The sounds of buzzing filled the room as Tony (Saul's personal barber and tattoo artist) sheared off a small remainder of my thick hair. Looking into the mirror, it wasn't half bad- actually, half of my head was shaved, and the hair that remained was tightly braided and dyed with purple, yellow and green highlights. I had on my dozen earrings on each ear, my brow rings (and my tattooed eyebrows) and a nose ring.
"Looks good, Jazzmyne" my barber, Tony said. In actuality, I loved my hair the way it was, but Saul, being the controlling son of a bitch he was, forced me to get one to look "better for the customers". I was virtually his slut, his whore to deal out to the highest bidder. Today, however, was my break from the chaos of my work- I had turned 21 today, and the haircut, along with a couple of tattoos, were my gifts, courtesy of Saul.
The tattoos were, of course, Saul's decisions- a tattoo of a skull on my neck, "Saul's Bitch" on my left tit, the traditional Chinese character for "Love" near my crotch, and a naked angel on my back with a skull for a face. I've had tattoos since I was at least 14, but never would I have guessed I would have been covered in them as I was now.
I got up from the table, completely naked, and dressed into my tight, shiny leggings that showed off my curvy yet skinny figure, a long-sleeve white v-neck (that was so tight that my disproportionally large breasts was literally ready to burst out of the shirt), a cheap leather jacket and a pair of old heels. I quickly put on some purple lipstick and some eyeshadow and mascara. Grabbing my purse, I left the tiny shop and into the warm night, planning to head to a club to dance (and possibly fuck) the night away. I wanted to take advantage of my free day the best I could.
Before heading to the club, I decided to at least roll a joint or two of some of the kush that Saul had given me earlier that day. I headed to a dark, secluded alleyway, opened my bag and hastily rolled a joint. I flicked my lighter several times before it finally came to life, and inhaled as much of the good stuff as possible. A wave of euphoria overcame my senses as all my problems whisked away into nothingness, just like everytime I smoked a joint. I fell onto the concrete ground as I laughed almost maniacally. I thought I saw other people staring as they passed by, but I ignored whatever I saw. When my first joint was spent, I wanted to roll another. I certainly had the time.
I reached into my bag to reach for more weed to roll, but I couldn't find the damn bag. Fuck! I must have lost it when I was high as fuck. I couldn't even find the damn lighter. I decided to ditch the act and just get some regular smokes at the nearest gas station, so I walked about a quarter mile to a tiny gas station nearby a vacant lot. Entering the small store, I picked up a pack and went to the register, handing him Saul's credit card. He declined the card, saying the account was frozen.
"You can't be fuckin' serious!" I almost yelled.
"Cash or nothing" the man said. Fuck!
I didn't reply, and he snatched the smokes from my hand.
"Wait! Wait!" I stammered, but he remained noncompliant. I was about to turn around and leave before I heard a strong voice resound behind me: "I'll pay for her" it said.
Turning around, I saw a lean, muscular black man. Fuck, he was hot- chiseled body, tall in stature, firm jaw, a bit of stubble; everything a girl could want. And he was going to pay for my smokes. I had to get to know this guy.
Handing me my cigarettes, I thanked him, my voice slightly quivering.
"It's nothing" he replied in a much calmer tone as we headed outside. I took a cigarette, but I realized I still had no lighter.
"You got a light?" I asked him, and he silently complied by taking out a bic and lighting the end of my cigarette. We talked for a bit while I smoked, and I offered him one but he said he didn't smoke.
"Why do you carry around a lighter then?"
"There are other uses for a lighter than smoking... miss?"
