I didn't remember that voice.  It was deep and smooth, like melted dark chocolate.  Dang it, now I was hungry!  
     I cracked open an eye and surveyed the invader.  He stood at the end of the bed adjacent to mine, zipping a black suitcase closed.  He looked in his mid 20s.  He was of average height and build.  He had toffee coloured hair and a short beard. His eyes were small and his face was unremarkable.  Nope, I didn't know him.
     My eyes zipped around the room.  A quaint little motel room, eh?  Hideous faded green and tan motif.  It wasn't familiar either.  Huh.  Why couldn't I remember how I got here?
     "Go away," I muttered into the pillow.  I was so not ready to deal with anything yet today.  I needed a good half hour before I was fully awake.
     He cruelly yanked the blankets off of me.  My warmth and body stank escaped into the wild like gleeful wildebeests.  That jerk!  I farted loudly just to spite him.
     "Get up," he ordered.
     "Dude, I don't know you.  Screw off."
     "Bentley --"
     "Who the heck is Bentley?"
     "How much do you remember?"
     What an odd question.  Was this a one night stand that went south or something? Last night I ... Dang it!  Why couldn't I remember last night at all?  
     Okay, let's try daytime.  I ... Nope, nothing.  This was concerning.  My memory was suddenly like dealing with the DMV.
     Let's try an easy one: my birthday.  The world was graced with my presence on ... This was seriously not cool.  I winced and tried to think of my name.
     Screw this.  I glared at the guy.  "What did you do to me?"
     "How much do you remember?" he repeated.
     "How did you wipe my memory?"
     "Bentley please --"
     "Who is Bentley?!" 
     "This is worse than I thought.  According to the state of Texas you are Bentley." He turned to a second suitcase and rummaged through it.  He tossed me ID.
     A passport and a driver's license: yup, that lovely mug was mine.  There was my glowing flawless skin, my cascading black hair, my icy blue eyes.  Complete perfection; except for that irritating twisted right tooth.  I was still figuring out how to turn that into a trademark.
     I scanned lower.  Bentley G. Eliott, born April 23, 1999.  I gasped.  I wasn't legal drinking age yet?  The gods were so cruel!  I tossed them aside in disgust.
     I glared at the man again.  "What is this?  Are you trying to kidnap me or something?  I promise my next fart will smell like dead gopher and sulfur."
     "You are disgusting."
     "Yeah, think about that the next time you rape me."
     His facial expression reminded me of a scandalized virgin.  "I have never raped you."
     "How would I know?"
     "I just saved your life."
     "Who said I needed saving?"
     "Look at your thighs," he ordered.
     I looked down.  My toned body was clad in an adorable lilac tank top and booty shorts.  I sucked in a breath when I saw the five angry slashes that marred my thighs. Oh, so not cool!  "What happened to me?"
     "I saved you."
     "Who did this?"
     "Dangerous evil people.  We need to leave before they arrive."
     "Why would they freakin' mess with my ability to wear a bikini?"
     "I do not know."
     "Man!  I'm going to kill those asshats!"
     "Please wait until you are PMSing."
     His humour caught me completely off guard.  I snorted.  And possibly peed myself a little.  "You know Willis, you're okay."
     This was a lot to take in first thing in the morning.  It seemed like a good idea to pretend that the horrific bits hadn't happened; it's not like I could remember them.  When in doubt deny, deny, deny.
     He furrowed his non descript eyebrows  in confusion.  They were non descript because I was terrible at describing eyebrows.  "My name is not Willis."
     "Well I have to call you something, don't I?  Or would you prefer to be 'That Guy'?  Because a lot of guys want to be 'That Guy'."
     "I feel that you do not value silence."
     "You're right.  Are you regretting saving me?"
     "A little," he admitted.  I admired his honesty.
     "So where are we going?"
     "Away from the evil people."
     "Excellent!  I need clean clothes, a shower, a razor, a hairbrush, some smoothing oil, a hairdryer, moisturizer, foundation, a bit of blush, eye shadow, eye-liner and mascara.  Oh, and deodorant!  Something moisturizing."
     He considered this.  Then he glared at me.  I finally noticed that his tiny eyes were a honey hazel colour.  "You have five minutes with whatever is in the bathroom.  Go."
     I laughed.  "You're hilarious!"
     A frown complemented his glare.  "I am not joking."
     I frowned delicately.  "Willis, I don't appreciate this."
     "Do you appreciate smooth skin?"
     "Oh yes!"
     "Then I suggest that you hurry.  When they arrive they will complete what they began."
     "But how am I supposed to leave looking like THIS?" I shrieked.
     He tightened his jaw.  It had a lovely defining effect.  "You throw your hair into a ponytail, you put a scarf over your head and you walk out the door."
     I widened my eyes.  "But people are going to see me!"  Did he seriously expect me to wander about looking like a deranged homeless person?
     "Do you know these people?"
     "No," I admitted.  "But it still matters."
     "Does it matter more than perfect skin?"
     He had me there.  Make-up could only do so much when you were carved up like a Christmas roast.  Dang it, I really had to stop with the food analogies!  I was ravenous.
     I gave him one of those 'have pity on me because I'm adorable' looks.  "Let's make a deal: I'll be ready in ten minutes if you'll buy me a big order of chicken Fettuccini Alfredo."
     He didn't even hesitate.  "Agreed."
     My stomach hurrahed!  The rest of me felt like he was winning too easily.  I gave him a squinty stare.  "You can't be Willis anymore.  You're too tricky."
     "You are wasting your ten minutes," he reminded me.
     Shoot!  I jumped up and beelined for the bathroom.  But the motel room decided to be an arsehole and it wobbled and swan.  I leaned against the wall.  "You never told me what you did to me," I accused.
     "I brought you here to recuperate."
     "Why do I feel funny?"
     "You were in a coma for three days."
     "It didn't occur to you to wake me up and make me eat?"
     "I do not think you understand what a coma is."
     "Hey buddy, I'm not the one who didn't feed me."
     "No, you were," he contradicted.
     "Whatever.  It's your fault.  Get over here and help me to the bathroom."
     He sighed and wandered over like a reluctant child.  He scooped me up easily.  Whoa, I was impressed!  He had to be hiding serious muscle under than baggy white shirt.  "I am dropping you on the counter.  You will have nine minutes."
     "And then we can drive away and keep our pretty faces!" I mocked.  "Well, my pretty face.  You'll still have your beard, and stuff."
     "What is wrong with my beard?"
     "Absolutely nothing!  It's your best feature.  It's everything else that's ..." I trailed off so he could fill in the blank.
     He stared at me stonily as we entered the bathroom.  "You are what is wrong with humanity."
     I nodded sagely.  "Am I inspiring you to never help anyone ever again?"
     "Yes."
     "Then your morals weren't very strong to begin with.  Ooooo, toiletries!"
     True to his word, he dropped me roughly on the counter and padded out like a pissed off cat.  My tailbone yelled at me. "Jerk face!" I called after him.  Attempting to block out the pain I turned my attention to the lovelies: shampoo, silky conditioner, moisturizer.  I swooned over the hair dryer.  It was my lucky day!
     I dived into the bliss that was the hair wash.  I even hummed a swanky little swing tune.
     Six minutes later I toweled off and reached for the hair dryer.  And the hair brush was -- Where was the freaking hair brush?  This couldn't be happening!  Big bad guys were hypothetically closing in, I had three minutes left (I would be fighting him on that one), and there wasn't a freaking hair brush in sight?
     "Willis!" I screamed desperately.  "Big trouble!  Help!"
     He flew through the door like a coked out Superman.  He was crazy-eyed with concern.  "Where are they?"
     "Willis, there's no hair brush!" I screeched.
     His jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might crack.  His eyes narrowed to tiny lasers of fury.  "You called me because of a hair brush?"  The words barely escaped through his gritted teeth.
     "This is a catastrophe!" I reminded him.  "I can't leave without brushing my hair!  It's a simple concept."
     A growl rumbled his chest.  "War is a catastrophe.  Getting your face cut off is a catastrophe.  Whining about messy hair makes you a shallow, frivolous, small minded THING."
     Whoa!  He was getting totally out of hand.  That was just mean.
     A tearing sound caught my attention.  He was growing.  And growing.  His clothes fell to the ground.  His beard and hair thickened and raced down his body like ivy.  A tufted tail sprang from his ass.  Two gigantic wings with rust coloured feathers burst from his back.  Within seconds a huge fearsome lion stood a foot from me.
     I may have sharted in the sink.
     There was murder in its huge honey hazel eyes.
     I tore the hair dryer from the wall, hurled it at the lion and burst into panicked tears.
     Bentley, calm down.
     "Willis, get the hell out of my head!  A lion's about to eat me!" I blubbered.
     Bentley, I AM the lion.
     "I -- What!?  THIS is how you planned to kill me?"  I cried harder.  This was so freaking bad!  People weren't supposed to turn into lions.  And this wasn't how I was supposed to die, dang it!  I was supposed to die epically.  Like from a drug overdose after my booty became famous from a music video.
     I curled up into a ball and hyperventilated.
     No one is getting killed.
     Why was Willis' voice in my head?  One insane event was enough.  Was I going crazy?  I tried to speak around my sobs.  "But -- you're -- a lion!  They need -- food!"
     You are not food.  Please stop crying.  You are embarrassing yourself.
     "Now -- you think -- I'm ugly -- and -- stupid!" I wailed.
     You can correct that by calming down.
     "Hey!  I'm having -- a -- mental breakdown!"  Breathing was very difficult.
     The lion huffed.  You will not be finished anytime soon,  will you?
     "No, just go away!"
     A Willis who could turn into a dangerous beast and break into my thoughts was worse than a nightmare.  Willises were supposed to be quiet and unassuming.  I really had to find out this freak's name.  Wait.  Finding out his name would make him an acquaintance.  I didn't want that.  I needed to escape him.  I needed to be a stealthy ninja.  Or like a tiny field mouse.  Those bastards could go anywhere.  Damn it, I needed to breathe first!  My vision bleached to white.
     "I'm going to faint," I whispered.
     That generally happens the first time, he agreed.
     "Get out of my freaking head!"  I tumbled into darkness.

     ~~~