Maybe this weekend wasn’t going to be so bad after all. Then I heard my name: “Chelsea Wilson?” “I’m over here,” I called out. “You’re...rooming with Ms. Crowe,” the woman at the front desk informed me. She gave me a room key and smiled faintly before going on to the next name. You’ve got to be fucking k**ding me, but there she was, The Crow, fluttering her way to the elevator. I decided to wait for the next one. Finally, with a small ting a door opened to reveal a glass elevator that overlooked. Maybe she would pluck up the courage to end it, this time, as she had been intending to for months now. The check-in clerk handed Tom his credit card back and called over to a young man standing close by. “Jake, take Mr and Mrs …” he stopped and looked down at the register. “…Smith’s bags to room 435.” Jake wondered over nonchalantly and Marcy inspected the easy swagger with which he walked. He was tall and muscular and the tight trousers he was wearing showed a bulging crotch that she. More

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