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Let's jump back to when we first moved to the south side. To when everything was nowhere near hectic. Before I had to confess to the love of my life that I'm the daughter of a drug lord.
It was a hot summer day in Chicago, I believe it was a Tuesday when we started our new lives. We spent half the day moving in and unpacking all of our belongings. My stomach was filled with butterflies at the thought of being on my own.
Ethan wipes the drips of sweat off his forehead and kicks an empty box to the side, "For it being a shitty house we ended up making it look decent."
"I made it look decent; you just did what my fragile little arms could not do." A relieved sigh leaves my mouth as I soak in our new home. "I call it shitty chic. I should have a reality show where I make the south side look nice."
Ethan laughs and nudges me in the arm, "People already do that, it's called gentrification."I pursed my lips and looked back at him with a sincere face.
"I think I'm going to be happy here," I say playing with the knit blanket on the couch ignoring his factual comment. Ethan sits down beside me and analyzes my face.
"How about you get some fresh air, maybe go to the park while I get the paperwork ready for us to start our senior year here." He practically demands.
Since Ethan is approximately 2 minutes older than me, he treats me like I'm his younger sister. And now that it's just us living together with no parental supervision he feels the need to step up and deal with the responsibilities. Those 2 minutes gave him power.
I couldn't blame him though; I would keep a tight leash on me also with my history. I have a long history of having mental breakdowns and going completely off the rail. I blame my parents. Mental illness can be hereditary ya know. But that could also be because of my unhealthy surroundings.
Look I'm not a complete psycho, only a little bit. I just have codependency problems, anger issues, intense mood swings, and anxiety. Would a complete psycho admit to that? Anyways that's why moving here is good for me. It's a clean slate.
I snap back to reality and notice I'm at the park beside of an odd beat-up ice cream truck. One thing about me that can be a blessing and a curse is always following my gut. Nothing ever holds me back I just go for it. So I walk over to the truck. I look up to the trucks opening spotting two guys talking to each other.
I walk around to the entrance of the ice cream truck, "Well call someone else to roll joints!" One says.
His hair was long, up to his shoulders and black. He was about 6'1 and slightly built. He looked to be older, I guess by the amount of facial hair.
