Hemmings

One

     My name is Riley Thompson, and I'm not so ecstatic about life. Ever. I'm a senior in high school, and I work at the original record store downtown in Seattle. Most people label every single thing, considering why this society today is so fucked up. My mind was crazy, and it was like my prison. My thoughts would control me, and the words that would kill me would replay in my head until I've decided that I am suicidal. It was hard to accept, but then again, it is reality. Cuts over cuts on my wrists was my kind of art, and I enjoyed that. Yeah, society tends to think that I'm trying to set a trend for everyone else, but no. It is nothing like that. I'm not encouraging anyone in any way to follow my lead, and even though I have this attitude, I damn hope nobody does. I had an escape though; Music was my escape to everything, basically, and that is why I love my job. Arctic Monkeys would play, then to The 1975. The smell of coffee from the coffee shop attached to the record store on the far left awakens me everytime I dozed off to sleep, and I loved that. The scent was addicting like coke, considering I haven't touched a hand on drugs before. It struck 12:00pm by the time the store opened, and it was a Saturday, which means I had to work for another twelve more hours. I turned up Ed Sheeran's recent album, and began the day with coffee and a dull face. Great.

"Where the fuck is the' Bring Me The Horizons' CD?" The voice of a dude with long hair with bangs covering his forehead, spoke. "Hurry the fuck up, I need to be out of here already!" He continued, yelling in demand. "It's supposed to be in the B section, you asshole." I spoke aggressively, settling my coffee down on the counter. I rolled my eyes the best I can, and crossed my arms. I hated rude customers, the fact that they're having a bad day and having to take it out on me, bothers me. "What did you just call me?" He turned back to me, slamming his big palms on the counter. His knuckles were hairy, and his hands were pale. I looked at him in annoyance. "I just called you an asshole. Are you deaf or something? If you are, then you should go get a hearing aid." I questioned angrily, my eyebrows rising up. His eyebrows slanted, assuming he was more than angry. "That's it!" He yelled loudly, taking my coffee cup. He opened the lid, assuming he was going to spill in on top of me. It was obvious he was going to. I crunched my fists together, but before I could defend myself, the blondie behind him got involved, and before I could even predict what he was going to do, he ran up to the asshole and blurted "Leave her alone, you rude prick and pick on someone your own gender!". He threw punches to his face, and shoved him out of the door which was on the near left of where we were. The asshole ran away from the shop with a bleeding nose, and I looked at the blondie in confusion. His knuckles turned purple, and as he sat on the ground with both of his arms wrapped around his two legs, he looked down at his shoes. He wore black combat boots, and he wore black skinny jeans with a black and red plaid sweater. He looked so familiar; Then, right at that moment, I got it. It was the guy who was in the band 'Five Seconds Of Summer', an aspiring band from my school hoping to get signed one day. They were a band, and every night, they held opening concerts at a bar where seniors are welcomed. He looked up and glazed into my eyes. "You alright?" He mumbled. I rested my elbow on the counter, laying my head on my palm. "You didn't have to. But, thanks anyway." I softly spoke. I didn't want to come out so harsh, but I would've handled it nicely on my own. I didn't want to get fired. "I'll see you around." He murmured, standing up, getting ready to walk out, but before he did, he left a paper next to my elbow on the counter. "My names Luke." Then, before I could say anything, he walked out of the shop and left with his long board. I took a look at the piece of paper, and as I did, his number trailed on the paper. In annoyance, I crumpled it, and shoved it into my pocket. Such amateurs.

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

// Copyright @storytimewithemi 2014