Twin Guns

1: Meet me

First,  I'd like to thank all of you for deciding to check my book out. Writing helps me relax. And this is a story I wrote when I was about 9 or 10 so it might be cringy.
Secondly,  I hope you wnjoy and laugh when you read this book
I'd also like to say that constructive criticism is always welcomed
Thank you!!!!!!!
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I step out from the shower and start looking for an outfit to wear.

Since my all so amazing parents decided I wasn’t worth the money, they never thought of buying me clothes. They never really bought anything really. But at least they're kind enough to give me their old clothes.

I settle for blue faded jeans and a white hoodie. I proceed to towel dry my hair.

I had long hair. But last night mom and sister dearest came home and decided to cut it off. Now I have a cute Bob. But I’m not really worried about that, my hair grows at a really fast rate.

I grab my school bag from my room and head downstairs hoping that my lovely family is still asleep.

I breathe a sigh of relief and place my bag down on the kitchen floor. 30 minutes later I’ve made pancakes. For me . Alone.

"That looks too small to feed all of us." I don’t even need to turn around to know that my step-sister, Gabby, has entered the kitchen.

Yay me. Note the sarcasm.

"It is isn’t it?" I asked her nonchalantly.

She hardly eats anything, and just because she’s obsessed with looking like a stick. It’s fine though. More for me.

I can feel her glare. "Now, now that’s no way to speak to your younger sister. " mom says.

Yeah, my fake BIG sister.
I can’t believe my own mother forgot that I’m the youngest. But what Gabby wants, she gets.

I finish by adding whip cream and strawberry with a little bit of honey. I take my plate to the dining room to see my step-father, mom and Gabby seated. They seem to enjoy their their pointless conversation. But hey, who am I to judge?
"
Oh, and you didn’t cook yesterday night. " Gabby says.
"Don’t you have a maid for that?" I know talking back to them would get me in trouble but fuck it.

She glares at me. And I see her and my mom giving each other nods before she walks into the kitchen.
I continue to eat my food.
She enters the dining room, sits next to me and tells me apologise.

I raise an eyebrow at her. She then proceeds to stab my thigh. With a fork. Bitch.
I groan. "Next time you’ll know your place." She smirks and walks off to her room.
My so-called parents simply smirk.

I glare at her. I don’t cry. I don’t even feel tears in my eyes. This has happened one too many times to know that I’m trash. Unwanted. Unloved.

Thank god I finished eating. I grab the handle of the fork and pull.
Damn.
It was deep. I can see the holes and blood is flowing, but not too much.

I stand up and walk to the kitchen taking my plate along with me. I wash it and open the fridge taking an ice pack. I place it on the wound.
After about 6 minutes I remove it and dump it in the sink. I walk up to my room to find a small scarf and tie it around my thigh. I walk back downstairs, take my bag and walk out the door.

As I’m walking I can see the hell hole people call school. I sigh.
Today’s going to be a long day.

=================================

I’m dozing off in my history class, normally I would be a good kid and listen to the teacher, but right now my thigh fucking hurts. I can’t wait for lunch time.

“Miss Rimarez!!” My shit teacher calls out.

I groan in response. “Let me see your notes.” She says.

I stand up and walk towards her. I show her my book. “How do you read this?”

“Because I wrote it?” I replied back in a duh tone. The class starts chuckling.

“Don’t talk back when I talk to you!” She yells at me. Damn she got a short fuse.

“But you asked a question, did you not?” I can hear others laughing.

“Detention for you after school young lady.” She says while gritting her teeth.

I simply room my eyes muttering “yeah, yeah.”
I take my book back and walk to my seat. I sat at the back, next to the window.

The bell rings indicating the end of this shit lesson.
“Amen! Hallelujah!” I exclaimed running out of the class. I can hear the teacher calling my name but I do what I always do in times like these. I ignored her.

I enter the cafeteria and see Ms,. Collins. “Ran away from class again?” She teases in her soothing southern voice.

“You know it.” I grab an apple as my beloved parents don’t give me money to school.

I said goodbye to her and left for the library. I decided to ditch the rest of my lessons and stay in the library. The books in this place is amazing. The variety is fun to explore through. And now I’m reading Shadowhunters.

When the bell rings for the end of school I trudge along in the hallways to go to detention.

What? I hate going home as much as I hate History.

I plop down on my chair. The teacher that’s supposed to be supervising us was dead asleep.

I take my Shadowhunters book from my bag and read.

Oh yeah, and by the way I took it from the library. Without permission.

An hour and half, my punishment is over. I begrudgingly leave the classroom. I don’t even bother waking the teacher up. I mean how can you sleep at school for that long without moving?

I go behind the school see the person I’ve been wanting to meet.

“You should really stop using this.”

I shrugged. “Well weed kills you, cutting myself hurts more when they beat you on the same spot. I can’t do illegal fighting cause I love what little freedom I have left. And I hate smoking and drinking. So this is pretty much my only option.”

He looks at me for a long period of time. He then sighs. “I’m leaving.”

“I know you have to leave. You look like a creep staying here at 6pm." I said rolling my eyes. "But please give me my fix before you leave.”

“No. I mean I’m leaving, leaving. The country.”

“...why?”

“Because...because...” he sighs. “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

“Who’s going to supply me with these then?”

“No one. But I’ll give you enough to last you for a few months. That’s if you don’t overdose.”

“I’m already overdosing, aren’t I? This isn’t prescribed by a doctor you know?”

“I know. I’ll be back in a month. Please don’t kill someone before I get back.” He said seriously.

“Yeah sure. Just don’t die, Dylan. I need my fix.”

He smiles at me. He hands me a duffle bag.
“Do you have any syringes left?” He asks.

“Nah, ran out of ‘em.” I tell him.

He nods. “Thought so, there are some in there.”

“Thanks dude.”

I hug him and leave to go home.
I was feeling excited. Giddy to enter my room and do what I’ve been craving to do for days.

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