Tales of the Many: by Nicole M (ebook reader online txt) 📕

In the car. I’m with my mother. Classic rock, were both singing along. I’m lucky she doesn’t see my bruise on my forehead. It’s covered by my hair. I’ve got a few scars on my shoulder, she never noticed. Thank god. It’s these small moments, that make me happy. And I’m never happy. Ever. Not since he came into my life and fooled me. Now I’m in deep shit.
She’s driving me to the nearest convenience store, to meet my boyfriend, so we can look at Christmas cards for our families.
If only it were that simple.
If only it were as warm and happy as it normally would be for couples to shop together.
Not us.
I guess it’s just not our style.
Wrong. It is. It’s my style. Not his.
I have light brown hair, it’s just past my ears. My bangs reach just below my eyes. I keep them pushed to the side.
I have green eyes, decorated by eyeliner.
My skin is pale. I burn in the sun.
I’m 5 feet, exactly.
I’m in a big black jacket. Knee knockers. Sneakers.
I have 2 cuts on my back, each 3 inches long.
I have a bruise on my forehead.
Scars on my right shoulder.
Bruises on my stomach.
No one knows but me. And him.
He’s around 6 feet. Short, dark brown hair, also pale.
He dresses in chains, has almost golden eyes. And a fist that could punch your lights out.
I’m getting out of the car.
I’m heading inside. Mother’s already driving home.
At first.. He was nice.
At first.. He was sweet.
Then.. He showed me who he really was.

He’s standing to the side. Walks over.
“Hi” He smiles.
“Hello.” I look down.
Not many words are exchanged.
Were making our way towards the Christmas cards, as he says he’s going to look in the next isle over. Then he’s gone.
This world is black and white.
I sit, on the store floor looking at all the different cards.
This melancholy is always with me now.
They’re all so pretty.
And then, this guy. This other guy.
He works here. He’s nice. He’s tall, has long, light brown hair and hazel eyes. He always smiles at me. And for a moment, the world is in color it seems.
While my mind is somewhere else, out of the corner of my eye, I see a familiar figure standing not too far away. And there that guy is.
I look over. And like usual, he smiles at me. So I smile back, and I wave.
Just as the worker waves back, he comes whipping around the corner. He’s seen me wave at the worker.
This is hell.


“Who the fuck is that?!” Brian screams, anger on his face.
“No one.” I answer, astonished.
He grabs my arm and jerks me up fiercely.
“Don’t fucking lie to me!” He smacks my face. Violently.
“It’s no one. No one. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” I yell. Eyes closed.
He grabs my hair, and tilts my head back against the stand of cards as he smacks my face one more time before dragging me to the doors.
I managed a glimpse back at the worker, jaw dropped.
This is indeed, hell.

I just turned 17 two weeks ago. And Brian is 18. My name is Airi. I used to love life. I used to have friends. I used to be close to my family. Then I met Brian. He was the nicest, sweetest guy I had ever met. But once we started to date. I’ve lost my friends, I’m barely home, and I’m abused by Brian constantly.
I was in a car crash about a month ago. A man ran a red light, and crashed right into the drivers seat of my car. I still have a scar on my left cheek.
I haven’t gotten a new car yet. And my mother doesn’t want me driving her car. So she drives me everywhere. At least, if I’m ever around.
Brian and I are in his car now. As he starts driving, I start to think.. I have no clue where we’re going.
About ten minutes pass before he finally says something.
“So… Who is that guy? And what is he to you?”
“The worker? I told you, no one. I see him whenever I’m in the store. He smiles to everyone. He doesn’t mean anything to me. I don’t even know him.” I lied.
I don’t know him, that’s true. But he does mean something to me.
But how can someone you don’t even know, mean something to you?
Who knows? Not me.
“You know I love you.” He pauses, “I don’t mean to hurt you.. I just.. Have to keep you in line.”
“I don’t need to be ‘kept in line’. I’m fine handling things by myself”
“Don’t start with me.”
And it’s silent for a while longer. Still no sense of where we’re going. But I’ve noticed. There’s a little blue car behind us. Who’s that driving? God my eyes are getting bad.
Brian turns onto a dirt road, and stops the truck.
He leans closer to me.
I move as far to the opposite side of the truck as possible.
“What is it?” He asks. “You want this don’t you?”
I shake my head no.
“Come on. Just give it a try.”
“I Don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t.” I argue.
It took about 10 seconds for him to reply. And it was only one word.
“Out.”
“What?”
“Out.” He said, anger boiling in his throat, shaking his voice. “Get out.”
“But, where are we?”
“I said to fucking get out!”
“But, how will I get hom-” I’m cut off by the feel of his hand on one of my earrings. And I can feel it being ripped through the flesh of my ear.
He throws the bloody earring across the truck, and he unbuckles his seat belt and crawls to my side of the truck.
“When I tell you to do something, you fucking listen!” He yells, pumbling my face with one hand, and my stomach with the other.
I’m crying out for him to stop, but he keeps going. And I’m stuck in the seat belt.
He brings out a blade from his pocket, and holds it to my stomach, his hands are shaking.
I’m looking in his eyes. I see sadness. What made him this way? How can a person like this exist?
With no time to spare he jammed it through the jacket, through my shirt, through my skin.
Brought the blade out and to my cheek.
“I want you out. N. O. W.” He growled, as he unbuckled my seat for me, opened the truck door with one hand, and just about shoved me out.
I hit the ground, face down, back up and arched. It seems as though he was driving off, I was puking my guts out onto the ground.
I cried out loud, sobbing, yelling, crying.
I fell onto my side, clutching my stomach, feeling like I was dying. Though I wasn’t.
Before I knew it. He was there.
What a stalker.
He leaned down, and sat me up. Ripped a small piece of cloth from the bottom of his shirt, and wiped some blood on my face. Brian had cut my cheek.
He unzipped my jacket, and smiled
“With how thick this jacket is, you’re wound isn’t so bad”
I glared at him.
“What’s your problem?” I snapped through tears.
“I can’t help a girl who has just gotten stabbed?” He chuckled.
It took every fiber of my being to stand on my own, and begin to limp away.
“I don’t need any help. I don’t need your help. I’m perfectly fine. And anyways, what the hell are you doing following me around like that? Are you some sort of creeper?”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay. And you sure don’t look perfectly fine.”
“What do you care?”
“I’m a nice person.”
“Whatever.” I start walking down the road. Hitchhiking thumb up.
“At least let me give you a ride.” He suggested.
“At least tell me who the hell you are.”
“I’m Zad. I’m 19. I see you once every week. And I want to get to know you.”
“Who said I want to get to know you back? And, Zad? Were your parents high when they named you?”
“Well what’s your name?”
“None of your business!” I yell. But at that moment, I felt incredibly light headed. Next thing I knew, I was heading for the ground, and then I blacked out.
Different shades of blue greet my eyes as they open. Where was I? A trailer? Yeah. A large trailer. Walls blue, carpet blue, furniture blue. All different shades. I fell back, when I tried to sit up. I yelped at the pain in my stomach, from puking so much, and from being stabbed. Though all of that seemed like a dream.
Just then, Zad came around the corner, coming from the kitchen.
“Well, look who’s up.” He came over to me.
“Stay the hell away from me.” I grabbed a pillow behind my head and threw it at him.
“Take it easy there tiger.” He held his hands up.
“Where the hell am I?”
“My trailer.”
“Bring me home.”
“It’s not like I’m going to rape you, you know.”
“Bring me home.”
“Is this how you thank a person who possibly saved your life? If it weren’t for me, you’d be passed out on the street, and bleeding out.”
“My wound wasn’t that bad.”
“Either way.” He shrugged, picking up a glass of water.
“Here,” He handed it out to me. “From vomiting so much, you’re probably dehydrated.”
“I’m fine.”
“Whatever you say.” He sat it down on the table next to the couch I was laying on.
As soon as he went back to the kitchen, I gulped down every last bit of the water he left.
He came back with a bag of chips.
“Hungry?” He asked.
“No.”
“Suit