Tattoos and Scars | Rewritten Version

Chapter 2 || Adrian Black

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A nearly healed broken rib, a still healing broken shin, faded bruises, and nearly healed cuts. Not to mention a bunch of stitches in my head, and a concussion. But at least I'm alive.

And that was the last time I had to face my dad. I think I should be celebrating right now by drinking a milkshake, but sadly I'm stuck at Mr. Rodriguez's home until my foot is all better.

According to him, I can't work with a broken leg and a concussion. Does that really matter though? I think I'm perfectly capable of working. And you know what? I am going to work.

To get myself in shape and to not turn into a lazy potato. I crawl out of my bed, wincing at the wounds on my knee. I begin to limp towards the front door, and grab my crutches. These things are the worst, I'm telling you.

I'm only using them because I don't want to increase my healing time. Imagine being babied by Mr and Mrs. Rodriguez for more than a few weeks. I could never. When I successfully clamber down their front staircase, I turn towards Mr. Rodriguez's store and hobble my way as fast as possible.

All I need to do is cross the street to get to his store. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Right? It is still daytime, which means that the worst that could happen is getting jumped. But I have these crutches. I can beat them up like a badass grandmother!

I begin to cross the street, maintaining caution. When I reach the other side, I push open the door to his little store and barge in. "I know what you're thinking, Mr. Rodriguez, and no! I do not want to be stuck in bed all day, waiting for my foot to heal and my brain to feel okay again. I want to work! Let me do some hard physical labor so that I don't grow out of shape with all the food you are feeding me! I want work!"

"You can run the register."

"I knew you would say that, but I refuse to leave until..." I blink. "You said that I can work?"

"You're not doing hard physical labor, but I'll let you run the register. I'm not paying you though."

"I don't want money. And yay! I get to work!" I grin at him from ear to ear, ignoring the fading pain in my jaw. Let's just assume that whenever I move, some part of me hurts. Because it does.

I stand behind the register, twirling my blonde hair as a pastime. Every now and then someone would stop by, asking for a vape or a bottle of alcohol. Rarely, someone would come and buy something decent like a bag of chips or something.

It's just about closing time when a few last minute customers walk in. Oh shit. I quickly hide my crutches from their sight, and pull my hair over the right side of my face to hide a still healing cut.

Their eyes are bloodshot red, as if they've been doing a shit load of drugs. "Bailey! You missed almost an entire month of school. Must have been because you were too drunk to even think."

My face turns red in embarrassment. I was hoping I'd forget about that soon... "What do you want?" I ask, my voice quiet and soft. It's best if I don't aggravate them like last time.

"Can you get us some lighters? And a pack of cigarettes."

"The lighters are right there," I point to a shelf nearby. "And I need to see your ID for cigarettes."

"Oh, they're not for us. They're for my brother, who's twenty two."

"Then I'll need to see him here." Dammit, why is doing everything the legal way so hard? I could have just handed them the cigarettes and called it a day, but then I'd have to hear Mr. Rodriguez get into some legal trouble for that and then he goes off yelling at me.