Dust ✔️

Chapter Thirty-Two: Altitude

Chapter Thirty-Two: Altitude

I was cursing all day. In all honesty, that was an understatement. I've been cursing all week. Although it was mainly to myself, I had the higher advantage of working in an environment where people curse all day with good reason. The last thing I wanted to do was have this work day over. Once it was over, it only meant I had to grab those suitcases and hop on a plane.

    The last time I've been on a plane is when I came back from Florida. That whole plane ride all I wanted to do was smoke a cigarette. I can only assume the same feeling will occur on this plane, perhaps even more so.

I thought it was brutal enough to have to deal with James on occasion and his constant remarks and spiteful comments... I didn't even want to think about Aria's parents. I only knew two things about them. They were rich and her father was a self absorbed asshole who treats his daughter like shit. Just peachy.

    I was fixing together the last of the car I've been waiting forever to get the parts delivered, when the rust of the underside scraped up against my hand and sliced my skin open.

    "Mother fucker, son of a fucking bitch," I muttered as I rolled myself out from under the car. Instant blood flowed from the side of my wrist. Another scar in the making by the looks of it. "Fuck sakes."

    "Christ Kingsley, what's got you- Oh fuck, that look's gnarly," One of my co-workers noticed the blood and I saw him instantly pale. He was new here, I was teaching him slowly about mechanical things while the rest of the idiots here were teaching him how to talk smack to one another. "Are you okay?"

    "Yeah, hand me that towel," I nodded to the rag sitting on top of the hood of the car.

    He fumbled in his not very far distance to get me the cloth and tossed it to me. "It's dirty though, maybe I should get you a clean- Or, or you can just press it to your wound... Yup, okay. Got it."

    I made a face. "It's just blood, not a big deal."

    "Um, are you sure? It's lookin' like you might need stitches," He suggested while his eyebrows knitted even closer together. I don't do hospitals.

    "It's fine, Mickey."

    I stood up and removed the rag to inspect my wound. Still bleeding, quite deep, a little fleshy. I was just thankful that it didn't reach my tattoo.

    Mickey disappeared before Shawn appeared at an odd coincidence. "Kingsley," Shawn hollered and stormed up to me. "Let me see that."

    He took my hand which forced me to suppress a wince. He wasn't a gentle fella. "It's nothing, Shawn, relax. That kid is overreacting."

    "Yeah well I don't want any workmans bullshit coming my way. You should head to a hospital."

    I laughed. "Yeah, no. Hospitals mean waiting rooms and waiting rooms means I'll miss my flight and my girlfriend will kill me."

    He raised an eyebrow.

    "Yeah, yeah I already know what you're going to say, fucker. I've settled down, I'm whipped. Fuck off, I'm fine."

    He began laughing his known belly laugh before shaking his head at me; something he did often. "Suit yourself, but I think you're an idiot. First aid is in my office."

    I rolled my eyes and smirked while walking passed him and into his office. An outsider would listen to Shawn and me's conversation and think we were enemies and cruel towards each other, but in reality I had a lot of respect for him. I cherished him and we had a really good bond. No one spoke to Shawn the way I did, and no one understood how I've been able to get away with it. That's the great thing about our friendship, it's unlikely.