A love to kill for

Chapter 01

Friday, January 3rd

Just yesterday my mom and her newest boyfriend were telling me about this house they found. A house with a view of the mountain, a house with three rooms; one for both of us and even a room for a guest, two bathrooms; both with showers, and closets all around the house. Even one in the hallway or some shit. And now here we are, my mom's newest ex's things are thrown off our apartment steps and he's yet to come home to find it. One of his picture frames cracked open on the cement and there's glass everywhere. The neighbors already called management most likely but if they're smart they won't come out of their apartments.

There's no use in asking mom what happened; I've made that mistake one too many times. I've already called Mark to come pick me up because I don't want to be here when the poor bastard gets home.

"Cole?"
"Yeah?"
"Get here." My moms voice sounds through the concrete walls.
"Mark is pulling up, what is it?" I say as I open the door.
"If you see him, you know the drill." Her pale skin is littered with fresh needle marks and her blonde hair is a mess on the top of her head. You couldn't tell she was as slim as she is with her baggy sweatpants and hoodie. Her small hands are holding pipe and the tv is smashed. It was his.

"I know, mom." I would hug her goodbye but she's smoking her pipe so I just leave.

----------

"What happened anyway?"
"You know I stopped asking a while ago."
"Yeah but I mean, usually she at least packs it up in trash bags for the poor fellows." I shrug my shoulders and look out the window.

The city seems so still around this time. Most people are either at work or at school. As a matter of fact, 12:03 is when I should be in Mr. Jeffrey's class studying about plants. But instead I'm in a car on the way to booze town. As usual.

"So there's a couple chicks that are gonna be here. I call the blonde." Mark has always been worried about where and when he's gonna score next. Sure I hook up but he never just hangs out with me and the boys, he's always gotta have a girl there to hit on.

"Yeah man whatever" I could care less as long as I get some alcohol to ease myself up a bit. I hate when my mom gets like this. It's about once every month and she always shoots up a lot more than usual for about a week until she deems herself worthy of 'love' again.

We pull up next to Ben's small shotgun house. The door is bent in where a cop kicked it in last summer and busted him for drying out weed in his kitchen. A couple windows are broken and his dog still barks like a fucking maniac anytime someone comes in. It pisses me off.

"Hey! Wipe your damn feet!" He slurs. He's already drunk and by the smell I know he's already high. "What are you, barn animals? Shit."

"Like our muddy shoes are gonna make this house any more dirty. Your dog's shit does that for you!" Mark knows there's no use in arguing with Ben but he still does it anyway.

I leave the bickering kids to themselves and help myself to a beer. His fridge hardly works so it's luke warm. His kitchen is full of old napkins and to-go boxes. One of the reasons his nagging wife moved out last month. Well, I guess ex-nagging wife. The divorce just isn't final yet.

"Hi." A clearly hammered girl comes inside from the back porch. "Smoke?" I can't tell if she's asking if I want one or if I have one to lend her.

"You got one?" I take her mumbling and walking away as a 'no'. I chug my beer and grab another three before slumping on the couch next to Ben.

His couch smells like weed, his carpet smells like shit, his walls smell like weed and shit. This house is a dump. But there's always beer in the kitchen.

Mark is already hitting on the girl and I'm already on my fourth beer.

"Goddammit Ben, why can't you clean up your fucking house?" In comes that nagging bitch. Tiffany? Theresa? Tessa?

"Fucking hell. Get off my case. Your damn jackets are on the bed in there." She drove all the way here for jackets?

Mark is already kissing the skank and I'm already annoyed and leaving.

The cold air whips through me with a shiver. And I really wish I had stolen one of those jackets. My thin fleece coat does nothing in Chicago winters. I don't really know where I'm heading but it's better than sitting in there smelling and hearing shit all day. Plus, walks help me clear my head.

I don't know how long I've been walking; thirty minutes? An hour? Anyway, I can't remember the last time I ate but the beers are making me a little tipsy. I finish off the last one and chuck it at some dude's car window.

"That was my father's car." A girl behind me speaks up.

"Who cares?" I ask whipping around. I don't see her at first but when I do I'm mesmerized. Her long brown hair and bright blue eyes keep me from turning back around and going on my merry way.

"I do. Why did you throw that? What if it broke his window?" She walks down from the front steps of a huge house that has a wrap around porch. She's shorter than me and her legs in those shorts are doing something to my brain. Her stare is making me a little nervous. And her tight v-neck shirt is making me a little anxious.

"Looks like he could afford a new one." I stay put on the sidewalk as she walks over directly in front of me. Okay, I said she was short before but goodness. She's gotta be at the most 5'4 and I'm, the last time I checked, 6'1.

"So? You don't go throwing shit at people's windows." She huffs and crosses her arms.

I raise my eyebrows. I'm kinda shocked she's testing me right now. My appearance usually worries people like this. What? With my tattoos, metal hoops, and baggy jeans?

"Woah now. Daddy might get you in trouble for using that kind of language." She narrows her eyes and her jaw moves forward a bit. I move past her and walk away, taking a last glance at her and she's still staring me down. If I had something else to throw at her dad's precious BMW I would.

By the time I get back home, it's pitch black outside. There's nothing left on the steps and mom's working her usual night shift. At least I assume that's where she is. The counter if full of her needles and foil. God, can she not learn how to hide this shit? I carefully gather them up and set them in the drawer under the wood into a small secret compartment one of her first exes built her.

I'm starving but I'm sure there's nothing to eat. I checked before I left. Only some year old oatmeal and some orange juice. Oh well. I typically sleep off hunger anyways.

I take my hunger and I to bed and pass out.