Teaching The Bad Girl To Be Good (Lesbian Story)

Chapterd 37: Rocky Balboa

*Mature audience content* (**Wink **Wink)

Jay

Ky has been so distant these past few weeks, and I can't shake the feeling that it all started after that dinner with her dad. I thought that our petty argument, which seemed so insignificant at the time, would blow over quickly. But no. Instead, she's been pulling away, more and more. She isn't staying over as much as she used to, and it's like she's intentionally ignoring me. The silence between us has been deafening.

I take the last sip of wine from the glass, feeling the bitterness cling to my tongue, before placing the glass in the dishwasher. The routine action does little to calm the growing frustration inside me. It's late, and Ky hasn't communicated anything about whether she's coming over tonight or not. I glance at my phone, hoping for a message, but there's nothing. I hate how anxious this is making me feel, but I push it down. I tell myself to ignore it. I can't keep letting her dictate my emotions.

I remind myself that after everything I went through with my ex—those endless days of stress, that dark pit I almost fell into—I swore to myself I wouldn't let that happen again. Ky wasn't supposed to be like him. I have bigger things to worry about than stressing over someone who can't be bothered to communicate. Like my job situation, or lack thereof.

California's job market has been unforgiving. I feel like I'd be better off begging on someone's corner than actually landing a decent position. I know Mari offered me a job at her parlor, and it's tempting. But the shop's been slow. A new tattoo parlor means fewer customers willing to walk in and commit to something permanent. I didn't want to add to her stress by becoming another mouth to feed when business isn't booming. So I've been scouring the internet, job board after job board, application after application. It feels like a never-ending cycle, and it's exhausting.

I crawl into bed, my limbs heavy with the weight of the day. Joe is in the other room, yelling at her video game, the sounds of victory and frustration echoing through the apartment. I sigh. It's going to be a long night, I can already tell.

I didn't expect to fall asleep so quickly, but before I know it, I'm pulled under. That is, until I'm awoken by the sound of movement in my bathroom. The quiet rustling jolts me from my sleep, and I rub at my eyes groggily, turning to glance at the clock. It reads 3:05 AM.

"Joe, I restocked the hallway closet with pads and hygiene products," I groan, my voice heavy with sleep. "You don't need to steal mine anymore." Silence. No response. That's odd.

I sit up in bed, a strange sense of unease creeping over me. Joe would've yelled back by now. Slowly, I move toward the bathroom door, my heart rate picking up. As I reach the doorway, I'm stopped cold by the sight before me—blood. So much blood, trailing across the floor in stark contrast to the white tiles. My breath catches in my throat as I see Ky standing by the sink, dabbing at her split lip with a blood-soaked cotton ball.

"Ky—" My voice trembles. "What the hell happened?"

She looks up at me, her face a mess of bruises and cuts. Her right eye is swollen shut, and her lips are cracked and bleeding. There's a deep cut on her cheek and another dark bruise marring the other side of her face. I rush over to her, my hands shaky as I try to help clean the blood from her lip, but it keeps coming.

"Ky, what the hell did you get into?" I panic, trying to be as gentle as I can despite the rising terror in my chest.

"I... I got into an altercation," she mumbles, wincing at the light pressure I apply to her wounds.

"An altercation with who? Rocky Balboa?" I snap, unable to contain my frustration. She rubs the back of her neck, looking down nervously.

"It's fine," she insists, though her voice is weak. "I'm fine."