Chapter 1
Skylar
The rain was crashing down on me as I walked across the cobblestones with only one goal in mind and an exhausted look on my face. It’s not that I wasn’t exhausted-I definitely was, but the anger fuming underneath would not show until somebody yanked it out of me. I was losing my patience but I already lost my happiness; my peace; my everything. I knew that the instant I did the one thing I was warned against, my anger would dissipate and my face would stand out a bit. Drinking my sorrows away. Being raised in a very strict household made me flee the city, thanks to the extra money I had saved up from odd jobs and chores as a kid, and I found myself in an awkward scenario at the strange town by the famous Scarletton Beach -roughly around a 6 hour drive from home.
How I managed to get the money for fuel and actually was able to drive for almost 4 hours straight before crashing at a crappy motel and then continuing my journey is beyond me. What’s scarier? I still had enough to get me a roof and food, for the next foreseeable few days. I should have felt relieved, happy and excited at the possibility of this new start, but that’s the last thing I was. I was broken, hurting, cold, and most of all fuming at the thought of the disaster that I have found myself locked into because of my family. Not anymore though. I wasn’t going back. Even if it meant I’d be homeless and my family name would be tainted, it didn’t matter to me. All I cared about was breaking out of those shit set of rules and regulations set forth by my parents and breaking out of my family, period.
Fucking cruel people, the lot’ of them.
All they know how to do is argue and fight and blame it on me. I found a way to never involve myself, and it was still never good enough. No matter what I did; I was never respected. Fuck respect, I was never even loved. And this morning, the morning of my 19th birthday, when they fought over my education and life and apparently tried to settle on where I’d go, what I’d study, where I’d work, who I’d fucking marry and even how many fucking kids id have, I knew I couldn’t take it.
This type of behavior, quiet and sweet little people can take, but me? A girl who’s only ever known to step up and fight back? I don’t think so.
Anyway, the point is, I just left. There’s not much to it. I didn’t sacrifice a whole lot by leaving; I only knew that I’d miss my mom, who at the least tried to step up for me sometimes but right now I just had to leave and be on my own.
I was always so overprotected that I never knew a lot about how to handle myself in public situations like ordering at a restaurant or even catching a flight, but I didn’t give a shit. Its either this or parental infused trauma and I chose this. Let’s just hope that I can find myself a spot in this town, the only town I had ever been to as a kid near my city during a school field trip.
I’ll survive. I think.
As the thunder made another boom! and the lightning followed, I walked into one of the alleys I’d never been to and stepped foot into the empty but eerie bar named The Reptilian Alcove.
Odd. I know I’ve never been physically to a lot of bars before but ‘The Reptilian Alcove’? Sounds a bit much, doesn’t it? Whatever, let’s take a shot. After all, it’s either this or feeling out my pain, which I aim to not do for as long as I can. I need to fucking drown my worries in Vodka. Now. The searing pain I’m told first-timers mostly experience that they run away from? I want that. The burn of the alcohol down my throat.
The bar is relatively empty, save for a few older looking men sprawled out against the long bar table and even fewer young women scattered around the corners. I step in and feel the cool air conditioning hit my weary face as I feel out of place and awkward. All my friends hit the bar as young as 15, yet here I am at 19 not even knowing where to begin. I know though, with my confidence and lack of sensitivity that I’ll fit in soon enough.
I decide to take a riskier decision by sitting at one of the empty seats at the long, center bar table. The last thing I wanted to do was converse with the more high pitched, bottle blonde women my age.
Fine, I’d have to settle for the men.
I round up the table and find a very uncomfortable bar stool to sit on. Just as I take off the hoodie covering my face and take my seat, I droop my head against the marble table. I notice a sudden wave of silence and disturbingly lustful looks passing my way from the other men near me and I glare back their way. They smirk and return to their business. Or at least that’s what I hoped as I quietly congratulated myself on passing the first test: winning over my social anxiety and potential bullies.
“One Scotch on the rocks, please.” I immediately regretted my loud words. Ugh. Please? What am I? A ten-year-old ballerina? Jesus.
A hand slid over my back and wrapped around my waist as I froze. “That please would sound beautiful while you’re requesting to cum on my dick, why don’t we head back to my place and I’ll take care of your drink, sweetheart?” A fairly rough male voice slithered over my neck tainted with the hot breath of Whiskey and I just froze. I was wrong, so very wrong. I thought I could do this, and even bullies couldn’t get to me. I had a habit of never taking anything to heart and not giving two flying fucks… it was just the way I functioned. With my dad’s yelling back at home, it only got stronger over time (or so I thought). But now? Okay. Breathe. You’ve seen movies, you’ve been strong for so long, and most of all, you’re confident in yourself. This guy can’t touch you.
I slowly turned my head and blew a fray strand of hair out of my eyes as I gave a menacing stare back to the surprisingly young and maybe potentially attractive, tattooed and pierced freak as I said, “Listen dipshit, I’m not for sale. I never have been and never will be, so why don’t you scurry back to wherever you came from, and I may or may not promise you that I won’t tell the cops about your attempt at whatever that was in the category of well, you know, assault.” I flipped him off and was about to turn around when he suddenly grabbed my finger and fucking bent and broke it.
“You little bitch! That’ll teach ya to be wise with your mouth. Least’ I could have given you the opportunity to use that mouth for a better cause. Fucking slut!” He slapped me across the face, leaving a stinging red mark on my cheek.
Well. That just about did it.
I took a minute to take everything in, a very long fucking sixty seconds, when I suddenly jumped out of my seat and wailed. “Fucking asshole! That hurt!” I kept telling myself to make the wise next move. It seemed like I was the pawn in this game, but I was gonna turn that all around now.
Grabbing the spare hair tie I always had on my wrist, I put my hair up in a ponytail as quick as I could then downed the scotch in one fucking gulp, slapped two coins and one note onto the barkeep’s table and ran over to the same guy that verbally (and almost physically) assaulted me. I grabbed his coat, slamming him down on the glass table as an excess of energy and female rage surged through my body making my legs jittery. I couldn’t even believe I had the strength required to bash his head against the table. Well, there was more where that came from.
“You fucking cunt!” He roared and slapped me again! Even harder this time. He was about to grab me when the rage overpoured out of my body and I smashed his teeth in with my wrist -making an indent in his face. I was visibly flabbergasted at the surprise of my strength. Was it just this guy that was weak? Or was I stronger than most men? Oh God I really hope that I-
“Oof!” My stomach caved in and his foot was in my pelvis. The fuck? The nerve of this guy to touch a woman and then- andddd I was up again. Now he grabbed and fisted my ponytail and was about to deliver one more fucking blow when I kicked him in the balls with all I had and twisted to get free of his grip.
By this time, almost everyone was out of the bar seeing the drama unfolding and not wanting to get involved in the surprisingly long fight that was only being dragged out due to the woman’s efforts to get back up and fight back. I scared them? Good.
I got my energy back by seeing the faces of every woman cheering for me as I quickly slammed him again against the same glass table that now shattered. I quickly pushed him to the floor. I took out my fucking big guns and punched him in the mouth again and again and again. His face was bloody. My vision was red and on the brink of blacking out from the pain, I quickly stomped on his dick before kicking his chest and stomach again for good measure.
I quickly delivered the final blow as everyone around me was screaming for me to stop but was too fucking scared to come close. I didn’t hear them. I couldn’t. I blocked them out and fucking kneed him one more time as he tried to flimsily get up. That was that.
“Lord! You killed him! This girl really killed him!”
“Oh, shut up, I didn’t kill no one! This bastard got what he saw coming.”
Everyone fled and the bar was silent. Eerily silent. I bent down and that’s when I noticed that I couldn’t sense or see him breathing or his chest moving. I felt for his pulse and became incredibly scared when I couldn’t feel his heart beat. But I was proud. And that made me even more frightened.
I fucking killed the lad.
And everyone saw me.
I’m so screwed.
