The Smell Of Cigarettes / John Deacon X Reader

Soft faces, unforgetable glances

Y/n's point of view•

I was wiping those counters clean. Heck I'd spit on them if It wasn't for those 400£ I was getting to pay off that shitty place.

It stunk anyway. No matter how many times I cleaned It, chnaged my rotting carpet, opend the windows and even fixed the broken plumbing myself. Nothing helped.

Right now the only thing thats imnportant is to clean these counter tops and get out of here. That matress that had springs cutting my sides every night, was really itching my mind right now. Just 20 more minutes and I'll be outta this shit hole to return to a bigger shit hole I dare to call home. Then I'll once again cry myself to sleep thinking of the life I could have.

The life everyone dreams of. Money, sex and drugs. Not a care in the world It seemed like. Having escaped my abusive father, I gave myself the benefit of the doubt and said 'well you got out of that, but what now?«

I barely made it through high school. Studying arts didn't make my father very happy. Nothing made him happy really. The only thing that made him happy was his booze and cigarettes. I'll always remember the countless days he's beaten me up. Beaten me for coming home late, for getting a bad grade, for having friends and having a somewhat of a social life. He'd beat me for being liked in the neighborhood, for being a doll to everyone but him, for looking at him the wrong way. He didn't need a reason anymore. My slick talking in the hospitals always ended the same »yeah I got drunk cause I fucked my best friends man and got beat up, wanna hear any more?«

They didn't, none of them did. Neither did my dad when I was suffocating under his grip while he was removing my pants. I knew If I'd let that moment escalate I could not live with myself knowing what happenf. So I somehow clawed my way up underneath him, his balls got a kicking (talk about blue balls) and his nose was even bigger than before.

Years of abuse and fake faces made me a stronger person...well on the outside so I thought...I just wanted to meet someone...who I could say this to or just hug them tight...the type of way my mother hugged me before she died...all I ever wanted was love, someone or something to give me respect as a human being, and to cherish me as one of their own. I was thinking about how cruel the world was when I realized the hard-loving fact that the world doesn't owe me anything.

'THE BAND FINISHED THEIR GIG, DRUNK TEENS WILL COME TO HAVE A DRINK OR TWO SO BE PREPARED TO STAY AN EXTRA HOUR"...

'are you fucking serious?? Ive been here for 12 fucking hours now working shifts for two groupies who aren't sick like they said, can't I go home one fucking hour early???'

...shit...fuck shit fucking shit shit...I've never used that launguage on Steve. 2 years of working here really built up my frustrations. He started walking up to me. Ahh, not this shit again. He came really close to me, If I inched any further my nose would touch his. He pulled his head close to my ear, gripping my hand tightly »you keep your slutish little mouth shut, or I'll kick you out of here so you and your little pets can live out on those streets« he smilled, pulled back and with a jerking motion let go of my handd before walking away, smacking my ass hard in the process.

Some drunk old men started laugjing and whistling...casuall sexual assault in a working place, sounds fimilliar? It's real...

Every time a moment like this came up I took my beaded necklace whom my mother gave befor she passed, squeeze It tightly and said«you've got this, you'll make It one way or the other« holding back tears I quickly went to the changing room to put on my black apron. In the process I heard loud footsteps of people. Shit they're here. Drunk teens who're still high from all the music. Secretly I kind of liked It...It gave me a view of what normal teens went through