The Girl With Tattoos • Original Version

The Girl With Tattoos (9)

:: Gracie's POV ::

History passed by surprisingly fast.

Bann sat right next to me, or me next to him. The only empty seat in the room was coincidentally the one beside him.

Once the bell rang signaling the beginning of class, Mrs. Colt ranted on and on about things that happened before me. And if it was before Gracelyn, I honestly didn't care. Why should I know that the civil war started because of a crisis over slavery? That people couldn't come to a reasonable conclusion and decided to straight up murder people because half the nation was free and the other not.

This subject bored the hell outta me.

Soon, the same ringing noise that started the lecture ended it, meaning I could leave this stuffy classroom filled with history; literal history. I was making my way through the hallway, trying not to get pushed over or slammed into a wall when I was rudely interrupted.

"Gracie!" Bann yelled after me when the exit was only a few feet away. But I turned around anyways. He was weaving his way through hundreds of high schoolers who wanted to go home. Like me. "So, can I come over today? To your house I mean. I could help you study for the test tomorrow since you haven't been here for that long."

The smile he always had grew so big, I thought his face might explode.

Should I? I've known Bann for two days, and it takes a minute for me to lose my life. It takes one decision to end the life of Gracelyn Marollo.

My mind went through the possible events of what might happen, what he might find. Anything at all. What if he worked for Ryker, or even worse, Milo...

God dammit brain.

I shook my head no and smiled slightly, hopeful he would just drop it.

"No!?" He laughed a little, his voice mocking being shocked. "Fine, go on and do loser Gracie things. Have fun," Bann waved a little before turning on his heel and heading towards his little group of boys, including Claudie leaning against the locker, annoying the hell out of the three guys. I think their names were Mical and Aaron. Who's that other guy?

Exiting the prison, I felt a pair of eyes stay on me until I was driving out of that parking lot, to my home where I had the best night planned.

A hopeful money night where some ass was going to be kicked.

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My black NIKE bag was still here somewhere.

I checked everywhere. In the car that I never really used, in my closet, the bathroom, under the stairs. I didn't rest until I saw the white check mark on a big, black bag hanging on a hook in the downstairs gym.

Opening it was like Christmas day, everything from two years ago was still packed away in the bag. Smelling the inside, it reeked of deodorant and sweat.

Yay me.

A black sports bra, black shorts, a black and white hoodie plus a mask, hand wraps and 3 water bottles filled the space; my street fighting gear. I wore black a lot. Why? To blend in. If I wore pink, or even red, I would be spotted easily. Black allowed me to sneak in or out without a problem. Mostly.

I promised myself two years ago to never do this again but here I am, breaking that promise. I still remember that day like it just happened.

✦✧✦

(rewritten 11/1/17) (might trigger some people but probably not :)