Chapter Text
thursday's were the worst of the week. when you were younger, thursday’s marked the day before class ended, before the long awaited weekend. now it marked a debt and by now, the bartender knew you like a coworker in a million dollar business - only ever keeping chatter to the minimum.
you came in every other thursday. same parking spot, same drink, same shoes (you couldn’t afford new ones) and same reason.
price.
a man of his word, strong bolded shoulders and a beard to go with it. if he hadn’t blackmailed you, you might of thought he would be a good father to your future kids. you weren’t exactly blackmailed per-say, in his words you were “unlucky”.
you first met him when you were 15. walking out of high-school, looking for your dads shitty gray hatchback which was nowhere to be found. you ended up staying 20 minutes after school waiting for it pull up with its dark exhaust pumping out of the back, polluting the air around it. with a groan of annoyance you slumped back against the brick wall of the high school and slid your phone from your pocket. you fumbled with the keyboard, managing to write out:
“where are you?”
no response, it got to a point where your teacher was even starting to worry.
“hun? your dad comin’ soon?” her southern accent was smooth against your ears, it felt like licking honey off a spoon when you were sick. the smallest bit of sour under the sweet.
your head flew to meet her gaze after she caught you in surprise. “yeah… just uh- his work got off late. he’ll be here soon.” the words flew out of your mouth. you didn’t even know if he would be here in a hour.
“alright.” worry lurked under her words “get home safe now.” she held your eye contact for a little extra than needed before walking to her own car.
if only you could drive this would be a lot easier.
a buzz in your hand interrupted your thoughts.
“cant pick you up today. john will take you home.”
you’ve only heard of john once before and that was either when your dad said he was going to bar with work friends or when he yapped about the jackass of a man that worked with him (aka price).
your eyes roamed the parking lot, empty besides your teacher pulling out of the lot as a growl emerged from a car that coincidentally appeared as she left. it stuck out like a sore thumb- not because it was the only car in the lot but because it was a clean, dark blue colored car with little to no scratches. instead of smoke spilling out the back, cigarette smoke slid out the windows and from what you could assume was cigarettes. surprisingly, it still looked like it had just come fresh out the dealer (even with the smoke). in contrast to the small, brown town you lived in, it was like gold. you stepped forward to meet it as it pulled in the car-less pick up lane.
the first thing you saw was him. broad face, bright eyes that brought out his dark beard and prominent smile lines along his cheeks. a cigarette rested limply between his pale lips as his eyes crinkled in a soft smile at the site of you.
you didn’t notice his arm slide down the door to unlock the car after he put it in park. with your fingers grazing the smooth car handle, you carefully opened the door without getting in just yet, only to reveal an incredibly disgusting car. for someone with such a nice car you would have thought he would at least take care of the interior but no. it was smoky from his cigarettes, seats tainted a brown color and beer bottles, cans, and god knows what scattered the floor of the passengers side.
“hey kid, names price.” he hummed as he watched your face contort to confusion.
“my dad said your name was john?” you replied hesitantly, bending down to look at him in the car. was this the right guy? shit you didn’t wanna get kidnapped, this guys is probably a psycho-
“work name. but you can call me price.” he patted the passenger seat, ushering you to sit so he can get going. you took a last glance across the lot before plopping down on the passenger seat feeling its springs pop up under you. after slamming the door shut and dropping your bag on the car floor in front of you, your eyes rose to meet him giving you an absolute death stare.
it took him a second before he spoke. “jesus kid, dont know how to treat a car right?”
a confused frown crossed your face. “says the guy with garbage everywhere” is what you wanted to say but instead you said “um… sorry i’m just not used to nicer cars.” you mumbled looking between him and the door.
his eyes rolled back with the smile peeking back on his lips as the car started again, accelerating like a bullet just to stop again at the sign- which flung you a little out of your seat and he just laughed at that. you quickly grabbed the seat belt and clicked it into place because based on how he was driving now? you wouldn’t be surprised if there was a crash along the way.
price took a weird way home, he didn’t even have a navigation on, which was your first warning sign since you lived far and this car ride was dragging on forever. mostly, you just stared at price the whole ride, not because you were admiring him but because you didn’t trust him. he was slumped against the car seat, one hand on the wheel and the other lifting his cigarette or having his head rested against his fist. he knew you were watching him and that just made him adjust the tent in pants more frequently but that part just slipped under your nose.
price held the cigarette in front of you and you looked between him and one of the number one causes of deaths in the world. “i don’t smoke.” you crossed your arms and turned away, resulting to just watching the world pass through the window while wind blew in your face. he turned to you, puffing out smoke in your direction. you frantically coughed and waved your hands to get it out of your lungs and swap the smoke outside the car through the window.
“how old are ya?” he pulled the cigarette back and brought it to the corner of his lips.
your debated actually sharing your age with this stranger before you muttered, still facing the opposite of him. “15.”
“fuckin hell.” you heard him mutter under this breath, and tried to ignore him readjusting his hips once more. it was impossible to curl in on your self to avoid him with the your bag in the way and garbage everywhere.
“can i put my stuff in the back?” you innocently asked, not really needing an answer since you had already started moving it but paused once you saw the back car seats full of your items. “why do you have my stuff.” you firmly asked, face dropping as you skimmed over your travel bag and random necessities.
“shit.” he muttered just quite enough that you couldn’t hear him. price breathed out a breath of smoke again before rubbing his temple. “your gonna stay with me for a little alright, kid?”
your head whipped towards him in a combination of shock, fear, and confusion. “what? no i was going to go home to finish my project for school- its all at home, how am i-“
“i might’ve grabbed it when i stopped by. we can check the trunk when we get home.” home? you aren’t going home with this pervert, theres no way in hell.
“no! i wanna go to MY home, turn the car around!” you yelled at him, gripping your seat to keep yourself from having a panic attack.
“i cant do that kid.” he didnt even look at you, he just stared at the endless road ahead.
“stop fucking calling me that!” you looked for another way out, eyes roaming before loading on the door handle. aggressively, you began yanking and pulling it to try and open the door but to no avail. your only other option was the wheel and without warning you lunged over the car console and aimed to grab it, your palms gripped the smooth surface before yanking it any direction you could to get it to turn.
“kid- what the fuck are you doing, get off!” he yelled back yanking your arms.
it was the sizzling pain of a cigarette against your wrist that made you scream. price had forgotten about the cigarette logged between his pointer and middle finger when he grabbed you. it melted a round dot of skin on your hand, already visibly dis-coloring it.
“…fuck!” you whined, recoiling out of his grasp. you yelped as your hand wrapped around the wound, shrinking in on yourself as protection.
“shit, you okay kid?” price reached over to comfort you but you avoided his perverted touch.
the car was silent from then on, he still smoked the skin burning cigarette like the fucker he was before breaking the silence.
“so what class was the project for, kid?” he reached over and squeezed your thigh to get your attention. but you were to scared. you were to fucking scared to move his hand. you didn’t even realize how he said ‘was’ instead of ‘is’.
you like to think that maybe in another dimension you did move his hand and you wouldn’t be where you are at the moment, in a squeaky barstool with only a water because you cant afford anything else to be exact. maybe in another dimension price cut you some slack about money. maybe in another dimension you wouldn’t be working 2 jobs and selling crack from price on the side. just the plain thought of what your life has come to would make anyone have some sympathy for you but you weren’t going to just limp around and beg for money.
“ay kid, how are ya’? on time today, hm?” prices stupid voice tingled in your ears as he sat beside you, placing his hand on its ‘well deserved spot’ on your thigh. it was always to close.
“im not a kid.” your left hand squeezed the iced water in front of you as your right absentmindedly circles each of prices burn marks that he had gifted you.
he deeply chuckled under his breath, moving the hand on your thigh to instead hold your disgustingly scared one while his other obnoxiously waved at the waiter for a whisky. he wouldn’t order you one. he never did. from a distance, you two looked like a couple with a age gap. not a father and forced child. thats how he always saw himself, as a caretaker- a dad to a involuntarily kid. but the way he touched you is never the way a father figure should touch a child. he was delusional, but no one was brave enough to tell him so.
silence rang between you two before he remembered “oh thats right, its your birthday in’ it?” he waved towards the waiter for 2 drinks instead.
nick, the waiter, never questioned the relationship you two had and a part of you thought that maybe price was paying him since he was always the one working when you came by. he gave a quick thumbs up before filling another cup.
“a big kid now, huh? want me to start calling you that?” he fell into his small chuckle again. “don’t worry i wont stop calling you my kid.” he squeezed your hand and you stayed unresponsive, this was your routine. let price patronize you for a little, give him the money, then go.
nick slid the two drinks with small square tissues under towards price before he slid you one. your eyes darted like flies at price than the glass and back again, almost confirming that its actually yours to drink and not a stupid prank to taunt you that you couldn’t afford it with the debt you had to pay off.
“happy birthday kid.” he smirked before chugging his down in two gulps, swirling the cup after to make the 2 lone ice cubes spin. when he let go of your hand to pick up the cup, you dug in your pocket for the white mail envelope of dirty cash and slid it under the counter to him. he smirked at the paper he felt poking his mid thigh and tucked it under his jacket. “and if you want another birthday gift beside that drink,” he gestured at, confirming that it was truly yours. price leaned in to your ear, his whisky breath invading your nose. “let me and garrick take care of you, yeah?” that was prices way of asking if you wanted to fuck him and his lap dog tonight. your head pivoted only the slightest and there was gaz, patiently waiting next to the door while watching the surroundings of drunk frat boys and alcoholics drinking away their feelings.
you turned back to the alcohol in front of you again before price patted your thigh one last time and stood up to leave. “see ya’ in a couple weeks, kid. maybe you’ll talk to me then, hm?”
you didn’t say good bye or respond back, instead staring at the iced whisky in front of you provided by the oh-so-generous price. even though you had watched nick give it to price, the fear of it being spiked still lingered like specs of dust in the back of your mind. you cant fathom the things he would do to a drugged and half-conscious you. maybe he would kill you in the alley behind the bar since you were taking to long to pay off your debt before tossing you in the dumpster. you wish he would kill you, but he loves you to much. what would price do without his little kiddo there selling his cocaine and giving him money twice a month? who would he patronize? who would he punch when he was pissed? who would he fuck when he was horny?
alternatively to killing you in a alley, the more probable option is that he would spike your drink and rape you (‘love you’ in his words). maybe he would take you home and give you a true meal that he would later request you pay him back for, price was a dick like that.
“are you paying for that or is he coming back?” a stiff and agitated voice asked you, it was nick again. you glanced up to see him whipping a tall glass prior to looking back down at the two drinks in front of you. the fucker that price was didn’t pay for your drink or even his. he left the bill to your bare pockets and you knew he wasn’t planning on coming back. fingers squeezed across the whisky you were unknowingly holding still in fury.
taking a swig of the alcohol that you were originally worried about being spiked, your hand reached into your jacket pocket, pulling the small amount of money you kept to yourself that was meant for food and slammed them on the table. you didn’t care if the drink was laced anymore, you were mad that you wouldn’t have a real meal tonight because of the supposed ‘birthday present’ gifted by price. you hated him. you really fucking hated him.