Tattoos and Scars | Rewritten Version

Chapter 1 || Finally Free

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My brain starts to pound against my skull and my entire body aches as things slowly stir to life around me. I expect to see my bedroom, or some part of my apartment, but all I smell is the scent of blood and beer. But that's how my house usually smells like...

I know this isn't my apartment because we do not have a really large dumpster in it. Where am I? Why am I here...? What time is it? I was supposed to be buying my dad a bottle of beer! Why the hell am I bleeding?

I start to turn my head, slowly scanning my surroundings. mostly because my neck hurts if I try to do it fast. Why is there a broken beer bottle right next to me?

"Open wide. Or lose your life. We're in a place where crime happens everyday. No one's going to care. Not that they would either way." She presses the knife against my neck.

Did I drink that whole thing? Fuck!

"Bailey! You drank my bottle of beer!"

Did my dad do this to me?

I wince in pain as his foot makes contact with my ribs. I think I heard something crack. Probably my bones.

I feel my entire body start to tremble as snips of memories start to return to my mind. Memories that were probably best left forgotten. I drank alcohol! I fucking drank it! I promised myself I wouldn't.

I was supposed to fight. I wasn't supposed to drink it. I drank the whole bottle! Even my alcoholic dad dilutes his drink!   

I need to get home. I push my body upwards, in an attempt to stand up but collapse back on the hard concrete, coughing. I think it might be blood, but then again, I can't really tell because my mouth had blood in it either way.

"Bailey...! Girl, what the hell happened?!" I tilt my neck slightly to see a dark figure hovering over me. "I close my store and then I see you bloodied up on the ground. The fuck happened?"

"Mr. Rodriguez?" I widen my eyes in an attempt to get a clearer vision of him. "I... got jumped," I lie, hoping he'll believe me. I've never gotten jumped, mostly because I carried my pocket knife around since I was twelve. And no one really jumps people younger than twelve or thirteen. Whenever someone tried, I'd land a cut on their hands or something.

"Did you drink that entire bottle of beer?"

"I didn't mean to... I..." Before I know it, tears start pouring out of my eyes, forcing me to take deep breaths, which in turn hurt my body. "I'm sorry Mr. Rodriguez. I tried to fight..."

"Shh. No more talking until we get you all bandaged up. Lucky for you that my wife is a nurse."

"I know that."

"Holy hell girl, you smell like shit."

"Don't rub it in," I deadpan, as he hooks my hand around his shoulder, slowly lifting me up. I flinch at the immense pain it causes, but after a while, I get used to it.

After a gruelling and painful ten minutes, or ten years... we reach Mr. Rodriguez's little house right across his store. "Ella! Get this girl fixed up, she got jumped. And be careful, she's a good one."

Mrs. Rodriguez immediately rushes to my side, clearly worried. "Goodness heavens, child. What the hell happened to you? Oh right, you got jumped. Did you not carry a pocket knife?"

"Save the questions for later, Ella. She's bleeding hell over there."

"Right. Right." The lady takes her husband's place in supporting me. I wince at the fact that I have to slouch to reach her height, and it's hurting my ribs. "Sorry, I'm vertically challenged."