Hearts in Chains

Senior Year...

     A year full of drugs and violence.

     There seemed to be something in the air, something lurking in the walls. At least, that was what Damien thought. He could never put a finger on it. But, he knew it was there.

     Watching. Waiting. Waiting for him to slip up. Waiting for him to drop the ball.

     He wouldn't. He couldn't. He'd come so far in the past several years. He couldn't afford to fuck up now. He had created a reputation for himself--a dangerous one. He'd marked his territory, given himself a name. 

     His senior year consisted of two things: money and drugs. At the start of his junior year, he'd come across some Italian gang at some run-down restaurant named 'El Derado'. He'd gone there looking for work--cheap labor for only a quarter of the service he'd promised to put in. Though, regardless, cheap labor could only do so much. So, when the Italian gang offered to give him a job with them, one that promised big bank for only a fraction of what some lazy freeloader would have him do, he happily accepted.

     A few weeks afterwards, he was making more than he could count on all his fingers and toes. There was stacks on top of stacks of cash he'd brought in from simple drug deals. It was like being at Disney Land, except the more twisted theme park where instead of candy, you had drugs. Instead of toys, you had guns. Instead of princes and princesses in a fairy-tail, you had whores and strippers trying to dig into every pocket they could find. Men who smoked more snow than anything Damien had ever seen. It was like all his dreams had come true in that one simple moment, in that one simple exchange of words between him and the other Italians.

     By the end of the month, he was promoted. He'd become a big dog, a shot caller. Hell, he could tell other people what to do now. He could sell his own merchandise and never have to lift a finger ever again.

     He remembered the day like it was yesterday. Feeling the wind on his smooth, tan-ish skin, the scent of weed on him, the smell of expensive cologne he'd bought to spoil himself. He even remembered the way the busy city streets sounded as he rode his bike through them, admiring the pretty sunset and city lights.

     But, that was all a distant dream now. The easy days were over. He was so far in, that now, he couldn't stop. He had to keep going, had to keep his streak. Who knows, maybe one day he'd be a mafioso, and then he'd be unstoppable. Unpredictable. Until then...

     .....he had work to do.

     Thursday, 2:45 PM. Forecast: Bloody with a slight chance of broken bones.

     Damien sat in the principles office, a stubborn frown etched onto his dark features. He had blood all over him, over his soft skin. His black hair was messy and like a tornado all over his head. His brown eyes had a look of annoyance to them, one that his teachers and many of his peers had seen way too many times to count.

     The principle sat in front of him, just as mad. If not, madder. He had had to stop his meeting in order to talk to Damien; to see what the problem was. His hair was as gray as the clouds in the sky, his blue eyes as fierce yet as sharp as his quick-witted tongue. After hearing about Damien fighting with other students, he couldn't allow such foolish behavior to prosper in his school.

     "You wanna explain to me why you're here, son?" The principle finally spoke up, shooting cold glares Damien's way.

     Damien just stared at the man. Too stubborn to speak, too angry to keep quiet. And because of his mood, his body reacted by slouching in his seat. He tapped his foot against the hard flooring, looking at anything but the two blue eyes in front of him.