Five years ago.
Lana, at seventeen, was the very definition of a loose cannon and she definitely was hellbent on proving it.
She slammed the door behind her and stormed very dramatically to the front porch. That was the seventh fight with her father that week, and the ugliest yet. She had tried to reason with him, but her patience had flown out the window right after he'd eaten the food that clearly had her name on it. That touched a whole new level of crazy inside her.
"Some children are addicted to drugs," she grumbled to herself as she took a large swig of stolen beer.
"Some, are addicted to cigarettes," she took a puff of yet again stolen blunt, and momentarily got distracted making smoke bubbles.
Her expertise at that was unmatched.
"Some," she remembered her rant, "are getting pregnant. I've been so good to him... He should be thanking me, on his knees."
The bitterness of the drink nearly matched her own. She knew it wouldn't be long until she was tipsy, being a light weight. At least she could put her intoxication to good use.
She got her phone from her pocket and looked through her group chat contacts. All of them were bad company, she just needed to find out which one would qualify as a good enough distraction.
Her eyes landed on James.
No profile picture, nothing in his bio.
Just a single name, James, without a full stop. He had also hardly contributed to the group, no comments on anyone's posted ass or face or tits, despite him being an administrator.
Ah, intrigue.
"Let's seek you out James," she breathed, finishing the last of her beer and extinguishing the smoke.
She went with a casual 'hey'. The reply was instant.
"ASL"
Business minded, she could see. But no big deal.
"17, female, 7th Street Fanaka Estate. Wbu?"
"21, M, Let's meet at The Spark, ten minutes. Text when you get there."
She narrowed right eye at him, well at the phone. She was irked. He didn't tell her his location. Didn't he trust her? She was a trustworthy stranger. Right?
She decided to go anyway. She got back into the small house, past her sleeping father, and walked to her room. When he woke he would probably drink himself into a coma, watching BBC. It would take at least a week for him to notice she was gone, so time was to her advantage.
She grabbed a duffel bag and stuffed in a week's worth of clothes. She hoped this James guy wouldn't dissapoint, because that would mean she'd have to go on her unscheduled road trip sooner than she planned. Just the good guy name and bad guy personality spelt adventure. And a bit of danger. James's had never been saints.
She wore an oversized combat jacket over a vest and shorts, and military boots. She picked her keys and left.
She sat at the booth for two minutes after texting him. She started deducting his scores. He'd dropped by one, to seven.
Then an unfamiliar biracial guy plopped down on the seat adjacent to hers.
Normally, she wasn't one to judge people by appearances, but there were some guys she just didn't want around her.The kind that wore college jackets. The kind that wore heavy gold chains around their neck. The kind that shaved the sides of their heads for no apparent reason.
This guy fit into, alas, two out of the three categories. Except for him having braided both sides of his puffy nut-brown hair, instead of shaved. She debated on whether to lie, or stay.
"Afro-kinky, right?" he smirked. His voice alone halted her mind and had her clenching her legs.
She frowned.
That wasn't her real name and it was painfully obvious. It was the one she used in the group. A hooker name she came up with while she was sleepless one midnight.
The twinkle of mischief in his startling green eyes decided it for her. She would stay. What did she have to lose? The fact that he was not her type at all was to her favour. She couldn't possibly get her heart involved, which was not even an option. She was safe.
"Lana, actually," she sipped her drink as he gave her a thoroughly violating once-over.
His pupils dilated a fraction. He liked what he saw.
He offered to buy her drinks, out of courtesy. She curtly refused, she could buy her own drinks. Plus it would be dumb to get herself drugged. Her flavor of the week, in this unfamiliar club, was the chilled sprite she'd ordered and would sip all through.
She liked that he respected her decision.
His score went up even higher.
However, she did not count on them talking for long without even realizing it. Normally she would have skipped the conversation and gone straight to the dessert, but he was far from being painful to talk to so no harm done. He had a healthy dose of sarcasm and wit running through his veins. Along with a lot of alcohol. But he handled his liquor well.
Two hours and one more bottle of sprite later, Lana learnt that he was half Armenian, half Kenyan. That would explain what he was doing in Nairobi. The rest, she would find out later.
He paid for the drinks despite her murderous glare, and they left the club.
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