The Bad Boy is Mine

Chapter 2

The pic on the side is of Charlotte

We went out to lunch when Adam went into the bathroom the next day. I have to work. We're locked in my room. He's completely drunk, and he's an abusive drunk.

I pull on the black spandex shorts and the black tight tank top that says Abe's Pub over my pushup bra.

I work at a stupid bar.

"Stay in here while I'm gone. I'll bring you guys food." I say.

They leave tomorrow and Adam managed to ruin everything.

I leave my hair down and clutch my phone and keys on the way out.

I slip out of the door and the lock clicks behind me.

"It's your fault she's gone!"

Adam screams at me.

I make a run for the door, but he grabs my arm. His fingernails rip skin.

He hit me across the face, hard.

Seconds later, he realizes what he did.

"Rylee." He whispers.

I shove him, hard.

"Go to hell, Adam."

I walk out of the apartment.

The guy that likes me is sitting outside.

He stands up.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Do I look okay?" I say, running downstairs.

I get in my car and fire it up.

I grab some tissues to wipe up the blood.

I drive to work.

I'm not even crying.

I sit in my car until the bleeding stops, and then I get out and walk into the bar. Rowdy guys grope me. I sign in.

"What happened to you?" my boss, Carl asks.

"I fell." I lie.

"You fell and that's how you got a handprint on your face?" he raises his eyebrows.

"Sure." I sigh.

I put on my nametag and start serving drinks. People hit on me multiple times and I just glare at them.

People make out and laugh and joke.

A guy comes strolling over to the bar and sits down.

He's tall, easily six feet. He has brown hair and a bit of facial hair. He's attractive.

He has on a black leather jacket and a love cut blue-gray V-neck, and a dog tag around his neck.

"Budweiser, will you?" he asks bluntly.

I don't say a single word to him as I pour him a beer and slide it to him. He tosses me the money.

I stan around, waiting for someone else to come.

He look at me. "What the hell happened to your face?" he asks.

"I suppose I should be asking you the same question, or is your face just naturally hideous?" I reply with a snarky tone.

I've had enough today. I'm depressed and really just want to curl into a ball and cry.

He smirks. "You're hot. I dig red hair."

I glare at him.

"Seriously, you're covered in bruises."

"I'm well aware. Could you finish your drink and leave?" I ask. He stands up and peers over the counter.

"You've got nice legs." He smirks.

"You're only here to get laid." I grumble. He finishes his beer.

"Another!" he says. I pour him another one. "I'm not here to get laid, you fucking bitch. I'm here because I want to be. Who spit in your cereal this morning?"

I grit my teeth.

"You really need to get some fucking manners. You probably have that perfect fucking life with the perfect fucking family and the best fucking friends and a wonderful fucking life. I bet you think you're all fucking that. You're dumb bitch, stop telling me what you think I'm here for. You're nowhere near right."

I throw is beer in his face.

"You're wrong, you fucking dick. I have a horrible life! My dad left when I was seven and my Mom wouldn't let me go with him! I have no fucking friends, I was abused by my ex-boyfriend, hence the fucking bruises! My only friend died giving birth to my niece! My brother lost his shit and snorts heroin because his wife is dead! The fucking cuts and the hand on my face are because my brother got drunk and hit me. Don't act like you know me, motherfucker! You know nothing."

His jaw is slack. He clearly wasn't expecting that.

"Rylee! You're fired!"

Carl shouts. I rip my nametag off and throw it at the bitchy man, and then I storm out of the bar.

The guy follows me.

"Okay princess, now you just made all that shit up! Stop trying to get sympathy from me! It won't happen!"

I whip around and punch him in the face.

He stumbles back.

His nose is bleeding.

"Go fuck yourself." I hiss. I get in my car and drive away.