Bad Things
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Cassandra Rock
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477K
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43
Chapter 1
When people first looked at me, they saw a young girl who had everything she could possibly need. It was true, of course. But in my life, I lacked the one thing I desperately wanted—freedom.
My family had always been average, a middle-class family with a decent amount of money. So when I asked for something, I usually got it. But it wasn’t necessarily the best situation.
If I asked for money, I had to explain why I needed it, and sometimes a girl just needed privacy.
Maybe I was spoiled or not grateful enough, but just like any other teenager, I wanted my own money. Not my mom’s money, not my dad’s money, but money I earned and could spend however the hell I wanted.
I stared at my phone, refreshing my emails over and over, constantly being disappointed when nothing came through. No emails, no calls, nothing.
It was sad, really. I was eighteen years old, in my senior year of high school, and I couldn’t even get a part-time job.
“No luck?” I heard my friend Thea ask.
I looked up from my phone and across the lunch table at her. “Nothing. No one will hire me because I’m either too young or don’t have enough qualifications.”
It wasn’t like I was going without. I lived in a nice house with my parents, got an allowance, and could use the family car when it was available.
But I wanted my own money. I wanted my own car and to drive to the movies with my friends. But I needed a job for that.
“Why are you looking for a job?” Carter, my other friend, chimed in.
Both Thea and I looked at him as though he should already know the answer.
“Are you kidding me? You have a job. You technically don’t need one, but you have one because every teenager needs their own money.”
“Fair enough,” he said, taking a large gulp of his soda before continuing, “I can put a good word in for you at the sub shop.”
The sub shop was where Carter worked. He was lucky enough to get hired and had the same qualifications as me.
I nodded in agreement. “That would be great, thank you.”
“How about we go to the mall later and you can drop off a resume at every store?” Thea suggested eagerly.
That wasn’t exactly her plan. I knew from experience that her real intention was to go shopping. I wanted to shop, but what I needed was a job.
“Thanks for the offer, but I have other places I need to bring resumes to today,” I said, nodding and hoping I’d have more luck after school.
After my last two classes, Thea and I went straight from school downtown so I could hand out some resumes. I’d brought around thirty copies, and luckily, Thea was kind enough to come with me to each place as I introduced myself and handed over a resume.
Between food chains, clothing stores, coffee shops, and diners, no one seemed the slightest bit interested, but they accepted my resume anyway. In other words, I assumed they took it to be polite but just threw it away as soon as I left.
I entered a corner store, the door dinging as I walked in. The middle-aged lady at the front looked over at me and smiled politely.
“Hi, I was just wondering if I could leave a resume here?” I asked as I approached the checkout.
The lady nodded slowly. “Of course. We’re not hiring at the moment, but I can take one for future reference.”
Of course.
“Great, thank you,” I said.
As I walked out of the corner store, I thought maybe I should stop handing out resumes for the day. It seemed hopeless, and walking around any longer would just hurt my feet.
I wasn’t getting anything out of this except rejection.
My eyes wandered around the area, making sure I’d dropped off a resume at all the surrounding stores. When my gaze landed on a little bar, I considered checking it out, but it would be ridiculous. I was only eighteen—not even legal age to drink, let alone work at a bar.
Stupid idea, Olivia, my subconscious reminded me. It would just be a waste of time.
“It’s not like I haven’t already wasted time,” I muttered to myself. “A few more minutes couldn’t hurt.”
After a few cars passed by, I hurried across the road toward the bar with the sign above the door that read “Cam’s”. The exterior was brick, and the door was black metal.
The open sign wasn’t lit, but as I turned the knob, the door opened, which led me to believe someone was inside.
I stepped into the bar slowly, the strong smell of alcohol filling the air of the dimly lit room. The place was empty, which made sense since it wasn’t operating hours, but with the door unlocked, I assumed someone had to be around.
The staff door swung open, and a tall guy with black hair walked out. His eyes landed on me instantly, brows knitting together as he set the box of beer in his hands on the counter.
“We’re closed. Did you not see the sign?” he said, his voice deep and harsh.
If he planned on having customers, I assumed he’d have to talk to them better than this.
“I did, I’m sorry. I actually…” I took a deep breath and glanced around the bar, then back at the extremely intimidating man in front of me. With a plain white T-shirt and tattoos covering his arms, his demeanor was almost terrifying.
I started to think about how ridiculous this whole idea was. Applying to work at a bar at eighteen was one thing, but actually expecting to get hired was another.
This was a stupid idea. I wouldn’t get hired. It was literally illegal for me to work here.
The dark-haired, tattooed guy let out an annoyed sigh. “Look, we open in less than two hours. You’re wasting my time.”
“I’d like to apply,” I blurted out, cutting through his indifference. I wasn’t sure if I regretted it or if I was surprised by my own boldness, but I pressed on with confidence. “For a job.”
He chuckled, seeming amused. “I don’t recall placing an ad.”
I shook my head. “You didn’t. But I’m looking for a job and—”
“How old are you?” he asked, stepping forward and snatching the resume from my hand. “Olivia…”
“Well, funny story…”
“I don’t want to hear a funny story,” he snapped, rolling his eyes. “Let’s see your qualifications.”
As his dark eyes moved down the page of my resume, I cringed inwardly, imagining what he must be thinking. I didn’t even have a high school diploma.
I watched him take his lip piercing in his mouth, trying to hold back an amused smirk. “You have little to no experience.”
“I know. I’ve been having trouble finding work…,” I admitted.
He set the resume on the bar and looked at me.
“Have you ever worked at a bar? Do you know anything about alcohol or dealing with drunk people?”
“Uh…”
He shook his head, his dark hair falling across his forehead.
“Obviously not. How old are you, Olivia?”
I bit my lip gently and took a deep breath.
“I’m…twenty-one.”
I’m eighteen. My subconscious reminded me—again. Why did I lie? I wanted to disappear at that very moment, but I was too far into this to run away, and the tattooed bar guy made me nervous, causing me to ramble on about complete nonsense that wasn’t even true.
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned back against the bar, arms folded over his chest, eyes fixed on me.
I stood awkwardly under his gaze and cleared my throat.
Was he actually considering me? He wasn’t even hiring, but he had a look of consideration on his stern face.
“Let me see your ID, and you can start tomorrow at six-thirty,” he finally said.
“My ID?” I asked.
“That’s what I said. This is a bar, I need to see an ID.”
“Of course,” I smiled hesitantly, trying my best to come up with a quick answer. “I don’t have any ID on me, but I can bring it tomorrow?”
He waved me off, not seeming to care all that much.
“Okay, six-thirty. Don’t be late or don’t come at all.”
I nodded slowly. Very slowly.
“Gotcha, I’ll see you tomorrow then…”
He didn’t respond.
Instead, he walked behind the bar and began setting up some bottles on the wall.
As I stepped toward the door, I found myself stopping again and turning to look at the guy behind the bar.
“You didn’t introduce yourself. I’d like to have a better name for you than the guy with the tattoos and face piercings.”
“I know your name, yet I still find myself thinking of you as the really annoying girl I instantly regret hiring,” he responded dryly, not looking at me as he adjusted some whiskey bottles on the shelves.
Ouch.
Just as I touched the doorknob, the door swung open, and a group of people walked in, all seeming to be around the same age as the guy I’d been speaking to. However old he was. Which was obviously old enough to own or manage a bar.
“Cam, what the fuck? You said no one else was here,” a guy said instantly, his intimidating tone making me uncomfortable.
I quickly slid past them.
“Sorry, I’m just leaving.”
I scurried out of the bar before I had a chance to hear them say anything else, but I was of two minds about going back there tomorrow.
I knew that going there in the first place was a really stupid idea, and he would find out anyway that I was underage, so why waste any more of this guy’s time?
Because I needed money was the obvious answer, but just how badly did I need money, and was I willing to work at a bar when I legally wasn’t allowed to?
It was the closest I’d gotten to actually getting a job, though.
Don’t be late or don’t come at all. Cam’s husky voice reminded me in the back of my head.
I had twenty-four hours to think about this.
Twenty-four hours to change my mind and back out of this crazy idea if I wanted to.
Maybe I would show up, maybe I wouldn’t.
