Rosé King

Chapter 2

When I woke up, I found myself in a dimly lit room, the kind of dark that seems to press in on you. The room's single light flickered on, casting eerie shadows on the walls. I noticed my parents standing by my bedside, their faces etched with worry, but Uncle Enzo was nowhere to be seen.

I blinked through the haze of sleep and asked, "Where's Uncle Enzo?"

My parents exchanged a glance, their expressions clouded with something I couldn't quite place. "He won't be back for a while," they replied.

At first, I thought they meant he'd be gone for just an hour or so, but as the hours turned into days, and the days into months, it became clear that he wasn't coming back at all. Months stretched into years, and his absence became a gaping void in my life. The cheerful, pink-loving girl who had once adored playing with dolls and was always kind and gentle was no more. Instead, I became a stark contrast—tattooed, pierced, with a penchant for guns and knives. My parents had long given up on understanding me, though they still loved me, unaware of my fascination with weaponry.

Now, on my 19th birthday, I woke up from my king-sized bed, feeling the weight of the years that had passed. I shuffled to the bathroom, handled my business, and then chose my outfit for the day. I opted for a black crop top that showcased ample cleavage, paired with black ripped jeans that accentuated my curves and black combat boots. After completing my makeup and putting on my jewelry, I descended the stairs, only to find the house eerily quiet. This wasn't unusual for me; my parents had long stopped being a significant part of my daily life.

I grabbed my bike keys and headed out to my pride and joy: my black Kawasaki H2R. I loved the power and freedom it represented, a stark contrast to the confinement I felt in my home. As I rode to college, the familiar rush of adrenaline was a welcome distraction.

Upon arriving at the campus, I saw my best friends, Ari and Scar, waiting for me near their bikes. They were decked out in leather jackets, looking every bit as rebellious as I felt. I parked my bike and joined them, feeling a sense of camaraderie as they greeted me.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BITCH!" Ari and Scar shouted in unison. Their voices were so loud that I was sure the entire campus could hear. I laughed despite myself, appreciating the wild and unapologetic way they celebrated.

After catching up with them, we made our way to class. When I walked in, it was clear that the lecture had already begun. The teacher—whose name I think was Janet—glared at me as I took my seat.

"Why are you late?" she demanded.

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Do you really think I give a fuck?"

The entire class erupted into laughter, but Janet's face turned a shade of red that could only be described as crimson. "Sit down," she ordered.

As she droned on about topics I already knew, I tuned out and put on my headphones, immersing myself in my music. Janet, apparently noticing my disinterest, snapped, "What did I just say?"

Without missing a beat, I replied, "You last said 'said'," and added, "Your teaching is boring as fuck."

That was apparently too much for Janet, who sent me straight to the principal's office. I couldn't stand the old fart, so I decided to skip the visit. Instead, I slipped out of school and lit up a cigarette, needing a break from the monotony.

After finishing my smoke, I sent a message to our group chat, letting my friends know I was heading back home because the day was just too fucking boring.

When I arrived back at my house and parked my bike in the garage, I noticed a sleek black G-Wagon parked outside. I didn't give it much thought and headed inside. But as I opened the door, I was met with a surprising sight: a guy dressed in black, looking incredibly hot, stood in the entryway.

His presence immediately caught my attention. His outfit was sharp, and there was an air of mystery about him that made my heart skip a beat. I wasn't expecting company, especially not someone who looked like they'd stepped out of a movie.