𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 (𝓖𝓸𝓳𝓸 𝔁 𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻)

.｡*♡ Maybe ｡*♡

< 2 years ago >

Y/n pushed her way through the LA streets, eyes weary and strained from another long shift at work- a desk job that she spited with all of her being. Every morning at 8 am, she sat down at a grainy desk with a chair that squealed whenever she moved. An out of date computer sat at the center of the table, shrieking loudly before overheating, just to reboot and do the same exact thing. Shriek, crash, shriek, crash. The inescapable sounds of an IT office filled the air, including the low rumble of gossip in the left cubicle and the slurping of coffee to her right. A fat stack of papers lay face up before her, so stark and blank it was almost jabbing at her dignity.

She'd always get partially through the work load before her boss- a thick necked, beady eyed man of fifty five who spoke too loudly for his own good- would drop a pile much bigger than the previous one on top of whatever she had been working on, giving her a yellow toothed sneer. The temptation, the delight, of screaming "I quit!" in his sweaty red face was an idea y/n had wholeheartedly considered each waking moment in that building, but she didn't. Not when he'd whistle when she'd pass by, not even when he'd pressed his sweat stained chest against her side while she went to retrieve a cup of water from that dimly lit corner. She didn't because that's what a woman shouldn't do, according to LeRoy.

Brandishing the key to her apartment, y/n unlocked the door and took a deep breath, already feeling better. The air was no longer stale, there was no reeking of bitter coffee and heavy body odor she swore would start to stick to her clothes if she stayed in that shitty building a moment longer than she had to.

After a quick pause- one, two, three seconds- to make sure no one else was in the room, y/n let herself completely relax. He wasn't home yet.

There was a cabinet in her bedroom she opened after changing from her work clothes. Inside was a bag of auburn colored clay. It was partially empty from heavy use and the exposed parts of the clay were drying and flaking off. Y/n retrieved the bag, placing it down on her stained desk, humming as she did so.

An oval became an oblong shape, tapered on the end after being mounded and shaved by the tools in her desk drawer. She added and took away, her humming now loud, content. Eye sockets, a nose, ears. Her stresses and worries melted away as she worked, tilting the small face upwards to form a neck. She was in a trance, her tongue slightly pressed outwards, her deep (e/c) eyes surveying each detail she created.

Sculpting was paradise for y/n. She'd taken classes in college, but she'd found a nack for it at a very young age. Some people had sports, some had music, y/n had clay. It was a gift, her mother had said. Her mom had also encouraged her to follow the said gift, which had gotten her to LA, where her dream of sculpting full time had been tapered by... by....

The door clicked open, and y/n paused. Heavy footsteps made their way around the room, going first to the kitchen, then the couch. The tv flickered on. Y/n stood, waving her tiny face goodbye, before exiting paradise.

From her room she could see a shock of curly hair pulled into a small ponytail planted in front of the roaring television. A football game was on. Would today be a good day?

"Hey LeRoy," she called, approaching the couch.

The head turned to show that wide smile she'd fallen for oh so long ago, contrasting against his smooth brown skin.

"Hey baby, I didn't hear you come in," he replied airily, attention back on the screen.

"Work had me tired so I went straight to my room."

LeRoy let out a tsking sound. "That sucks. Come here."

Good. This was good. Y/n circled the couch, sitting with just enough distance to let him choose what was next. Large hands wrapped themselves around her, pulling y/n to his chest while thumbing her waist. She closed her eyes, happy with how this interaction ended. Could she take this further?

"I want to quit," she whispered, voice going in and out like she was testing dangerous waters.

LeRoy shifted, no longer stroking her side, and for a moment y/n's blood ran cold.

His eyes went from the tv to her. She didn't dare look back. "Now y/n, baby, you know you can't do that. We got bills to pay."

'I've got bills to pay, not you,' she thought, blank faced.

"If I was able to save up for a rental studio, I was thinking I could-"

LeRoy groaned. "I know, the sculpting stuff, I get it."

"Roy-"

"How much would you make from that?" He laughed. At her. "Nothing. Artist can't make shit, don't you know that?"

"At first, but..." her voice trailed away. She'd noticed that he had started petting her hair again.

"Later baby. Maybe later."

"Promise?"

He looked down at her and smiled, though it seemed put on. Strained.

"Promise."

Later. Later was better than never. Y/n was so overjoyed that she had completely forgotten to address the things that peeved her. It didn't even bother her that much that she caught a whiff of a rich smelling perfume on his sweatshirt, or when she saw the bruised mark on his neck when he turned his face back to the television.