Saving The Gangsta

f i v e

a s t r i d

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Everyone wants to belong, or be a part of something bigger than themselves, but it's important to follow your heart and be true to yourself in the process.

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I walked through the front door with an overwhelming sense of annoyance at the idea of seeing any of these people.

Rebecca, Alexi and another unfamiliar man stood in the hallway speaking in hushed whispers. Rebecca's eyes narrowed considerably as she noticed my exhausted state and possibly the fact I had left without permission.

"Where the fuck have you been?" She hissed at me and Taylor, glaring explicitly at me.

Bitch.

I glared back at her, being pulled back by Taylor as I surged forward to hit her.

No one fucking speaks to me like that.

"You have no power over me." I glared dangerously at Rebecca, and judging by Alexi's and Taylor's expression, I must've looked like I was challenging her.

"You sure about that?" She squared up to me, straightening herself out in a pathetic bid to make herself look more intimidating.

Narrowing my eyes, and completely ignoring the people behind her, I step forward. "I'm certain about that."

A warm hand embraced the small of my back, instantly calming down my racing heart. I unconsciously melted into the hold, relaxing my tensed body.

Stepping back, I took a deep breath and looked at Alexi and the man beside her.

He seemed familiar, yet foreign at the same time.

His eyes were lifeless as he stared at me, "You have no idea who I am, do you?"

That voice.

My fist closed on instinct, suddenly connecting the dots.

The boy seemed to notice, so he turned to Taylor, Rebecca and Alexi. "Can I have a moment alone with my sister please?"

Sister.

I always hated that word.

Confusion radiated off them, yet they listened to the boy's request silently and left the hallway.

"What name are you going by now?" I break the silence, ensuring my voice was quiet enough so any listeners wouldn't be able to make out my words.

"Wren." He replies, "My name is Wren."

I nod my head, but chose not to reply.

So he speaks first.

"You look just like Mom." He observes verbally, eyes strangely focused on my face.

I swallowed, anxiety creeping into my veins like a decaying drug.  I shrugged, trying to act like nothing was any different. "I guess I do."

"The same eyes," He hummed, his hand reaches out as if going to embrace my face but paused midway. His brows furrow, "But our mother never had that sort of anger."

"You're right." I reply, a distant yet confident ring to my voice. "This rage is the only thing I get from Dad."

"Come with me," He pleads, holding out his hand in welcome. "Please, you're my sister. We need to stick together."