\\ she makes dirty words sound pretty • michael clifford //

Chapter 1: Free cigarettes? Hell yes. Bye asshole.

(I don't own anyone in the story [sadly], and I don't know correct things about Australia so sorry if some stuff is wrong. Thanks for reading!)           

       "Can I have a pack of Menthol's please?" I asked the man behind the gas station counter. He scowled at me before quickly nodding and turning around to search the endless wall of killing sticks.

     

        I dug through my bag trying to find the crumpled up ten dollar bill that I knew I had thrown in there from the car console. "Dammit", I muttered under my breath, taking stuff from my purse and setting it onto the counter.

          The man behind the counter aka "Carlos" or so his name tag reads, seemed even more annoyed with me, if possible. He rang the pack up quickly, grumbling out the price. "Six what? HA! Found it!" I said happily, pulling the bill from my purse and Carlos went to grab it from my hand, but I pulled back.

      "Six what? I have change." I asked nicely, and he rolled his eyes, motioning to the credit card machine in front of me that stated the price. 6.37. Got it. I set my bag on the counter to scavenge for more change when I heard a loud sigh from behind me.

      "You know what. I'll buy it for you. Cigarettes on me. Just please god, go. Stop taking so long. I'm kind of late." A grumpy Australian voice said, and I turned my head around to find a boy standing there. Well, man? Boyman? For some reason my breath caught in my throat, but I ignored it.

       

       "You're late? Look dude, I'm sorry that you missed your period, I'm sure you're not pregnant." I grumbled, before taking a moment to look at him. 

        He looked about 18. He was wearing an annoyed expression on his rather attractive face. He had on black skinny jeans and a black 'Guns N' Roses' shirt, and his hair was bleached. He looked like a little piece of trouble, or rather like he was trying hard to look tough and he probably wasn't on the inside.

       I giggled softly at this realization, and his expression only grew more annoyed. "Jesus Christ, are you retarded? Yes? No?" He spat harshly, throwing his pack of Coors Light onto the counter not waiting for an answer. Beer? He's definitely not 21. Wait, what's the drinking age here? Not that I'm gonna fret over if the pissy boy from the 7-11 got to party or not when I'm trying to fall asleep tonight.

        "Free cigarettes? Hell yes. Bye asshole." I smiled, grabbing the pack off the counter and turning around and walking out, putting my hand up to wave at Carlos like he hadn't been a complete dick to me the entire time. 

        I walked out of the store and to the beat up truck I bought when I first got to Australia, swinging the door open and sitting in the drivers seat. I started it up before rolling down a window, and took a minute to get a cigarette and light it before I pulled out of my spot. 

        I turned up the radio as I backed out, and took a long drag of my cigarette. Thank god. I haven't smoked all day, and it was nearly 8 p.m. Just as I was about to pull out of the lot I saw the payer of my cigarettes walk out, case of beer in hand. Good for him. At least he knows how to use a fake I.D.

      Once I was on the main road my phone started ringing, and I grumbled as I lifted my butt off the seat to retreive the iPhone out of my back pocket. I saw it was my best friend and groaned before answering, knowing she was gonna just ream my ass on why I was late to pick her up. 

      "Alaska!" She nagged immediately after I put the phone to my ear. Wow, not even a hello? "I know. Jesus. I'm literally on my way. I stopped at 7-11. I will be there in five." I said quickly, before she had anymore time to complain.