Bandaged Hearts

Chapter 12

Since that call, I haven't noticed any blue coats or anyone try to hurt me.

Two weeks have flown by without any of the clans intervening with my life. It almost seemed better. Mom still acted out and dad still is a coward. It felt weird living with two people who admitted that I was adopted and never told me.

I have my earbuds in as I clean my room. It's a little messy but not too bad. I get to cleaning the desk, going through many stacks of papers. It's a painful mix of school work and drawings. A lot of them are scrapped. I keep filing the papers into the trash bin or in a 'keep' pile. One slips my fingers, dropping to the floor. I look down, picking up the turned over paper.

My eyes widen. "This is... the picture from when I first met HOMRA," I mumble.

The picture is inked in, but the eyes are unfinished. My brain still racks for the different colors. I groan, giving up with the thinking stage.

Then an idea hits me. "I'll just go visit them! That way I can ask or observe," I think.

I pack my drawing inside of a sketchbook. The sketchbook is slid into a (f/c) messenger bag. I stick a few ink brush pens into the bag, as well as an eraser.

Since I'm in a tank top and short shorts, I decide to change. Don't want any creeps eyeing me down. I change into a pair of black jeans and a white and (f/c) striped tight top. I throw on a leather jacket, with good taste, on top. "To wear a hat, or to not wear a hat. That is the question," I say to no one in particular.

After a bit of self debate, I grab a plain (f/c) ball cap. I place it on my (h/c) head, making sure it's nice and snug. Quickly eyeing myself in the mirror, I leave with my messenger bag slung over my shoulder. I slip on a pair of white sneakers, opening the door.

"(Y/n)? Where are you going," a male voice asks me.

The voice sends heated blood up to my brain. I stop and turn to my father. I attempt hiding my annoyance but it seems to leak out anyways. My adopted father's face is scared.

"What," I hiss.

"Where are you going," he asks.

"To a strip club," I sarcastically reply.

His face pales. "You're so gullible. I'm just going down to hang out with some friends."

My adopted father lets out a sigh, his already pale skin returning to its normal paleness. "Be safe," he says.

The tension lightens slightly. My (e/c) eyes widen slightly with disbelief. I nod, rushing out the door.

"He said be safe..." I ponder, flying down the stairs.

I reach the busy sidewalks, shoving my way into the line of marching ants. This time was different though. I was an ant with a purpose and not some ant wasting my life away. I still wasn't a worker ant or one with important status, but I had a task. A job.

I continue to walk, a pep in my step, to the music playing in my ears. There's a wall stone wall that rises to about my hips. I jump on top of the wall, walking along it. It's a calming sensation to feel like a little kid.

After the wall built out, I continue to walk along the sidewalk. A few more blocks up and there's a massive line. I walk around the line, looking at some of the people. There are ants of all classes lined up. The line leads up and into Chocolats Fantaisie. "Please have a nice day," an elderly voice says.

I walk past the line and into the chocolate store. People shout at me about cutting. "Shush! She's my granddaughter," the elderly voice snaps.

I look up to the old French lady. She has a bright smile that pulls me in. I walk to the counter. "(Y/n). Could you please help me today? I'll pay you," Grandma Jeena says.