Blood Ink ✔️

11: At a Glance

Dear Kim Y/N,

We regret to inform you that the position which you have applied for has been filled. We appreciate your application.

Have a nice day!

Disheartened, you stare miserably at the rejection email from the restaurant you applied to wash dishes at.

This is the third rejection this week.

Kim, of course, isn't your real surname, and you haven't involved any in-depth personal information on the applications, but it's still frustrating all the same.

It seems that nobody wants to hire a girl with neither experience nor a willingness to share personal information.

You might never find a job.

It's been a week and a half since the last time you visited BB's, and it's strange how much you wish you could step in the door again and experience the kind encouragement from the staff there.

Those men are sticking in your mind like glue.

Shaking your head to push away the thought, you climb up off of your old mattress and wander into the small kitchenette.

Since earlier, small rumbles of hunger have been vibrating through your stomach. You forgot to eat lunch today, being too busy job surfing.

Sticking your head inside the cold square, you groan yet again.

Nothing.

Your fridge is completely empty.

Glancing at the digital alarm clock on the counter, you bite your lip in contemplation.

It's almost 9:00, but you're starving. Bedsides, there's a corner store that's not a far walk from your apartment. If you go quick and stay on guard, you should be completely fine.

Patting your stomach in reassurance as it grumbles in complaint, you scamper back to your room to shrug on your coat and grab your wallet, then head out the door.

The weather has grown progressively colder in the past few days, cold enough that you can see your breath now. You let the misty huffs of air float in front of you as you walk, keeping an eye and ear open for any suspicious characters lurking around.

Thankfully, you get to the store with no trouble.

This area is more populated and has fully-functional street lights lining the sidewalks. People go to and fro about their business, reassuring you.

It's safe here.

You hop through the door of the corner store and start scanning the shelves for something good to eat. There isn't anyone inside except you and the cashier at the front as you dig through the selection of pre-packaged meals, cup ramen, and various snacks.

You're sifting through the chip packages when the bell above the door clangs, alerting the staff that someone else has entered.

Glancing up casually, you take in the sight of the new customer, a middle-aged man with a tuft of thick hair.

Your blood runs cold.