-Daydreaming by Paramore-

Hot-headed was a word that fit the girl perfectly, yet at the same time, it was an understatement. Just sitting in the passenger seat of Dawn, her body language showed how pissed she still was. She was fidgeting, mumbling curse words under her breath, pulling at her right pierced ear like a person who bit their nails when they were nervous.

Sucking her teeth, she rummaged through her purse with her bloody hand that luckily didn't have any glass stuck in it.

She pulls out a lighter and a pack of empty Marlboros that she was not happy to find vacant.

"Damn it!" she tossed the box back into her purse.

When she noticed a back of Marlboros on the cup holder, she didn't hesitate to grab it.

"You don't mind, do you?"

Having been glancing at her in the driver's seat, Mark watched her take out a cigarette, light it, and start to smoke her turmoil away. Propping her boots on the dash, she even cracked the window to let out the smoke.

Who the hell was this girl? Mark asked himself.

Taking another drag off her cigarette, she gazed at her bloody knuckles wearily.

"Looks like it hurts," Mark attempted to start a conversation.

In his head, everything panned out differently. He saved the damsel in distress and went on his day, feeling like he did a good deed.

Mark had realized this wasn't a fairytale, and this girl was no damsel in distress.

She shrugged, blowing smoke out the window, "I've had worse than Erick. Hell, fought bigger than him."

Letting out a laugh, she shook her head, "I've dated all different colors and sizes, yet they all have one thing in common, putting their hands on me."

Whether she was laughing the pain away or did find it amusing - Mark didn't know. He could only assume both.

"They're always macho until you fight back," she chuckled.

With a sigh, she finally took in the sight of her onlooker.

Like most people did, she noticed his tattoos first. Tilting her head to the side, she eyed what she could see. Due to his leather jacket, all she could see was the artwork on his knuckles and his neck.

Unlike others, that was she considered his tattoos - artwork. Mark had a story, and her facial expression didn't hide how intrigued she was.

She squinted, realizing how uncomfortable Mark was under her gaze. He had tightened his grip on the wheel and everything.

He was waiting for her to judge him or show some sign of discomfort. Amid everything that happened, he had forgotten about his appearance and how it usually scared people.

He was surprised she willingly got in the car.

Now that things were settling down, he was waiting for her to stop the car and cause a scene. But she didn't.

Instead, she just kept on taking in his appearance.

She loved his style, his tattoos, his nose ring, his tamed scruffy brown beard, his beautiful dark blonde curly hair that went a few inches past his shoulders. His soft green eyes were his best feature, though; because under his hard, bad boy, demeanor was a sweet, plush teddy bear.

A man with a heart.

Only a person who took the time to stare into his eyes could see that.

"What?" he finally asked her.

"Nothing," she shook her head and turned to the window to take another drag. "Thanks for giving me a ride. Sorry, you had to see me like that."

Chuckling, she looked over at him, "I would tell you that I don't usually act like that, but it'd just be a lie."

Mark snickered, "you seem happy for someone who smashed their bare fist through a glass window."

She looked down at her bruising fist, "it's funny what a stick of tobacco can do for you, huh?"

"Don't I know," Mark nodded, knowing how many times he told himself he was going to quit.

She held the cigarette out to him, "I'm Denise."

"Denise," Mark cocked an eyebrow.

"Doesn't sound like a girl who would punch her fist through a car window, I know. Trust me; I've heard it all before."

She motioned for him to take the cigarette, and he did. After cracking his window, he inhaled the calming tobacco, "I'm Mark, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Mark," she laid her head back, letting out a sigh. "You're good with eating Dunkin. Right? My treat."

"You don't have to treat me to anything," replied Mark, blowing smoke out of his nose. "I'm fine with just giving you a ride to work."

"That's sweet but, I would appreciate the company."

Mark cocked an eyebrow, surprised. She willingly wanted to hang out with him, and she didn't know him from a can of paint.

"But you don't know me," he glanced at her.

With a mischevious smile, she reached over and took the cigarette away, "we're sharing a smoke, I think we're pretty much besties at this point."

While she found her joke funny, Mark was caught off guard by how cool she was acting. About him, about getting hit by Erick, who he could only assume was her boyfriend.

"It's not that big of deal," Denise responded to the brooding look on his face. She looked at the back of his van were three rows of seats were. "Unless you're going to kidnap them. This van is pretty sketchy. Maybe you should just let me out right here."

Mark thought she was serious until she started giggling.

Still taking in her humor and aloof behavior, Mark only shook his head, keeping his attention on the road.

"Good," she inhaled and spoke as she let the smoke blow out of her mouth and nose, "Dunkin' it is then."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

It was almost twelve, making it so that Dunkin' was slowing down, and the morning wave was ending.

With his leather jacket hanging on his chair, Mark sat at a table next to the window. In his hands was a check that he stared at thoughtfully.

Mark was deep into his thoughts; he didn't know that Denise was watching him as she waited for their coffee and donuts.

He seemed perplexed but at the same time, so hesitant.

Besides being intrigued by what he was looking at, she found herself examining his tattoos again. Without his jacket on, she could see the tattoos covering his arms.

There were so many; she wanted to ask him to take off his shirt so that she could see the rest that she knew for a fact were on his chest and back.

"Who is that?" Denise's attention got grabbed by her co-worker, eighteen-year-old Emmanuel.

He slid over a bag and two medium french vanilla ice coffees. "That's not Erick."

"Wow, what a genius you are," Denise snapped sarcastically, picking up the items.

She turned to walk away but stopped when Emmanuel asked, "did you and Erick break up? Did Erick do that to you?" he pointed to her bandaged hand.

After getting the first-aid kit from the breakroom, she cleaned her bruised fist and wrapped it up. It ached, but she had felt worse.

"Is that you're new boyfriend now?" Emmanuel kept questioned her. "The guy looks scary. Is he -"

"Enough with the questions, Emmanuel," she cut him off. "It's none of your business, get off my ass. Your crush on me was adorable at first, but now it's just fucking annoying."

The sweet teenager hung his head low, "sorry."

Denise rolled her eyes. She had a soft spot for the kid - to her dismay. He was a good boy, respectful even with the crush he had on the twenty-six-year-old.

"Just forget it," Denise reached over to run her fingers through his hair. "Thanks for caring, kid. I'm gonna go talk to my friend, then come and switch shifts, alright?"

With a smile, Emmanuel smiled and went to greet a customer who had just walked in.

While Denise got some napkins and straws, she didn't notice Mark taking in her appearance.

The word he would use to describe her was - striking.

She wasn't a regular face, not average at all.

Her boy cut hair showed the boldness that she wore on the inside. Not a lot of women had the guts to cut their hair - especially not as short as she had it.

Denise's almond-shaped dark brown eyes were fiercer than her name. She had clear, dark soft skin that Mark knew she moisturized daily.

When she passed him the cigarette, their fingers touched long enough for him to experience how soft she was. Not to mention how good she smelled.

Despite being a smoker, she managed to smell fresh and sweet, like, roses.

Denise had thick, plump lips that hid her pretty white teeth that you could only see when she was laughing at her jokes.

She was a tall girl too but tall and thick.

Mark could guess that she was at least 5'9. She had just as much of a bust as she had ass. Having not put on her uniform shirt yet, she wore a white tank top that stood no chance against her boobs.

Her blue tight skinny jeans showed off her muscular calves and thick thighs.

Not only was she curvy, but she had a small pudge too that she was not at all embarrassed about due to how her tank rose up a little bit.

With her combat boots that still looked good despite breaking the mirrors off a Camaro, Denise exuded confidence. From the look on her face, you knew not to fuck with her though it was obvious - it didn't stop people from trying - especially men.

Having been studying her appearance, Mark was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts when she arrived at the table with their coffee and donuts.

"You didn't have to buy me breakfast, you know that?" he asked as she sat down.

"It's just Dunkin," she shrugged, "barely spent anything. If this were Starbucks, it'd be different."

"I'm guessing you don't like Starbucks?" he watched her break open her straw and slide it into her coffee.

"Of I course I don't like bougie, overpriced Starbucks. Dunkin is where it's at, anyone who says differently is an idiot, and I'm not just saying that because I work here."

Mark cracked a smile, watching her pull out a donut that was covered in chocolate and didn't have a hole.

"This is a Boston creme donut, one of the best things you'll ever eat in your life," she slid the bag over to him. "Prepare to fall in love."

Not in the mood to eat just yet, Mark pushed the bag to the side but opened his straw and put it in his coffee. The moment he tasted the sweetness, he felt a sugar rush.

"I hope it's not too sweet; you never know what you're going to get. Everyone makes it differently."

"Sweet but nothing I can't handle," Mark happily took another sip out of his coffee.

Giving a content nod, Denise took a big bite out of her donut. As she chewed, she noticed the check that Mark had been staring and dwelling on. Her eyebrows raised at the amount of zeros she could see just sitting across from him.

"You win the lottery?" she grabbed a napkin to wipe the chocolate off of her hands.

"Something like that," Mark folded the check and took his wallet out. "A distant uncle of mine died, and for some reason, left me enough money to live the rest of my life comfortably."

Denise's eyes widened, "what?"

"Yeah," Mark begins to slide the check into his wallet, "yeah, I know."

"No fucking away," she tossed her donut down and snatched the piece of paper out of her hands. She stared at the zeros in shocked. "You aren't that lucky. No one is this lucky."

Not knowing what to say or even how to explain, Mark only lifted his shoulders.

"That's not even half of the money," he held his hand out for the check.

She gave it back to him and sat back in her seat, trying to process.

"That's why I was at the bar. For a drink to digest this," he put the check in his wallet.

At the mention of a drink, Denise reached behind her chair where her purse and t-shirt were hanging. Digging in her purse, she pulled out a flask and slid it across the table to him.

"You should have said something in the car. Coffee is the last thing you need."

She leaned on the table, watching Mark twist open the flask and take a long drag of the stinging whiskey. He let out a sigh, clenching his eyes closed as he let the burning settle.

"What are you going to do with the money?" she asked.

Mark shrugged, closed the flask, and placed it on the table.

"Honestly, I don't know."

"Okay, what do you want to do with the money?"

He cracked a smile, looking out the window, "well, my first thought when I got handed the check was, I'm getting the hell out of here. North Adams, Massachusetts, it ain't got nothing for me. Not anymore."

"I feel that," Denise looked out the window, taking in the rundown streets of the town she's lived in since she was sixteen. "I was supposed to leave a long time ago."

"What happened?" Mark looked at her.

With a distant look in her eyes, she slightly shrugged, "shit happens. Then I realized, I have nowhere to go. Or at least that's what it always felt like. They say you can only go as far as you let your mind take you. Probably right, but I'm not really good when it comes to listening to people."

"Stubborn or stupid?" he joked.

She didn't laugh or crack a smile.

Denise sincerely answered, "both."

When she wasn't humorous, it was hard to see what emotion she was feeling. The tone in her voice was full of sadness and anger, but her facial expression was emotionless.

"Where would you go?"

At his question, Denise lit up like a kid in the candy store.

She looks at him with a broad smile on her face, "if I were as rich as you, I'd go anywhere and everywhere - just cause I can. I'd keep going until I find where I belong."

"And if you don't?"

"If I don't," she lifted her shoulders again, chuckling. "If I don't, living on the road doesn't seem like the worse thing. Get tired of one place, going to the next, always something new to do. If the states get boring, go international. It's a million possibilities, you know?"

"Yeah," Mark found himself inspired.

Taking her cellphone from her purse, she checked the time, "I gotta clock in," she wrapped her donut in a napkin.

Standing up, she grabbed her shirt and slid it on.

"Things for the ride, Mark and uh, congratulations."

She grabbed her purse, her coffee, and her donut.

"Wait," he stood before she could walk away. "You're not going to go back to that asshole, are you? You're not living with him; you have a play to stay, right?"

"I am living with the asshole," she smirked, "but don't worry, I've got my spot at the North Valley Motel. Got a friend who works there, so... "

"Good," Mark realized how stupid he must have seemed for worrying about her.

It was apparent she could take care of herself.

"Good luck with your money," she told him.

"Wait," Mark stopped her again and picked up her flask, "here."

"Nah, you keep it," she chuckled, "I have plenty of my own."

Grasping the flask in his hand, Mark watched her walk behind the counter and disappear in the kitchen.

****

So, I just started writing this out of nowhere. What do you guys think? Should I continue?