Mature. Viewer Discretion is advised.
*The people inside of this work are FACE-CLAIMS. This has no correlation to any IRL individual.*
*This is messy plot. Made when I was a teen. Beware.*
The story of a young woman who finds her style, self worth...
"There are flowers in my heart. They're growing thorns and it hurts." ♫ Blondie by Current Joys.
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"Good luck, pretty thang! We'll be back to get you in ten!"
"O-Okay! Thanks again!" As I planted my converse on the sidewalk of the quiet street, Harlow didn't even wait until the door slammed all the way to pull away from me with a loud screech that alerted the people around me of a noisy racket.
Their, (Nikos and his) trashy car nearly tipped over like something out of a cartoon as they rounded the corner to get to the liquor store and I sighed the second they were out of sight and away from nearby pedestrians.
I was almost certain Harlow didn't know how to drive.
But who was I to judge-I didn't even have a car.
I didn't have a lot of things, and one of the things I needed? Was a freakin' job.
So, Niko found a flier for the local record shop and there I was on Opal Street.
Groovyroad Records.
A small, brick building that was, practically falling at the seams and being held up by the posters plastered on the windows, yet-charming. The building was just seven blocks away from their house, and since I was staying there for, who knew how long, I figured this was a good place to start.
It didn't matter where, I just needed a job.
The whole situation with my mom was more than a wakeup call, and I was practically being thrust into the arms of reality, adulthood and independence, so that I could take care of myself and hopefully take care of my little brother.
I mean, In the span of 48 hours, I'd gone from the perfect, loving, kind, quiet Christian girl my mom could order around for her own amusement, to the people my college called "that topless tipsy girl at that party last night."
I'd gone from having my own bedroom and a family, to apparently, having none after being disowned for simply-telling the truth.
And I'd gone from being hateful strangers with Harlow, to more of hateful acquaintances.
This was the most eventful my life felt like it could get.
Also, the most depressing.
Long story very short, Harlow's couch was not comfortable and I missed my bed.
It was hard too, to cry your eyes out about your broken family, with Harlow munching on pretzels next to you and telling you to shut up so he could watch MTV's Pimp My Ride and Shakira belly dancing.
He did share with me once I stopped crying though and I fell asleep soon after that, cuddled up with the bag like a pathetic loser.
