Bella was rudely ripped out of her sleep with a bang. There was another loud bang downstairs accompanied by footsteps. The bright sunlight practically blinded her as she crawled out of bed, immediately going to her bottom left drawer. Her eyes adjusted on the gun her father had given her as a Birthday present-she'd never had the chance to use it before. The shuffling downstairs continued and she sighed, cocking it back. She wasn't even scared and she chuckled at the thought that whoever it was downstairs was definitely the one who should be afraid. The teen opened her front door silently, taking cover around the corner before peeking her head out to get a better view. The unidentified person seemed to be shuffling through her fridge and in this moment Bella realized anyone dumb enough to break into her house and raid the fridge wasn't worth killing. And once she was halfway down the stairs she dropped the gun completely because if there was anyone she could spot from a mile away-it was Mickey fucking Milkovich.
"Mickey?!" She yelled and he shut the door-sipping the orange juice straight out the carton much to her disgust.
"Whatsup Bella" He burped loudly. "Good to see ya' kid"
She moved closer to him, tucking the gun into her Looney Tunes pajama pants and giving him a quick side-hug. "I almost shot your head off dumbass"
"Ah, you wouldn't shoot me" He shrugged it off before taking a seat. He smiled because he was right and the fact that she was pulling out pancake mix to make him breakfast proved it. "So I talked to your dad"
Bella set the box down loudly, pulling the Glock out her waistband and setting it on the counter as well. She sighed, knowing where this was going. There were few people who could help Mickey get out of prison and her dad was definitely one of them. "And?" Was all she could say, getting out the rest of the ingredients for their meal.
"I'm gonna work for him out in Sinaloa" Bella rolled her eyes, whisking the mix rather aggressively. She hated her father so much, hated the violence. Drug selling she didn't mind but she knew that what her father was doing in the streets of Mexico was tearing the country she once called home apart. "Wanted to see of you could help me brush up on my Spanish before I head out there"
She finally smiled, chuckling at his words. "Oh yeah?" The idea of hearing Spanish coming out of Mickeys mouth have never occurred until now. "What do wanna know?"
"How do you say suck my dick?"
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Bella was on her way to "group therapy". It was her first of the three required months of anger management. She was driving a car she bought with the help of Mickey (per her father's request) and although she only had a learners permit-had been cruising through the streets of Chicago in a new BMW. She preferred driving rather than walking everywhere, the thought of dealing with another crackhead who lives under The El made her shudder. Now she could just peel out of any situation when she felt like it. Setting her white Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses atop her head she groaned at the ugly white building in front of her. She was 10 minutes late but making a grand entrance was a necessity for her so she didn't really mind. There was also a knife in her purse and a pistol in her glove compartment for the unavoidable creepy men she would come across.
