Jack Wilder X Reader - Two of Hearts

Years

~YOUR P.O.V.~

7 years had passed by so quickly you could barely realize that you were 23 years old. It was a cool, September afternoon, around 5 o'clock, and you walked down the packed street in New York City, wearing your black trench coat, keeping your hands in your pockets. Underneath, you wore dark jeans, a black leather jacket, and a black t-shirt. You needed a drink, a strong drink. And a lot of it. You looked around through the crowd of people, to make sure your abusive boyfriend Brent was not around.

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You could remember the first time you walked down this street. You were 19 years old, maybe 20, and you knew you didn't belong there. But in reality, you really don't belong anywhere. You had no one, and nothing, except for the clothes on your body, and a brown satchel which contained your wallet, a list of everything you've ever stolen, some food, some books, and your grandfather's favorite deck of cards, which were printed at your forever hometown of Los Angeles, California.

Your grandfather was your introduction to magic, and your motivation to keep going. He died 9 years ago, when you were 14, when he attempted a very challenging, and very dangerous stunt; the infamous bullet catch. But he attempted it blindfolded, and with a real bullet in a real gun. Ever since then, your life started, crumbling. At age 14, your grandmother died of heart failure, and your brother died in a motorcycle accident. At age 15, your uncle and cousin died in Afghanistan. And, at age 16, your parents died; your mother of a car accident, and your father of a heroin overdose a month later, leaving you with no one. No family, no friends(well, you never had any friends to start with), just evading the orphanages.

There were many things you didn't want, and being in an orphanage was one of those things you dreaded most. So, the moment you found your father's dead body, you stole his wallet, and grabbed a brown satchel, a few articles of clothing, and your water bottle, and you left the scene. The first thing you did was go to the ATM about a mile away, and withdraw $2000 from his account, using his credit card, and the PIN code that you've watched him enter so many times.

Then, over the next 3 years, you walked, bused, and hitchhiked your way to New York City. You started running out of money in Vegas, where you were realized it was time to relook at one of your old "magical" habits; pickpocketing. Which wasn't hard considering half of your audience was drunk out of their minds. It took no effort for you to merely walk down the strip at 1am and end up with about twelve wallets.

When living in L.A. your grandfather paid for you and your brother: your clothes, your food, and your education. But when he died, you were left to your parents, who spent most of their money on gambling, alcohol, and drugs, leaving you and your brother to your own devices. Which, sometimes(actually most of the time) meant stealing people's wallets right from under their noses. You both still kept going to school, and getting rather amazing marks, despite your living conditions.

While on the run, you really dove into your magic skills, stealing magic books from bookstores, and supplies you needed from other places. By the time you made it to New York, you'd become quite good at your skills, you even created a few tricks of your own. Nothing complex, but it seemed that way. Once you reached Indiana(you were about 18 years old), you started practicing card throwing, after watching an uprising magician with the hell of an ego and a weird name throw cards like boomerangs. But, of course, you were there to pickpocket someone, so you pickpocketed a man wearing a rather expensive suit, so you assumed he was rather rich, and you were right. His wallet was filled with 6 $50 bills, keeping you fed for three weeks.

Once you arrived New York City, you sought out a job, and you found one at a White Castle in Harlem. You worked there for almost four years, before you moved in with your at-the-time amazing boyfriend Brent at his terrace apartment in the city(who even helped you get your driver's license).

Then it all went downhill.

Once you moved in with Brent, he became extremely abusive; verbally and sometimes physically. Whenever you tried to break it off, he'd abuse you until you took it back. You were still attracted to him, of course, he was a very attractive man, but you were no longer in love with him. And he locked all of your magic stuff away in a closet, seriously who does this motherfucker think he is?!?!

But however, he did not know about the deck of cards that you always kept in your pocket that belonged to your grandfather. You practiced with them frequently, mainly while Brent was at work, you'd work on your card throwing, until he sent you a text message saying he was on his way. Brent had a very well-paying job as a software developer, and it was great because he was working 12 hour days(from 8 to 8), 7 days a week(except holidays).

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You approached the bar you always came to after you two fought. It was a small, Irish bar on a corner, with a green and gold door and a sign dirty on top that read Barra Cúinne. You opened the door, and entered. About a dozen people were there, sitting at the bar, watching whatever was on the TVs. There were three seats open; one between two large men that looked kinda intimidating, one between a man and a woman, who were yelling at each other; and one on the far end next to someone wearing a dark grey sweatshirt, with the hood pulled over their head.