Hey everyone! I'm so glad this story has been so well received. You're all amazing, haha. You've probably noticed there's a few characters that I haven't genderflipped, like Stretch and Ron, and that's just because I think they happen to work better as male characters (and I think if there was a male/female dynamic between them and the protagonists it could be interesting as well.) Just pointing that out incase you thought I'd made some mistakes or something.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews, enjoy!

"Yeah, cowboy." Taylor groaned. "Like that."

Bent over her kitchenette, Taylor gave a whimper as Ashton pushed himself into her, the tweaker's hands clasped around her waist as he slammed her into the surface of the bench. His hands were shaking. Taylor knew he needed a fix, which was realistically the reason he was there, but she didn't realize it was this bad. Thank god for tweakers, keeping her company in her loneliest hours.

If she were to be completely honest, Ashton was as far from her 'type' as humanly possible without being a dog or a child. He was nothing but a junkee, totally spineless, no resolve, no backbone, a total slave to Lady Crystal. But, as she always said, 'in my hole, that's the goal.' Despite her complete lack of attraction to him, she had to fuck someone, even if it was a meth-addicted biker. Sure, Ashton wasn't the best lay, and every now and then she found herself glancing at the television, wondering what was on - but a dicking was a dicking. "Yeah," she instructed, biting her lip and turning her head slightly to instruct him. He was messy, he needed her to tell him what was what. "Don't stop." She turned her hips a little and gave a gasp as he hit her in just the right spot. "Ah!" She gasped, slamming her palm on the surface on the kitchenette. "Oh fuck! Don't stop! Don't stop!" Maybe he wouldn't be as bad as she thought. She might even come through on letting him smoke up after this.

"And then she said: 'you forget a thousand things every day, make sure this is one of them,' was pretty scary!"

"Stop," Taylor ordered throwing her arm back and grabbing Ashton by his shirt, the thrusts stopping, her eyes widening as she turned her full attention to the TV. No fucking way. No fucking way. She stared at the new report, silent, her mouth agape. Robbery. Jewellry store. Way the thing was carried out? Exactly like something Michelle would have pulled… but it couldn't be, because Michelle was dead. Her and her fucking movie quotes. Dead. Six feet. Dead.

She shoved Ashton off her, reaching down to pull her jeans back up from the floor. Ashton stumbled a bit, bewildered, confused, pulling himself back into his pants. "You wanna get lit now, sugar?" He asked as she buttoned her jeans up and grabbed her beer from the counter. She didn't respond, instead heading for the front door, her mind clearly on something else. "T-Taylor?" He stammered, following her, eyes wide with fear that he might not score his freebies. "Baby? We gonna smoke up now?" She ignored him. No lay was more important than this. She'd get laid again. She wasn't the most attractive woman, but she had a pair of tits, which was, luckily for her, enough for most. She was pretty skinny, too, a little muscle where it mattered considering her 'extra curricular activities,' which surely didn't hurt. Her tattoos, some acquired in prison, others acquired under the influence of (probably) meth, removed her from the 'feminine' category, but she was a bit old for that now, anyway. She didn't care about pandering to the male gaze. If she did, she'd wear clean clothes, and cut her wild, brown hair which seemed to go in just about every direction - she'd probably wash it, too. But there were more important things to worry about than her appearance, she knew that. Like the business, or her friends who had apparently risen from the fucking grave. The patriarchy could fucking wait.

Taylor burst through the door, her blood cold, her stomach in a tense knot. How the fuck was that even possible? How the fuck could someone so fucking similar to Michelle exist? No. That couldn't have been a copycat. No one could quote bullshit movies like Michelle, and no one was enough of a loser to quote them during robberies. How does that happen? Why was this happening? Why the fuck were all these losers suddenly at her trailer and screaming? Didn't they fucking realise what the fuck was going on?

"You been with my man again?" Jessie shouted, shaking with rage, her leathers smelling of sweat and dried up blood under the desert sun. Taylor really didn't have time for Jessie's bullshit, even if she was leading The Lost right now - but she was getting in Taylor's face and that wasn't acceptable. "I'm talking to you, motherfucker!"

"Are you?" She asked, finally stopping, turning to face him. She could see that everyone there, the whole fucked-up-family unit, Ron and Wendy, Jessie and Ashton, who had rushed outside to try and stop his woman from starting something neither of them wanted to go through with. "What are you saying?" Taylor spoke casually, curious to if Jessie was just angry or actually had a deathwish.

"Fucking my man, Taylor," Jessie explained. "It's wrong."

Taylor stepped towards her, her arms outspread to her acolyte. "Oh, well, I gotta fuck someone," she began. "You want me to fuck you instead? Is that the problem here?" She asked. She closed the distance, speaking low. "Well, take 'em off, sweetheart. Let's… let's fuck."

"You think this is funny?" She snapped.

"Get them off!" She roared.

"I told her to leave it, Taylor," Ron gasped, catching up to the two, the old man out of breath, limping on his knee brace, Wendy and Ashton not far behind. "I told her, leave it! Leave it!"

"Shut up, Ron," Taylor warned, pointing to Ron before turning back to circle Jessie. "I'm about to fuck me a meth head, ain't I, sweetheart?" She asked. "Get my beaver eaten by her toothless gums."

"Fuck you, Taylor," she spat, avoiding eye contact now, staring at her books as Taylor continued to circle her. "I still love him."

Taylor stopped, putting her hand on Jessie's shoulder. "Alright, sweetheart, shh, I know," she assured her. "Hey c'mon, shh, hey."

"I don't mean nothing by it," Jessie began, shaking her head as Taylor re-assured her. "I know I messed up."

"It's okay, it's okay," Taylor let out another 'shh' and started to take Jessie into an embrace. "Gimme a hug, yeah…" For a moment, it looked as though everything would work out, as if Taylor was in a rare state of calm.

Without warning, she let out a grunt and pulled back, reaching her arm out to grab Jessie by the throat and push her backwards. Once Jessie hit the ground, Taylor lunged forward, hurling her beer bottle into Jessie's head, smashing it, beer, glass and blood flying in all directions. Not content with that, she jumped forward, stomping her boot into Jessie's head. "Fucking shit!" She screamed, stomping away, Ashton giving a horrified cry behind her - but no one would dare to stop her. Taylor knew that. "Cunt! Cunt! Cunt! Cunt! Cunt!" She shouted with every stomp, finishing with one powerful, angry drop of her foot.

She paced away from Jessie's now limp and probably lifeless body, turning back to scream. "Who the fuck do you think you're speaking to?!" She asked. "Who?! Who?! I'm talking to you, huh?! You fuck!"

"Jessie!" A mortified Ashton whimpered from behind them, as if trying to rouse her back to life.

"Next time, don't get in my fucking face!" Taylor continued, paying no mind to the others. "I just saw a fucking ghost, and I've got to hear your crap?!" She stepped away, but changed her mind, returning. "Get up!" She ordered. "Get up!" Jessie, being dead, didn't respond, infuriating Taylor. "Fuck you, then!" With that, Taylor stormed away, Wendy and Ron following, leaving Ashton to weep over his girlfriend's body.

Taylor's hands were balled up into fists, rage coursing through her. Fucking excellent. Now she had a ghost on her back and she had to deal with the fucking Lost. Wonderful. "That dopey trophy girlfriend forced my fuckin' hand," she began heading for her truck, the other two eagerly following. "We gotta find the rest of the Lost."

Taylor, of course, could have covered this up. Put down Ashton so he wouldn't talk. She could have hid it. But she didn't give a fuck about the Lost right now. On any other day, maybe. But every fuck she had to give was reserved for what she saw on that TV, and getting the Lost out of the way was purely so she could focus on the apparent resurrection of her best friend instead.

If Michelle Townley was still alive, Taylor Phillips was going to be fucking pissed.