Hello My Name Is Nothing

There is no permanent destination for me. I am a murder-without-hesitation hotwire expert. This is the story of how I finally may have found a home.

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2. Ch. 2

 

Three days into my trip to New York I stopped in a small town to get some fuel. When my motorcycle pulled into the run-down Shell I had just used my last bit of fuel. As the tank filled up I pulled out a change of clothes and waited patiently for the gas to fill up. Once it did I paid the machine with cash. Sometimes I would work at small restaurants and when I was extremely nice to old couple they gave very generous tips. So I had quite a bit of money to get me by in case there were no empty homes to occupy. Occasionally I would stay in a Motel 6 and if I had enough money, once a year I treated myself to a stay at a Holiday Inn. Those were the days I loved. You see I always slept on couches in empty houses because I hate making beds in the morning and suck at it so the only days where I get a bed are Motel 6 days and that long awaited Holiday Inn Day.

                I went into the restroom and changed into a navy blue long-sleeve shirt, ripped jeans, and then slipped on my leather jacket. Then I pulled out my Swiss-Army knife, tied my hair into a ponytail, and chopped it off in one clean swipe. This was my life. Whenever there was a warrant for my arrest I changed my appearance. My once long hair dip-dyed pink was now an uneven pixie cut. I looked at myself in the mirror. (http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=74960842 ) deciding I looked decent, I ran out and hopped onto my bike and drove off. I was about two hours from New York. The wind blew my hair around my face. I felt better with short hair, but it wouldn’t last long. My hair would be at my shoulders in 4 months. I had the hair that grew freaky-fast. So changing my hair wasn’t a big deal. Dying my hair was a big thing for me. Originally my hair was a bleach blonde, then after I ran I dyed it light brown, then black, then back to blonde, then burnt orange, then teal pixie cut, then after that grew out I dyed it black, then dip-dyed it pink, and now I was a black pixie-cut. I would most likely dye it a blood red-like color.

                Two hours passes and I had entered the bustling city. I twitched the foot containing all of my savings to stay in a motel for two weeks. There was no way I could live in an empty home for two weeks without anyone noticing. No, this was New York. I looked up at the Empire State Building towering over everything at the end of the street. I turned a corner and into a Motel 6, its logo shining brightly. I walked in and got a single room. I walked in closed and locked the door behind me. I turned and saw the bed. Making sure my motorcycle was safely in the parking lot, I then passed out onto the bed.

                I shot up after what seemed like a few moments but it was dark outside. I looked out the window and saw my motor cycle outside. In the parking lot were a group of boys. To their right was a couple exiting the motel. They glanced at the group and raced to their car and screeched out onto the main road. I rolled my eyes and closed the curtains. I was going clubbing tonight. So what if I was underage? Being 19 doesn’t mean I’m all goody goody. Do I look like someone who does legal things? I just killed someone 3 days ago. I found the nicest outfit I owned and slipped it on (http://www.polyvore.com/bad_girl/set?id=73649301 ) after a quick shower. Then I slipped on my leather jacket as always, put my knife and gun in the inside pockets, and walked out, feeling a lot taller in the heels. I walked out into the parking lot to see the same group of boys huddled around MY bike. I started to get angry.

                I loaded my gun behind them and yelled out, “Hey! Take a picture it’ll last longer or let my bullet make my bike the last thing you see.” Then all four of the boys chuckled and turned around. I raised my eyebrow in surprise. Their hoods covered their faces. “It’s going to take more than a gun to scare us off, sweet cheeks.” I rolled my eyes and shot at the ground. One of them swore under their breath and held their foot. I smirked in amusement. This only made them angrier.

                “You think it’s funny getting shot in the foot?” the one holding his foot said through gritted teeth.

                “No, I think it’s hilarious. Listen, I don’t need you taking my bike, I’ve been waiting months for the right time to hotwire it and I spilled blood doing it too. So back away or there is going to a lot more than one gunshot ringing out.”  I snapped. They smirked and each pulled out a gun. My eyes flashed fear for a moment but I regained my courage.

                “Fine, if you want more than one, we’ve got you covered.” One of them said. I couldn’t see who was talking. In the corner of my eye I saw the lady at the front desk switch the lights off of the the light on the motel 6 sign shut off. Da f**k? I was going to get shot and no one calls the police? However, if the police showed up I’d get arrested.

                “Listen-“I started.

                “No, darlin’, you listen to us. We need an extra bike and you have one. So we are going to take it so we can pick up some desperate women at a club. So back off. Do you even know who you’re messing with?” someone else piped in whose voice was deeper and more threatening. This didn’t faze me.

                “Umm, I would say you’re four 15 year olds in New York who think it’s fine to steal bikes from 19 year old girls. You picked the wrong girl to mess with. So either back the hell away from my motorcycle or limp the hell away because I will shoot all four of your legs if you don’t back off.” I gestured with the gun for them to back off. I glanced at my surrounding. I noticed in the corner were three motorcycles. They all chuckled once again.

                “Someone hold her down.” I stood my ground and prepared to fight as one of them lunged at me. I raised my leg up to kick but I was a second late and I was body-slammed into the concrete. I wasn’t leaving him be. I pushed him off me and lifted him up into a headlock, kicked him in the groin, and popped my wrist into his nose, breaking it. He collapsed onto the ground, groaning. I leaned into his ear and whispered, “I could snap your neck, killing you right now, but you seem to be desperate for desperate woman, so I let you do that.” I got up and ran to the motorcycles in the corner with two others and they hopped on. I darted to where me bike was and found the last one mounted on it. I ran towards him but he sped off with the rest of the boys. I groaned, frustrated I would have to walk to the club. I ran my fingers through my hair and started the walk.

                After about twenty minutes the bright neon sign of the club greeted me. I walked in to see warm bodies grinding to the heavy bass of the music. Most looked highly intoxicated. I went up to the bar and slammed some money on the table. The bartender looked at me expecting ID and I scared him off by pretending to file my nails with my knife and then say, “What did you say again, and think real hard before you say it.” Three minutes later I was given the martini. I sat in the booth and drank it slowly. One thing about me was that I could hold my liquor better than anyone. I watched the crowd and finally decided it would be a good idea to dance.

                I found my way into the middle of the crowd and swayed my hips to the bass of the music. The music filled my ears and then suddenly I felt hand wrap around my waist. I stiffened up at this sudden touch by someone and whipped around to see a boy who looked to be my age or a little older smirking at me. He had feathery brown hair in a mess on his head. His eyes were a dark brown, almost black, under the dark lights of the dance floor. He was attractive, but I didn’t like guys touching me like I was their willing innocent girl. I pushed him off me and then he gasped when he saw me.

                “YOU!” he exclaimed over the music, “You broke my wingman’s nose! You shot one of my gang member’s foot!” I looked at him confused and remembered what I had done in the motel 6 parking lot.

                “Oh, yeah, well piss off! You had it coming! And you guys are a gang?! You’re anything but.” I escaped through the crowd and out the door of the club. As I walked passed a dark alleyway someone grabbed my arm and dragged me all the way to the end. I squirmed and squirmed but it was no use. When I reached the end I saw the outlines of four figures and scoffed. These guys again? I brushed myself off and stood up.

                “Well, what the hell do you want?” I said with attitude.

                “So you seriously don’t know who we are.” One said. I replied with a simple nod.

                “I’m Francis.” A boy holding his nose stepped out. He had dark brown, almost black hair swept across his face.

                “I’m Denver.” The one I met in the club stepped forward.

                “I’m Paul.” A blonde-haired boy stepped out with green eyes. He had a bandage on his foot.

                “And I’m Jackson.” A boy with ginger hair and icy blue eyes stepped out.

                “We’re the Runaways, the most notorious gang in New York, probably America.” Paul explained.

                “You are going to really regret shooting at us and breaking my nose.” Denver said.

                Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. This group was known throughput everywhere and I had to be dumb enough to piss them off and kick their asses. I was about to get beat up by the Runaways in an alleyway. Great. Just peachy.

Hey it’s me!

Please comment! I will be updating each of my stories on the weekends because school prevents me from updating weekdays.

Thanks so much!   <3, maybe_im_a_nerd

 

 

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