My name is Abigail Pierce. I'm seventeen years old. My curfew is midnight, and I don't drive. This is me. Or, at least, it was. *Witness Protection Story*
This story was inspired by the song 'I can't do it alone' by 3oh3. Though I listened to Follow Me Down by them while I wrote it xD This is different than the other stuff I write, which, I guess, is why I'm taking a chance with writing it. It's also an Embry/OC fic, which I've never done before, so hopefully all goes well! (P.S. there will be strong language, because of the type of character I'm trying to portray.)
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There was something in my shoe.
I'd been walking down this long, dirt road towards some unknown destination for about twenty minutes, my dad leading the way with some guy in a suit, while my mother walked too close behind me, her arm swinging and banging into my back in a never ending beat of boom, boom, boom, and god dammit, there was something in my fucking shoe.
"Would you stop that?" I growl out, spinning on her with narrowed eyes. But the fast movement only makes her slam into me, sending me falling back onto my ass. Letting out a frustrated huff, I push myself off the ground and lengthen my stride until I'm practically walking next to the FBI agent. I've nicknamed him Grey, seeing as we'd seen him four days in a row and he's been wearing the same grey suit the whole time. I suppose Dirty, or Needs-To-Do-The-Wash were good nicknames for him too, but what can I say? I was feeling generous.
"Need to make you more conspicuous, of course." I caught what Grey was saying to my dad, paying me no mind at all. I was the whole reason we were here, wasn't I? I mean, if not for me, we wouldn't even be in this mess, so why the hell was I not included in the conversation? Besides, we needed to be more conspicuous than this? I'd already dyed my hair, and been forced into colored contacts, and had my wardrobe completely replaced, and he was talking more change than this? The only good thing about moving miles away from home, was they changed my age up a year to eighteen, and even provided an ID. Now I could do all the stuff I did before, only now it'll be legal.
"Listen, Grey." I step up to him, throwing my arm around his shoulder. He's a short man, with no hair on top of his head, and two strips of orange colored eye brows. Needless to say, he didn't intimidate me. "I've been thinking. This little town is great and all, but don't you think we'd do better in a big city? Where there's like…lots of people?" I raise a brow at him.
Honestly, small towns weren't really my thing. There were hardly any clubs, barely any drugs, and it was ten times easier to get arrested. The whole thought just made me want to cry. Or throw up at the very least.
"No, no, no. I did my research, that I did, that I did." He squeaks out, nodding his head along, and adjusting the thick framed glasses on his face. "No one will ever look for you here. It's strictly for a group of Native Americans. We had to talk to some of the head leaders to have them agree."
"So it's a reserve?" I ask, my voice rising an octave. I looked around now, with more understanding. This wasn't a rundown town, but rather a res. Somehow, it seemed more bearable. Natives liked drugs, right? Or drinking at the very least? I mean, hell, I'm Irish, we could throw a frigging party.
Grey doesn't answer me though, and instead just turns sharply at the end of a road, turning onto one that was littered with tons of little houses.
"Those boys are pretty…big aren't they…?" My father mutters uncertain, as my mother just shakes her head. She'd been mute since we lost my brother four years ago. I hadn't really cared much, but my father seemed lost because of it all. I on the other hand, found other ways to cope.
I swivel my head to see what he means, the word 'Jackpot!' sounding in my mind. Now those guys were on some serious shit. I needed to get me some of that.
"Here we are." Grey says like a realtor, walking up the dirt path to a small shack-like house. A small smile slips onto my face when I realize that my father will hate living in such close proximity.
"Great, thanks, Grey." I say, when my parents walk into the house, and he's still outside, about to walk through the door. "See you later." I smile, closing the door in his face. "Nice guy." I grin at my parents who stare at me blankly. They did that a lot lately. My dad was majorly pissed about the whole thing. And my mom didn't really voice any of her opinions, and either way, there was nothing they could do about it, so I decided not to give a fuck. "Well, I'll leave you to it." I say to them, turning on my heel and walking out the door before my dad has a chance to say anything. He looked so worn out and done with everything, like he always did. Both of them really. They didn't seem…alive anymore. Like when Neal died, he took them with him. For days after, neither of them even remembered to feed me for weeks after his death. I remember crying at my mother as she sat on the couch in her pajamas, an unlit cigarette in her mouth. I pulled at her sleeve, tears streaming over my face, begging her to make me something, or at least get it down from one of the high cabinets, but she didn't budge. My father decided it would be best for me to live with my grandmom for a while. That's when I started going bad.
They all looked at me like I wasn't even there, so I figured if I took up with some of the worse kids, and did some of the worse stuff, maybe they'd finally look at me and actually see something. See? This is why I need the drugs. I think, running a hand through my now long blond hair. Thoughts make you sad. Drugs don't.
"Hey, you!" I hollar to one of the huge guys walking out of the forest across the street.