Tainted

Tainted {{Chapter One}}

                                                * * * Brendon’s P.O.V. * * *

            The car I owned was nice, nothing too expensive; my uncle’s old black Mustang. I paid no heed to the traffic laws as I sped at an angry, reckless pace toward my destination, Starbucks. I drove through one, two, three red lights and a stop sign on my way, not really considering whether I was endangering peoples’ lives in the process. I just needed some damn coffee.

            My car skidded to a stop at a crooked angle in a parking space, just nearly avoiding a collision with an elderly woman who shouldn’t be allowed on the road anymore. I laid on my horn as she drove off, muttering profanities under my breath.

            Stupid lady.

            Stupid car.

            Stupid Dad.

            My father was an imbecile. After twenty-two years of marriage, he was divorcing my mother, and for what? A woman whom he was twice the elder of. I could almost laugh at how cliché the entire thing was.

            Slamming my car door, I trudged through the parking lot, wet from a previous rain shower, and pushed open the door of Starbucks. The scent of coffee beans filled my nostrils and I instantly felt a bit better. I approached the counter and ordered my usual: straight black coffee. Then I took a seat at a booth near the window, leaning my head in my hand and checking my cell phone for messages.

            There was one from my best friend Tyler, informing me that tonight’s band practice had been cancelled. I stuffed my phone back down into my pocket. Awesome.

            I glanced up at the stop counter; how long did it take to make plain coffee, anyway? It wasn’t like I had ordered any of that fancy nonsense that everyone else drinks. It was black coffee, for God’s sake.

            It seemed like the whole world was out to piss me off today.

            I advanced toward the counter again and the girl behind it visibly cringed, obviously knowing that I was irritated. Either that or it was because of my appearance, but I was oblivious to second-looks due to that.

            “Can I help you?” She asked, her voice wary.

            “Yeah, how long does it take to make damn coffee?” I demanded.

            She flinched. “Well, I’m not–”

            “Excuse me,” another female voice cut her off. I glimpsed around for the source of it, having to glance down to even notice her. A short girl, she was. She was facing the girl behind the counter. “I was here before him.”

            “I was waiting before you,” I countered, shifting and looking down to face her.

            She turned toward me. “Well, I was trying to order.” I barely had time to register the scars decorating her face before she stepped in front of me, so all I could see was the top of her blonde head. What a bitch.

            “Hey, move,” I said. She ignored me as she looked up at the menu, and I clenched my teeth together. “I said move.”

            She spun to face me again, and I could see her studying every inch of me. I saw her take in my long dark hair, nose hoop ring, lip ring, black v-neck, skinny jeans, Toms and tattoos covering almost every visible part of my body. Just the tattoos alone would usually be enough to frighten anyone like her into submission. Instead, she quirked a pale eyebrow and uttered the one word that I was not expecting.