parkour-//-5sos gang

01-//-like every other day.

(A/N: I know thats Taylor, but for the sake of the story please pretend that its calum lol😂)

-//-Calum's P.O.V-//-

"Hey, Come beck ere, ya sneaky bastard!" Yelled the big fat man, who had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, while waving his fist in the air.

I ran away, clutching the small bag of chips and baguette in my large hands, bolting through the alleyway. I ran a good half mile or so until I knew that man or anyone else wasn't chasing after me. They would never go to this part of town. Ever.

My eyes scanned my beaten up neighborhood, looking for anybody around. I quickly stuffed the stolen food under my sweater. I wouldn't want anybody seeing that I have food, or else they'll come swinging.

Where I live, there's rarely anybody with money, the houses are crap, some even have giant ass holes on the roof, they just tie a tarp over it when it rains, and people may not expect it but even if we live in Australia, in our little "slum" as i'd like to call it, because it would never look like a neighborhood to me, rains a lot. Most of the people rarely have any food to eat, which caused us to rebel and go against each other. Stealing or fighting for ourselves. It's never safe to live here, nobody trusts nobody in this part of town. We're like animals, and it makes me sick-even though I do the exact same thing.

But i'd like to think that I do this for a good reason.

I walked down the street with my hood up and my hands in my pockets, trying to hold the food in place so it wont fall out. I speed walked as quickly as I could to my old small run down house, I could practically feel people staring at me through their dirty windows.

Finally the light blue house came to view. As I came closer you could see that the light blue paint has been chipping up, and falling to the ground and multiple graffiti signs were spray painted on the sides of our poor little house. I skipped up the stairs taking two at a time, the wooden planks creaking loudly with each step I took. I knocked on the door four times, then I paused and then knocked another two times. I dropped my arm and waited for the door to open.

After waiting for a few seconds, the chipped wooden door swung open to reveal nobody in my line of sight. I immediately looked down and saw my 8 year old little brother, Koda looking at me with a 'threatening' expression, holding a plastic butter knife. His arm spread out to his side protecting Koa. Koa, our little sister who is just 2 years old. Koda's guard immediately disappeared when he saw me, he looked more relieved.

"Cally!" Koa said smiling up at me.

"You're a minute late with 23 seconds in counting." Koda mumbled looking away.

I smiled lightly, and slightly bent down to ruffle the thick curly black roots on both Koa and Koda's head.

"Sorry buddy, kinda got a little side tracked, but look what I got..." I said smiling.

He looked up at me with curiosity etched on to his big brown chocolate orbs.

"What?"

I reached under my shirt and took out the long loaf of bread and the small kid size potato chips. I shook them in the air and smiled at their amazed expressions.

"Wow!" Koa said amazed.

"Dat looks swo amayyyyzang!" Koa said laughing giddily, both of her chubby hands on either side of her chubby, rosy cheeks.

I grinned and immediately urged both of them inside. I turned around locked the door, locking all four rusty locks.
"How's mum been?" I said placing the food on the empty wooden table. I went to the empty kitchen to get a plastic knife to cut the bread.
I gave both Koda and Koa a good reasonably sized piece. I opened the bag of chips and popped one in my mouth and the other two greedily ate their bread.

"She still sick, Cal...she didn't get out of bed." Koda said with a mouthful of bread.

I sighed, feeling all sad, this past month our mother has gotten the flu or something and, I have been giving her medicines(that I may or may not have stolen) to help her, even a shit ton of pain relievers(that I also might have stolen as well...), there was no good progress coming out of it. Our mother is getting worse as the days go by, and I don't know what to do.
Trevor has always been too busy spending our money to go to clubs, and to drink. Trevor is this drunk motherfucker who used my mom because she's beautiful, and she had money. Well she doesn't have any money now because of that dickhead. I was so pissed at him this one time where he took basically a whole bottle of mum's pain relievers for his migraine. Our mother definitely needed that more than him. Just thank god he isn't abusive.

Thank god he's not our biological father, our real father is somewhere out there. And as much as I hate Trevor, our father wasn't that great either, he was abusive, strict, and was a drug addict-atleast thats what our mum said. Yeah he was nice sometimes and he gave us stuff-but the drugs that he took changed him. He was abusive but only to me. I mean, i'm fine with that-at least it's not one of the people that I love that is getting hurt, it's me instead.

"You're a man." 

"Suck it up and stop crying like a bitch."

He would also do this thing-when he would think that a good belt whipping wasn't enough, he would drive me to a tattoo parlor. He would choose a tattoo that would take hours to finish. I was a hiccuping, snotty mess when he would take me there. And when he did he would always be mumbling crazy shit, I would be so scared that he would crash the car because he was too deep in a conversation with himself to keep his eyes on the road. I don't know why the people would even give me the tattoos, but I always assumed that they're a friend of my dads. For hours I would cry, the needle, stabbing me multiple times, after it would be done, my dad would rant on and on, on why he chose that tattoo for me.
"Now you've learned your lesson...blah blah blah.."

Like for example, on my right shoulder blade, there is a wolf with its mouth ajar, eating a cracked human skeleton head. The wolf was drawn with such detail, and so was the skeleton. And as much as I loved how it looks, I hated that it was on my body, its going to be there for forever, it's permanent, and I didn't even choose it. I didn't even want it.

I have many more tattoos, lining up and down my arms and back, and I hated it. I looked like my dad. And he would be very specific to the tattoo artist, on how it should look like, the colors, shading, the size, what location. It was weird. Sooner or later, getting a tattoo was a regular thing to me, every two weeks or so my dad would drag me to the tattoo parlor. It's really sad to say that i've gotten used to it.

My thoughts were interrupted by some loud banging on the our front door. I rolled my eyes.
Must be Trevor. I went to rush Koda and Koa into my room, which is where they have been sleeping in because of Trevor, it was too dangerous for them to sleep alone. But stopped when I heard a booming voice yell behind the thin wooden door.

"HOOD! Open up, a little birdy told me you have some food!"

I stopped in my tracks, both of my hands on Koda and Koa's shoulder. I turned to look at the door.

That's not Trevor.

-//-