[CHAPTER ONE]

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that fucking gallagher, i swear to god.
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I QUICKLY SWERVED my cart into the next aisle, hardly looking where I was going

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I QUICKLY SWERVED my cart into the next aisle, hardly looking where I was going. But I didn't care. I had to get these vitamins to my aunt. She needed them.

"Oww — Fuck! Watch it, bitch!"

The cart skidded to a stop as I looked up and saw a tall, freckle-faced redhead boy staggering to the side. And he looked pissed. He would've been cute if he didn't look like he was about to beat the shit out of me.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" I craned my neck to glare up at him.

"I called you a bitch, and I don't
regret—"

Before he could finish, I ran my cart over his foot and stormed off into the aisle.

"Fucking hell." I heard him curse under his breath. I smiled to myself, proud of what I'd done. But my smile faded away when he opened his mouth again.

"Get out."

I swiveled around, taken aback. Who does this guy think he is?

"I don't take orders from you, dickhead." I met his eyes again, but then my gaze fell on his nametag. Then, I closed my mouth. Shit, he fucking works here.

"Look, I'm sorry, can I just pay for these? I need them for my—"

"Did you not hear me? I said, get out."

I stared him dead in the eyes, thinking of something to say. But I stayed silent. Instead, I pushed my cart full of meds to the side. I balled my fists in anger, but there was nothing I could do. I stormed out in his direction, accidentally bumping his shoulder.

"Fuck you, Ian."

I walked out of the store, groaning heavily in frustration. And from outside, I could hear a faint "that's what she said". Asshole.

- ♡ -

The harsh wind blew through my hair as I pedaled faster on my bike. What was I gonna tell my Aunt Frances? She's done so much for me and I couldn't even get her medications.

I moved in with Aunt Frances after my dad hit my mom one night. I always knew that he had anger issues, but I'd never expect him to hit his own wife. I remember how scared I was. I didn't want to see what happened next. I remember packing as much as I could in a couple of minutes, throwing my duffel bag out the window and jumping. It hurt like hell, but not more than it hurt to see my abusive father hurting my mom.

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