Freak, Bitch, Slut, Psycho, Drunk....
They were all words she had been called before, either to her face, or through the grape vine. After awhile, having a police commissioner for a father had its side effects... Initially it was just being excluded because no one ever knew what kind of trouble you could get them in... they always assumed Daddy was lurking close by to bust anyone helping his daughter get into trouble. When in fact it was quite the opposite, Livia's father was never around. Their three bedroom apartment was typically empty, unless she was home. Sometimes the silence drove her mad, and that was the downside to being the commissioners daughter, loneliness.
Fifteen years of behaving had turned her loose on the world, finding random ways to have fun, and three and a half years later she was still running rampant behind her dads back. Finding liquor bottles, or buying weed from the kids who weren't terrified of her big green eyes, and curled hazel hair. The following years after were similar, though even a father who is hardly around begins to notice when his daughter is getting into things she isn't supposed to - mainly because she ends up on your front door step. Or in the front lobby of the jailhouse. Either way, after that, there is no denying the vodka that he smelled on her full pink lips, or the skimpy dress she wore. Instead, strict new rules were implemented - still, Livia never understood how he planned to keep them when he was a shadow in their home. Hell, she wouldn't complain, she had finally found a way to be accepted, and have fun - even if it was with a fake name, and fake I.D. She had to hide her father from scaring off her new friends right? Livia Varenkov, was now Livia Walker and the only people who would know differently would be people who already knew her from her local area. Luckily most of those people didn't greet you by first and last name, and in Livia's case they didn't typically greet her at all.
Hushed whispers at the small high school were common for Livia. Kids talking about clubs they frequented that had lax rules, or bars that served minors, or, hell, the in places for E, or blow. All of it was kept from her, and most times, she noticed people whispering even when it had nothing to do with her. While this wasn't entirely a common thing, it felt as if it were to Livia. She had another month of school before graduation, and she was celebrating with every wrong choice she could make. That was the route she had taken in the last few years, and still her fathers reputation hung over her head like a toxic cloud killing off any chance of happiness in her smaller town. To say the least Livia had one close friend, and she lived further in the city, and they hardly visited. Either way, Livia still had ways of finding places she wasn't supposed to be. This very weekend was one of those incidents - she had heard that on the outskirts of the city, Plan B, a bar in Lithelm Heights served minors.
When Friday rolled around Livia patiently waited in her sweats on the couch pretending to bum around for the night. But hidden underneath her baggy sweats, and over sized hoodie was a slinky black strapless dress, and in the closet across the hall from the entrance to her house her black strappy heels and gray purse hid. She would give her dad an hour start, but that was only because she wanted to do her makeup, and fluff her hair - you know, girl things. An hour passed and just to be safe Livia checked out her window, before snagging up her keys, and clacking out of the house.
A general idea was all she needed to get there, and that was exactly what she had. The drive was well worth the benefits she would reap. Liquor, and a good time - at least she had assumed that is what it would be. It was a miracle she still had a car in her possession with her previous record. She pushed that from her mind, pulled into the dark parking lot. The front of the building had a lit sign, OPEN, in the window, and above the fluorescent light had a few letters blown out. That wasn't the first sign that she wasn't in the best of neighborhoods. The trash littered around the place was her second sign. Still she went to the front door, and stood there a moment before pushing through it.
A gust of smoke washed over her, a soft cough coming from her as she tried to acclimate to it. Already fully aware that if she faltered in the slightest that she would be fed to the wolves, so she pushed forward through the bar. Her eyes quickly scanned the place, numerous groups of people were scattered around the bar. Some playing card games, others drinking games, and still others just fucking around. Livia liked the vibe of the place, but she didn't like the looks she was getting. This would appear as if she was there to pick up a date, no... she was there to pick up liquor. Too bad she had to go so for to get it, along with a good time.
Behind the wooden bartop there were rows of bottles, a mirror lined the wall, and the top of the bar was a black worn down granite. It sparkled but barely in the dim lighting. She wished she smoked, wished she could fit in with the crowd, but knew that the only thing she would fit in doing, was getting a few drinks, loosening up, and having fun. Sitting down at the bar top she glanced around. The black dress clung to her every curve, a second glove almost for her body, though at the top, ruffles fluffed out, giving the dress a softer more feminine feel. Her hands folded next to one another on the granite, as her emerald eyes scanned her surroundings. This place is busy, even for a run down piece of shit, she thought to herself.
Just as this happened someone slid in next to her, but she tried to remain calm, to keep her head facing the back of the bar. Well, that was fast, she thought to herself.
"Aye baby," the guy leaned in towards her, she smelled rum and she hadn't even glanced at him yet.
Livia leaned away before turning towards the man to make sure there was a distance between them, a strained smile crossed her lips, "Hello. Just here for a drink."
"Well, I could get you one of those," the guy leaned forward over the bar, his hand ahead of his body, as he raised two fingers.
"That's okay, I got it," she looked at him, a perfectly sculpted brow lifted.
"What you're too good to accept a drink?" the guy had reduced his body back to his seat. Still she could smell the liquor from his lips.
"No, I just don't want any obligations," she tried to speak reasonably, but she knew where it was headed. Knew from the bitter smell on his lips that there was no reasoning with him.
The guys face morphed from playfulness to one of aggravation within seconds, "What the fuck." He was turned so his full body was facing her. Sighing, she turned back towards the bar, the mirror behind the liquor bottles showing her what the guy was doing.
"Yo, bitch," he spoke at her again in an attempt to get her attention, though she could see the aggression in him.
"Mmmm," she shook her head, swiveled her body to the left, away from him, and stood. She was going to move a few seats away, and just as she had stood, the man had placed a hand on her arm. A firm grip refusing to let go, and she knew that when she attempted to tug her arm from his. Quickly she turned to face him, "What?" There was a sharpness, an acidity in her voice as she spoke to the man, but he didn't falter. As she looked into his eyes she knew he has seen worse, knew worse than what she could ever deal him - still there was a bar full of witnesses would they really let him attack her?
"O-hoooo," he drew it out, "We got a feisty one."
Livia didn't speak as the man clutched onto her arm, instead she simply watched his face. The fluctuation of features there, and noticed the numerous scars. She wondered what he wanted, what he had seen that was so bad that he felt he needed to put his hands on her, of all people. Sure some of the other females in there were a dressed in less classy clothing, but did that really make her a target? Did she need to wear clothes that showed more than they hid to not get hassled? The guy said a few more things, but she was dazed, thinking over things.