Charming Hex :hellfire

Bad luck, Good instincts?

Hex

I pull the thin blade across my pant leg leaving a smear of brownish red fluid behind before flipping the blade closed and sliding it into the pocket of my fitted drab green cargo pants. My heart is pounding in my chest like a hard rock drum solo. This wasn't how my first night in town was supposed to go and now I sit waiting for the impending police presence.

I slump down against the wall noticing my cell phone laying discarded nearby, screen brightly illuminating the blood splattered brick building. The call with the police was still going and I could hear the woman on the other side trying to get my attention in a worried tone. Tears poured from my soft green eyes leaving streaks across my dirty skin, and my long, wavy, blue black hair was a mess, sticking to my skin like cobwebs.

I would like to pretend this hasn’t happened before but it just meant lying to myself. It is why I carry a weapon on me at all times. Tonight I had forgone the handgun I normally carried because I was supposed to be safe here. I am a magnet for bad, but eventually something will go my way. Luck will find me, at least that’s what my mother always tells me.

This is a small town. A quiet place where the locals all know each other and no one is truly evil. Hours away from big city crime and dangers, run by a town council and an even larger county council. I should have known better though, life is never kind to me.

Hex, as I am called, or Hexiona Ollett, a twenty three year old editor, social exile, survivor with some of the worst luck a human could have. I am a complicated existence, tortured even, where in I believe myself deserving all the terrible things that keep happening to me, my past isn’t a proud one but my choices earned me this. I must have or else I don’t know why this shit happens to me.

Things had been looking up recently, after I passed the gauntlet of hurt. My sisters had seemingly forgotten about my existence, at least until our mother passes, leaving me to have a somewhat peaceful life. Of course it all came at a price, one I am still paying.

After my apartment was set on fire six months ago due to a crazed stalker, I had moved in with my then steady boyfriend, Johnny, only to catch him screwing my older sister, Luciana, a week later, drunk. He had forgotten I was staying with him and he had never met my sister before, though I cant say his taste are great. It wasn’t the first time he cheated but it was the last. Apparently he didn’t work late as often as he said and I was more gullible than I ever believed.

It hurt, like my heart had been ripped into thousands of pieces. So much it almost broke me, but I pulled through. I had my moments though, even now, where I remember that I am unlovable. Johnny made sure to say as many hurtful things as possible in his drunken rage. I am a whore, a prude, a waste of a good body, too fucking blunt, he attacked me for my dads death, for my crazed stalker, for the arson. I held onto the pain like a lifeline, if I was feeling pain I was still alive. It helped, but eventually I tried to move on.

Friends helped. Not that I have many but the ones I do have are close ones. Ones I am closer to than my real sisters, ones who kept me from spiraling all the way to the bottom. Support is a hell of a thing.

I left with the clothes on my back, not bothering to return because it hurt, and slept at work until I found an excuse to leave for good, even then things were still bearable, I felt lighter, free. I came here taking a job, editing, that didn’t require me to stay in the city, bought a small house and drove the eighteen hours to unload my U-haul alone. It took the entire day and when I  finished I went to a nearby bar, Hogz.

The bar was busy, the lot filled with cars as I pull in, motorcycles line the sidewalk. The building in large, rectangular, made from cinderblocks and painted black. An oversized neon sign flashed a overweight pig riding a Harley into the dark night. The place looked like a dive but I wasn't expecting much.