Of Bleeding Pride

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Saturday night - fuck, I loved Saturday night. I could relax at some loser's party, getting trashed, fucked and relieved of tension.

You see, I was 20. Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking; 20, oh, I'm underage to be drinking...and I would hardly know what problems were because I was so young and I had my whole life ahead of me...

Well, fuck you. Don't you think I realise that already? It's not like I enjoy living the way I do, because I didn't even get a flipping choice now did I? No. Dad was some elaborate con artist, landing himself a whopping 25 years in prison for something or rather dangerous and secretive a couple years ago...not that I fucking cared, he was a prick anyway, and as far as I'm concerned, good riddance - he's gone. As for my mother, well, she has a wonderful time being a stripper. So much fun that she sometimes brings work home with her. The stupid whore forgot half the time that she even had a daughter, and I was mainly brought up by my grandmother, Ethel. In fact, if it wasn't for her, I probably would have lost all humanity.

She was a great old lady, raising me on her own. Well, I guess she wasn't that old. 52 to be exact. I did love her, a lot more than my parents that's for sure. Now, don't get me wrong, Grandma Ethel was great for like, taking me in and everything, but she was involved with...'other' businesses, so to speak.

Long story short, she was knitted in with a bikie gang somehow; The Black Skulls - but they were better known for a second name they often used, 'Black Skull Devil Bangers.' Now, I'm not entirely sure how they achieved this name, but I'm pretty certain it has to do with their quite renowned yet underground brothel downtown...and no surprises, the very whore house my mother happened to work at. What a shocker, I know. (Note the sarcasm there.)

I'm not even entirely sure how my gran was involved with this, and I did ask once; but to no real astoundment, I wasn't really listening. All I know is that I remember very vivid moments in my child hood years when we'd literally go into hiding or lockdown, guns blazing and shit everywhere.

Even still today, she was if anything, closer to the gang, and I got dragged down with it. Don't ask. I was only 15, and I needed a way to get money - fast. No, I'm not a whore, but I'm no virgin either. I only handled the local business drug trafficking, I swear. Sex is an added bonus with the job, honest to god.

So, apart from the fact I spent my Saturdays getting plastered to relax, it was also kinda my job. Parties were the hot spots, and I made a quick easy buck from some of the more or less brain dead, desperate kids.

So, my life, as you can see - is not that great.

This is me, Samantha Taylor, and this is my life so far.

*~*~*~*

I groaned and rolled over in my bed. I hated hangovers. The only downside to an amazing night was those damn hangovers. I gathered myself and took in my surroundings. My room - alone. Good, that means I made it safely somehow.

I dragged my butt into a hot shower and washed away the horrible greasy feeling that lingered on my skin and my bird's nest hair. Showers were honestly amazing. 5 minutes of bliss. Pulling myself out, I chucked on a shirt and a pair of skinnies. I never was one to dress up. Guys already went stiff from looking at me (yes, I know, I'm probably gloating, but it was true!) and I didn't need to give them more of a show than absolutely necessary.

I trudged down the stairs, running a brush through my knotted, wet hair.

"Oh! Samantha dear!" I heard gran chirp from the kitchen. She turned 52 the other day and she bought herself a motorcycle. Go figure.

"Still Sam gran," I corrected, making my appearance.

"Oh, of course dear." She dismissed with a wave of her hand, "Anyway, Gavin came over to remind you that they need the money this afternoon." She said so casually. What kind of grandmother asks their granddaughter about drug money? Well, mine obviously.