I did not write this story to offend or judge anybody, I wrote it to express a story of going about things when shit hits the fan. Please don't kill me. Thank you.
Brace yourselves for my inner monologue, I'm not going to state my opinion about every piece of clothing I'm trying on. I'm basically being tortured. Just know, I'm mentally suffering by each bit of overly revealing clothing his "stylist" is making me try on. Trust me, it's rough. This girl looks like she slammed her face into somebody's ass that had paint all over it. Which I'm not trying to say she's ugly; she just wears too much makeup and has everything hanging out. This isn't a garage sale; put it away for the sake of my eyes. If you want to spread yourself all over guys, do it secretly. Do it in a way nobody knows, that's what makes it fun. Having to go through this process again reminds me of when I lived at home, Mom tried to take me shopping all the time. To get me to wear more revealing clothing, like arms and legs. My reaction was more of a "hehe.no" nearly every time. I'm used to being covered when out, but when I'm at my home now I dress more openly.
Alix is normally like, "Your body is better than the most girls I see, so show it. You aren't hurting anything.", and again; another "hehe.no" moment. I don't enjoy showing my body to other people, even him. Which, I only think it seeps back around to that is because I have been forced? "Why aren't you more traumatized", Easy ponder. From an early stage when my parents paid less attention to me, I learned that I am the only shoulder I have to cry on; apart from h [Heroin]. I blame Alix for the lack of body confidence, and blaming people for your problems isn't a good thing; he is an exception though. Seeing him crack and beg yesterday was very weird. I don't want to be one of those people who blamed all my problems on me being raped and tear myself down because of it. Even though I cover my arse with drugs, If one day I were to get clean; I'd build myself off of it. Not as something to be ashamed or proud of, but something that made me a stronger person. Yeah, piss on me. Guess what? I have baby wipes bitch. You can't get it off all on one swig; you have to wipe it off one wipe at a time.
My mother wasn't awful, she loved me and everything. Just it seemed she fancied my brother more. Cyprian is maybe 10 now? Meaning we have an 11 year age difference [ I'm 21]. I wish I could put into words how much I miss being the apple of their eye, but I can't because I have built myself above it. One day, I'll eventually tell them everything that went wrong. Yeah they stupidly overlooked me, but not on purpose. My little brother, to me, is a high maintenance little shit. The feelings of resentment towards him may come from him stealing the spotlight. So, I believe this deserves to be back tracked. Brother born at 11, I begin to become the second child in their lives, I self harmed from 13 to 17, began using heroin at 15. Graduated high school at 17, turned 18 and went to college; staying clean of hurting myself for a year. When I turned 19 I began to fill my body with art to hide all the physical mistakes I have made. 18 being the light year of using for me, when I would go to parties and actually attempt to make friends. Also 19 being the year of age where I began "going hard in the /italics/ paint /italics/. Swish up to now, I'm 21. Let me get my trumpet for completing the time-line of all the years shit hit the fan, smashing the fan to pieces. Excuse me from the inner monologue, it seems somebody is yelling for me.
"Neah!" Camille screams, making her sound like a cicada. Scrunching up my face to represent my displeasement of being roared at. Quickly shuffling out of the room, revealing the outfit I am indifferent about. These stockings make me feel trashy, and my arms are showing. Included in the 'fun' pack is feeling like my ass is going to slip out of the shorts any moment, then the question would rise; Why would your ass slip anyways? Bend down in something covering your nether region that happens to be this short, and tell me it doesn't go /bold/ somewhere /bold/. Camille, the stylist who likes slapping her face into painted asses, squeals in approval. Alix pops out behind her and stares at me, looking hungry. I don't enjoy this. Trust me. All this says is I'm open for business, and I don't appreciate it.
"God; Come here." He says lowly, gesturing me to come closer with his hand. Camille went into the room I came out from as I eased closer to him. Reaching out and grabbing my arm, he jerked me towards him causing me to stumble. His arms laced around me pulling me in for a kiss; then suddenly being shoved back out of his arms. Noticing Camille came back with a hair tie, she had a weird look on her face. Glancing back at him, he had one too. Squinting at him I awaited for somebody to speak.
"Uhh, she doesn't like people kissing in her studio." he said quickly, trying to urge her to get on with what she was doing. Weird; moving to my hair she tied it up quickly, then stepped back to look at me. She looked satisfied with the look, and he looked overly satisfied. I was itched to ask the question that lingered in my head.
"So why do I have to dress like a sleaze?" stating as I wondered if I could be more blunt. Nope. Camille shifted her weight to her hip and frowned at me.
"That's how people dress in this generation." her tone seemed pointed.
"Okay? Still didn't answer my question."
"You have to dress like a common college girl and most of them happen to dress similar to this." Alix interjected. Camille shot him a death glare, he basically just tramples all over her style. I wanted to giggle, but that was not a wise thing to do. Slapping him in the side of head with lightning speed surprised the both of us. He cradled the spot where he had been assaulted as I let a low cackle out. Taking my shoulder, she pulled me in front of the mirror. I was right, all I see is whore. Though my makeup is good, it pushes me to question if she really does ram her face into peoples asses covered in paint? ; Could be worse. Nodding at her in approval she steps in front of me to check over my makeup again. Camille's smirk seeped across her face.
Picking up the fake, thick, hollowed out comic book filled with a bag of drugs, she handed it to me and turned me back around to Alix. He now had a cigarette in his hand, pulling out his lighter to light it. He puts it in his mouth and inhales before speaking.
"It's simple, get in the taxi, go to the comic book store, wait by the shelf near closest to the back exit with chairs around it, give the book to the guy with black hair in the comic book store, then leave and go back home. Simple." he breathes out the smoke as he was saying this. He put the cigarette in his mouth as he stepped forward. Pecking me on the cheek, he then turned me around and slapped my butt.
"Well get going, It's already 7, he should be there by now." his voiced echoed in the hall as I left with the book in my hands. Leaving her house; which smelled like a nail salon, I am greeted by a cab outside waiting for me. Moving quickly, I'm in the cab telling the guy where to go before I can gather my thoughts. I couldn't think straight, they overcrowded in my head. I feel so winded, this situation is so frickin' weird now. The taxi driver seemed to have his shit in gear, considering he got me there within 5 minutes, though the comic book store isn't far away.
Exiting the vehicle with the comic book in my hand; a certain nervousness/cold shot down my spine. Entering the comic book store I am greeted by the smell of paper and sweat. Ew.
"Welcome to the store, let me know if you need help." The guy shouted behind the cash register who was messing with his phone, not paying attention to who walks in. Eyeing my destination, I moved to the back. Approaching the seating I noticed nobody was in sight, Great. Sitting down in the chair I await for somebody to approach me fitting the vague description. The chair was surprisingly comfy; I have never been to the comic book store. I'm fighting off the urge to pick up a book and read it. My focus was on the book shelf behind the furniture, skimming over the titles with my eyes. This seems to be a manga section? I turn my head quickly as I hear footsteps approaching, It's-
Holy. Shit.
"Hello ma'am, may I help you?"
"Uh-" Trying to speak; nothing came out.
"Is there something wrong, ma'am?"
"No." My voice broke as I said this, causing my face to flush. Trying to pick myself up again, I force myself to talk.
"I think I may have a package for you." My voice was slightly raspy as I stood up with the book in hand. The gorgeous guy looked down at the book in my now sweaty fingers. His eyes moved back to my face, then my eyes. His hair is black, that's the only description I have.
"We haven't gotten any emails about new shipments coming in, is it a book donation?" He asked in complete seriousness. I don't think this is the guy unfortunately. Better check just to be sure.
"Is your name Ashton by any chance?" I study his face, and disappointed when he doesn't react to it.
"Lu-" He is interrupted by a guy stepping in front of him, who stepped out of the way as he latched onto my arm. Stumbling as I'm pulled by this random guy who steps in, we are now behind a bookshelf. I watch the other guy who I was talking to remain to stand there, he looks kind of pissed right now.
"Hello Ms. Michaels." The guy still holding onto my arm purred. Looking at this guy, it must be Ashton. As somebody who uses, you can tell when somebody needs a fix, and this guy needed one.
"Quit fucking touching me!" I yell as I grab a small book off the shelf and hit him in the head with it. This did nothing. Having my right leg pulled up to his hip by his doing, I try and knee him in the thigh with my other, causing him to let me go. Hitting the thin carpet, I try and scramble to get away from this guy before somebody steps in front of me. The guy I was talking to a few minutes ago. I'm just going to assume he works at the store. Face to face with Ashton, he glances down briefly at the book I dropped with he drugs in it. Ashton launched for it but is kicked by into the wall buy the guy, then they guy bends down and picks up the book and puts the drugs in it.
"How about you do me a favor, and take this shit to another store.!" he yells. Pushing the book into Ashton, he took him by the shirt collar and escorts him to the back exit before yelling something at him.
Sitting there, I breathe hard as I think of the consequences of what just happened, but more importantly the remark he made to me. How the hell did he get the idea I was going to sleep with him? My chest grew heavy as my thoughts raced. The male figure approached, sitting down in the floor in front of me. He studied me for a moment before he said anything.
"Are you okay?" His voice was soft, but warm. I nodded.
"Can I get you anything?" The tone grew a little bit more serious, I shook my head.
"May I have your name? Somebody has been sending girls here this entire week, and the same shit has been happening." This being said, my body grew hot. My face growing the hottest, I felt a liquid squeeze itself from my eyes. I stared blankly at the guy before I lost my shit. Crying out of frustration, my body tensed up more.
"Jace, get off your phone and bring me a box of tissues. Then close the store." The guy turned around and yelled for the guy at the counter, I'm assuming. I feel so wounded right now. Within a few moments I'm passed a box of Kleenex. I continue to quietly sob into the tissues, before handing the box back to him.
"Neah Michaels." I say within a quiet sob, I try and encourage myself to calm down. This happens to be one of the 'cry-on-your-own-shoulder-moments'.
"Oh, damn." The guy said as he stared at me. Glaring at him, giving a look of 'what-do-you-mean?', I await his response.
"That scumbag! He has been bragging about you for months since he joined my class, including his other girlfriends, but he spoke of you the most." His tone sounded disgusted as he looked away from me. Making myself channel my anger; instead of the shit leaking from my face. Setting down the box along with the soaked tissues, I waited for him to keep talking.
"Is Alix the one who sent you here?" He looked back at me. I nodded.
"He told me that he asked everybody else to help him but nobody would." I say lowly.
The guy shakes his head, "6 years with that guy? how the hell did you manage? I think he said 6 years."
I feel slightly insulted, but I felt obligated to answer. "Well, you could probably guess." It's very obvious, to me anyways. The guy looked slightly confused for a second, as he stared at me. At this point, I just want to go home and feel the desired rush. Slipping my leg under me, I push myself up. Saying thanks as I walked away.
"Hey wait. At least let me drive you home, or get you a cab. That creep might follow you home. Please let me help, I have heard about him doing so many awful things to girls. They don't ever press charges though." His tone drifted into disappointment at the end. I can't help but whisper a reply.
"If they were anything like me, I know they wouldn't." Stating quietly as I begin to push the exit door open. "I'm going home." I say stepping out of the door. Too much shit.
"Neah, wait!" The guy yelled following behind me. I halted turning around to the guy once again
"You don't know me, so do me a favor and not worry about my well being." I say as I turn away and start walking. Only this time the guy doesn't follow. About a 40 minute walk to my house, let's just hope I don't die.
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