𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒 || atsv - miles 42

𝟏𝟎.

𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙨.

I woke up with a huge headache. I couldn't remember anything from last night and didn't know where I was. I was lying on a bed in a dark room with dark-colored covers and pillows. It seemed like the room had blackout shades over the windows considering it was pitch black. I feared something might jump out at me, so I hugged my knees to my chest; prepared for the worst.

Until someone knocked on the door.

What was I supposed to do? Who could be at the door? Shit, for all I know I could be in a serial killer's home right now! I got out of bed and rushed to the closet, pushing clothes aside to look for something I could use as a weapon. I kept digging in the closet until I saw a bright purple logo almost anyone from Brooklyn could recognize.

I couldn't believe it.

My eyes narrowed as I dug deeper into the closet, my hand hitting a cardboard box. I pulled it out and placed it on my lap, opening it up to see multiple weapons—a pistol, darts, and knives; stained with blood. My breath caught in my throat as the door clicked, signaling that someone was coming in. I quickly grabbed the pistol and shoved a few bullets in it before pushing the box back inside the closet. I held the gun near my hip before the door clicked again; I pointed it at the door as it slowly opened. Behind the door was a tall bald man, wearing a purple turtleneck and a black fur-lined leather jacket.

"Hey," he spoke, his eyes on the bed I was previously in. His gaze shifted to me and he raised his hands in surrender -- his expression fearless. The man let a chuckle escape his throat, turning his head to someone outside the room. "Get yo girl, bruh. I'll be back." He laughed as he disappeared from the doorframe. My hands were slightly shaking as I held the gun tightly, still pointing it at the door. I was breathing heavily, unsure who could come to the threshold of this room. The front door slammed shut with a thud, leaving me and the other person in this apartment alone. It was quiet, besides the occasional police sirens and honking from outside. Slow footsteps could be heard inside, getting louder as they approached the bedroom.

Soon enough, the unknown person came to the threshold.

It turns out that "unknown" person was someone I did know.

"Chill," Miles spoke, a light chuckle leaving his lips. "It's just me." My face softened and I lowered the gun as he moved closer to me. He placed a warm hand on mine, slipping the pistol out of my hand. He set it on top of the dresser in the room, his hand still on my hand. My eyes were glued onto his face and my expression was unchanging from the soft and curious one it was. "Why you pointin' a gun at me, chica guapa?" He asked as his eyes locked onto mine, a smirk plastered on his face. My expression hardened once again and I felt more in control of my body. "Don't call me that," I spoke, my voice low. I took my hand out of his and let it drop to my side.

He let out a low chuckle, noticing his hand falling to his side as well. "That's what you are though," he said. "A pretty girl. Why so feisty?" My eyes narrowed as he began to walk out of the dark bedroom and into a bright living room, most of the light coming from the glass doors to the balcony. I followed him around the apartment, squinting from the sudden lighting change. I ignored his question and sat on a stool at the kitchen island. He sat down on the velvet couch facing the TV and opened a dark green box that was positioned on the wood coffee table. He pulled a small square-shaped piece of thin paper out of the box and a small plastic bag filled with a muddy-green substance.

"Do you have my phone?" I asked, realizing my voice sounded raspier than before. I tried to get my mind off of what he was doing by breaking the silence, but it didn't work cause it was so... interesting. My gaze fell onto his hands as he rolled up what looked like a blunt. He lit it once he finished and my eyes were stuck on him as he exhaled the smoke into the air. Soon after he exhaled, the entire living room had a slight weed smell to it. "Nah," Miles replied. My brows furrowed and my eyes narrowed at him. His eyes never left the blank TV in front of him, and that pissed me off more than before.

"You don't know where it's at?" I questioned as my hands gripped my knees in anger and stress. "¿Perdiste my phone?" I was just like my mother, the way I switched to using Spanglish when I was upset. Miles seemed unbothered by all of this — continuing to take hits off his blunt. The weed smell was starting to become stronger and it only made my head hurt more than earlier.

"Iris," He chuckled as a puff of smoke left his lips. "Kamera prolly have it, relax." I bit my lip as I wondered what I could do in the meantime. My mom was probably worried out of her mind, so I knew I had to do something about that. "Can I borrow your phone real quick?" I stood up from the stool and walked over to him, my hand lowering to grab his phone off the coffee table. His hand darted to grab his phone and he became defensive -- giving me the dirtiest look he has ever given me. I raised an eyebrow at him, giving him the same attitude. He began to scroll through his phone, swiping away a lot of stuff. 

My eyes narrowed again until he lazily handed his phone to me, taking a long drag off the blunt. I held his phone in my hands, noticing how pristine his phone looked -- the complete opposite of mine. My screen protector was jacked up. I exhaled sharply and opened the phone app which displayed many missed calls from the same number. Weird. I went to the keypad and punched in the house's phone number before pressing the phone up to my ear.

It barely rang once until my mother answered the phone with a very cranky attitude. "Who is this?" She spoke, sounding exhausted. I chuckled softly, "It's me, Mami." I walked back into the dark bedroom to get more privacy. An annoyed sigh from the other line. I knew she was rolling her eyes. I began walking around the room and looking inside drawers, trying to find something that could connect to that prowler symbol I saw.

"Where are you?" She asked.

"A boy's house," I replied.

"Who?"

"A boy named Miles, he's from school."

"When is he gonna bring you home?"

"I don't know."

"Mm. Already a bad sign."

-kelpnseaweed

idk where i was going w that ending chat