Inked

Chapter Two: Conectuntur the amica mea

I stood there my heart pounding in my chest. I felt his cold grip tighten around my forearm. I looked around after noticing that the only sound that was happening was the country music that played on the radio over the speakers. Everyone in every booth and table had turned to look our way.
Frank came over, bustling through the restaurant. "Get off her." Frank growled at the red haired man. Frank tugged and pulled at his hand that tightly gripped my forearm. I breathed deeply in and out.
"She has to know what she is!" The man thundered. "And what is she?" Frank laughed. The man let go of my arm. I now had a red mark on my forearm from his grip. "She is inked!" He grunted. Frank laughed, took his thumb and placed it on his temple. He then took his index and middle fingers and rubbed his forehead. A usual sign of his despondency of human kind.
"Why don't we take this into my office?" Frank insisted as sweetly as he could. Frank grabbed the arm of the man but, the man yanked it away. "No. You are inked." He remarked as he looked at me. "What does that mean?" I inquired. He looked behind him, towards the door of the bar. "I, I have to leave." He stuttered as he walked backwards. "Go to the Westbottoms," he exclaimed once he opened the door. "You'll find the answer there."
The door slammed and we all watched him run down the sidewalk in a panic. "You don't really believe him do you?" Frank asked. I sat there before I replied, "No, no. Why would I!" I laughed the event off along with the other employees of Monroes the whole day. When I got home though I wondered whether this crazed lunatic really did know something. I took my coat off flung it up on the wobbly coat rack that was by my door and plopped myself down on the couch.
What if he was right? What if inked is a bad thing? What if it's a curse? Maybe I can get this happening shit off me forever? I stared at the ceiling wondering my existence. I picked up my phone pushing the button in for the time. 8:20! I've been pondering my existence for over four hours! I thought. Jesus! How? I pulled myself to a sitting position. I needed to go to the Westbottoms. If I called now into Monroes I could take a vacation day for tomorrow.
I picked up my phone and dialed in for Frank. "Hello, Frank Monroe speaking. How may I help you?" I sighed. "Frank, you don't mind if a take a vacation do ya?" I could tell there was a little smirk on his face as he probably filled someone's drink at the bar. "No Mollie I don't mind, especially after today...I would take a day off too." I smiled, looked down at my fingernails which I had started picking at. It was a nervous habit of mine that I had gotten into when I was younger. "Mm'Kay thanks." I hung up. Put my phone on my coffee table and got up off the couch.
I decided to make ramen noodles like the poor 21 year old that I was. I grabbed a pan, boiled some water and put my package of ramen in. I sat there staring at it as it slowly unraveled itself.
Mollie! I heard a gruff voice scream in my ear. I flipped around quick, eyes wide, my heart once again pounding. My breaths were shallow. There was no one else in the apartment, well other than Oliver, my cat, who was staring at the tiny fish tank that I kept on a shelf he couldn't reach. I tried to breathe in as deep as I could. I exhaled. I slowly turned around, took my ramen off the stovetop and put the chicken packet in. I prepared my ramen and finally had my food. I sat back down on the couch.
"Damn it," I grunted to myself, "I forgot a drink." I got back up.
Qui Hadius DeSomsusen Fordidious, I heard the gruff voice again only this time I had no clue what it was saying. I ran and screamed bloody murder. I grabbed a knife out my drawer and pointed it to the air. Oliver looked at me as if I was crazy.
A feeling trickled up my spine. Something primal, something we all have if we are self aware. I looked over to where I felt I was being watched. Over in the corner by my bedroom entrance was the black swirling figure.
It's pallor hands were not hooked together but the ring still sat on the pinky finger. I gripped the knife tighter. "Get away from me." I trembled with clenched teeth. I walked backwards, knife still pointed outwards.
It jumped as it did before straight to my face. Once again I was face to face with a void. It's pallor hands brushed my face. I could not feel the skin of the pallor hands but the coldness. The coldness of what seemed to be death. "Conectuntur the amica mea." It growled.
Then it disappeared as before and I was left was saying of a language that I had no clue what it was.

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