The Bad Boy Is A Loser

3. || do i wanna know?

A hot shower was the first thing Isabella gave herself after her departure with Carter. Brandi had called a friend to pick her up after flushing her eyes with ice cold water over and over again in the midst of Isabella's attempt to wash the disgusting feeling of being taken advantage of away.

Reality continuously squashed any chances of her being able to forget the feeling of waking up with no recollection of what happened the night before. No books could take her mind away from a place of depression. Sitting alone in the library proved to be even worse than sitting alone in a dorm. Students never waved or said hello to her when they came in. The morning passed too slow for her own comfort and she wished she had asked Carter if they could visit Allen's Ink sooner.

    Her cheek was swollen and a bruise had formed by midday as she stood out in the parking lot, waiting for Carter's arrival. Her blonde hair was left loose and hung past her shoulder blades limply. She hadn't bothered styling it because in truth, she couldn't possibly feel pretty even if she tried. Her self esteem had plummeted to an all time low. Streaks of foundation and powder poorly covered the bruise on her face and tired bags hung below her blue eyes.

The heat of the August sun blazed down on her back, nearly smothering her in the long sleeved, pastel blouse she wore. Brandi had clawed her nails all down the girl's arms during the fight and she was desperate to cover up the scratches.

Carter met up with her shortly after three o'clock. For one of the richest students on campus, he was full of surprises. He owned a ten year old Corolla that he drove to the shop. Most students who weren't attending on piles of scholarships drove sports cars that were barely five years old. Carter's vehicle, however, was a fairly old and small, silver car that the pair piled into after exchanging greetings.

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Allen's Ink appeared to be a ghost town on the outside. The humid winds rippled against the fabric of the black sign with white, graffiti-like print above the shop. A large, glass window held a glowing, red OPEN sign in it.

A cigarette tumbled from Carter's lips as he opened the glass door to the shop and Isabella followed closely behind him. A rusty, golden bell jingled as the door shut behind them and a man behind the wooden reception desk looked up from his cell phone.

The shop hadn't changed from the last time Isabella visited. The tiles below them were black and white. The walls were painted black, but decorated with several sizes of framed artwork. The buzzing of tattoo machines filled the air and two customers were laid on their stomachs in black, leather chairs while artists went to work in black, rubber gloves.

A boxy, staticky radio sat on the desk where the receptionist stood, playing heavy rock music. Carter marched straight up to the desk and planted the palms of his hands on the sleek surface.

"Is Troy here yet?"

    "He should be here any minute," The receptionist replied. A red and white stick-on name tag read, Hello, My Name Is: Rick on his black Metallica t-shirt. His ginger hair was thrown all around his head in such a matted, messy fashion, Isabella wondered if he even owned a single hairbrush. Orange stubbles scattered around his plump cheeks and he appeared to be either incredibly tired or incredibly sick-feeling.

     Coincidentally, the rusty bell above the door jingled again and shortly after, a hard, tall figure slammed against the back of Isabella. Off guard, she staggered forward and the sound of papers flopping onto the floor caused her to catch herself and turn around.

On the ground, a dark headed male began shoving the papers into a a black bag beside him in a quick, panicked manner.

"I'm so sorry," His voice rasped as his ink-stained fingers continued to slap papers into the bag, "I wasn't paying attention, I usually don't run in here like that but-"