Wistful

Chapter 18 - Yeah, Old Friends

(Nixon's POV)

Rushing down the road, I headed to my shop. Nervous, anxious, and angry; my hands were hardly gripping the steering wheel, my heart was racing a hundred times faster than resting rate making it hard for me to breathe, and my left leg, it wouldn't stop shaking.

I'm a wreck right now.

I don't want to do this.

I don't want to deal with this.

Life feels pretty good right now, but the other shoe has dropped.

Like always.

Whenever I'm happy, something always comes up and gets in the way.

My dad dying.

My mom kicking me out.

Ms. Daniels ruining my relationship.

And now this.

These are all the lowest points in my life; ones that really burned me to the core, the ones that left real damage.

Ending my self-pity, my phone rang. Looking at the caller I.D, it was my assistant manager from the shop.

Jared.

"What." I answered the phone.

I didn't mean to answer the phone with so much anger, I just couldn't help it.

He took a deep breath, before speaking, probably gathering that I already knew. "I take it you know about the shop..." Jared trailed off, not wanting to sound dumb.

"Yeah, I'm on my way." I grunted.

"I'm pulling up now." Jared cleared his throat. "I'll talk to you when you get here."

"Right." I responded before ending the call.

Red and blue flashing lights from multiple police cars caught my eye immediately after I turned the corner. My stomach turned and flipped at what I saw next, the damage to the outside of my building. Most of my windows had been bashed in, along with the front door as graffiti covered every inch of my once flawless paint.

I pulled into my shop's parking lot and exited my car. Jared was now standing outside the door talking to a few cops along with a man that I didn't recognize, an older man.

Walking up to my shop, the damage seemed to get my high-def. "Oh my God." I mumbled in disbelief, my hands shaking as I assessed the damages.

My storefront windows and glass doors; shattered. The doors were barely hanging on the hinges. The garage was completely covered and graffitied with words of hate.

It was covered with every fucked up name you could call your worse enemy.

Walking in through the front door, I dragged a hand through my hair in distress to see everything trashed as I couldn't understand who would want to do this to me.

Holes covered almost every single inch of my walls while graffiti continued through the inside. Chairs were turned over in the front room, the front desk computer screen was smashed, the office phone ripped from the wall and broken on the floor. My first dollar, pictures, paintings, and certificates were pulled from the walls and shattered all over the floor.

The further I went, the angrier I got.

Taking a deep breath, I got to my office and opened the door slowly. Flipping on the light on, I was amazed to see that my office was left untouched, except for one thing. On my back wall was a picture of Roxy and me at Disneyland last year, with a hunter's knife punctured through my face and into the wall.