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Author's Chapter Notes:
Chapter Warning: This chapter contains a lot of foul language...AJ's pissed. LOL. Those of you who know my writing, know that this amount of swearing is not common. I will give you warning on chapters where is gets excessive. This chapter...it's excessive.
I’m warning you right the fuck now…you’re gonna have to excuse my damn language, because I’m really fucking pissed. Wouldn’t you be, too, if you found yourself in the middle of the damn ocean…on a puny ass, fucking, bright orange, blow up, life raft?!? Damn straight, I’m pissed. And, as if that weren’t bad enough…it’s my own damn fault that I’m here, too.

How about we recap, exactly how I got my ass into this shitty situation?

My name is A.J. McLean and my best friend, whose sorry ass is sitting right next to me, is Howie Dorough. We’re on this way too small raft…with five other people…because the cruise ship we were on…well…the damn thing sank quicker than the fuckin Titanic. Don’t bother asking me why or how it sank…because I ain’t got a damn clue…and even if I did, it’s not like it would fuckin help me out, now would it? All I know…is it sank…and my ass is lucky to have even scrambled onto this raft that I’m currently bitching about.

Now I bet you’re wondering why the hell I say it’s my own damn fault that I’m here. It all began because I finally convinced Howie into doing another one of his DLF cruises, to benefit the charity he founded, in his sister’s honor. That wouldn’t have been a big deal…except that I knew the damn ship was gonna go down. But when I tried talking to D, about it, this morning, I got the guilt trip. I gotta admit…it was pretty messed up that I was the one to convince him to do it, and then I was trying to get him to cancel it, at the last minute.

So, now your next question is how the fuck I knew the damn ship was gonna go down, right? Ha. That’s a simple answer…I knew because I’m special. And, no…I don’t mean the fuckin short bus kind, of special, alright. I mean…that I have this…ability. Alright…for lack of a better term…I’m psychic. Sorta. I never have learned how to control the ability. I can’t control when I have visions or what the fuckin things are about. That means I can’t read your future…I don’t know if you’re gonna win the damn lottery…or marry the hunk down the street…so don’t even fuckin ask.

Very few people even know that I have this ability…I don’t make it a known fact…because I really don’t need people thinking I’m more fucked up in the head, than they already do. And I swear to the Lord God…that if you even think about laughing…shit is gonna hit the damn fan. Got it? I’m not some kind of weird freak. Ok, on second thought, maybe that’s a debatable statement…but even if I am some kind of weird freak…it’s not because of my ability…so keep the smart ass comments to yourself. Cool?

Anyways…I never practiced the ability…never really tried to control the visions. Do I look like Chris Angel, the famous mind freak? No. I’m A.J. McLean, the famous singer. There has never been any reason to practice this circus freak ability. I don’t need no stupid visions, ok? Well…maybe…I should have listened to the damn vision, this time…but normally…I don’t need the fuckin things…they’re annoying.

Like some weird ass Final Destination shit…I had the vision on the way to the damn ship, this morning. Talk about last minute notification, am I right? So, I get there and I’m all freaked out, right. Don’t fuckin laugh…you know you would be, too. Anyways…I get there and I try telling Howie, but he gets upset. He rants and raves…on and fuckin on…about how I shouldn’t have talked him into this, if I didn’t wanna go…how I can’t always back out on shit, when I make a commitment...blah, fuckin blah. Now…anyone who knows me…knows I’m not the best at sayin ‘no’. Yes, I’m a softie…you got a fuckin issue? I sure as hell do…it’s that exact spinelessness that got me where the fuck I’m at, right this minute.

So…now…I’m on this damn life raft and in desperate need of a smoke. Naturally, I got my smokes and lighter, in my pocket, but this cute girl sitting beside me asked, politely, that I not smoke. My mama taught me right, so I’m respecting her request…even though I’ve bitten my nails clean off…and even though my mama taught me better than to cuss this fuckin bad…but ain’t nobody perfect. I’m just really fuckin glad she ain’t here with a damn bar of soap. Yes. I’m in my 30’s and my mama will still wash my mouth out with fuckin soap, if she hears me cussin this bad. You know…I don’t even know why the fuck I’m telling you this shit…you don’t need to be knowing about that…it’s not even relevant to the damn story.

Moving right along...let’s got off my damn personal life and back to the subject at hand. Next to miss cutie, whose name I don’t currently know…is one of the crew members, Blake, I think…then there’s the chick who keeps staring at Howie…another chick, Marissa maybe…and her boy toy, who looks like a complete fuckin douche…then there’s good ol’ sweet D, who is probably wishing, to fuckin hell, that he had listened to me. All seven, of us, have been in this cute little round, blow up raft for nearly two days. Which now brings me to one question…WHERE THE FUCK IS THE RESCUE COPTER?!?!?

“Look! Is that…?” The chick who has been constantly eye balling my best friend was squinting in the mid-day sun light, trying to see between me and him.

“LAND!” My hand, instinctively, flew to my ear, protecting it from cutie’s squeal. Thank the Lord God above me…land!