S!N

Chapter Three

Chapter 3

I'm fifteen years old and I've scored a sick MP3 player from a guy at school. All I had to do was deliver a parcel for him. Easy as pie. I'm listening to my favorite metal song when the door to my room suddenly flies open and cracks against the wall. Mom is standing in the door way, a burnt out cigarette in her one hand and a fifth of something in the other. It looks like Vodka, but what do I care.

She starts yelling at me, but I can't hear what she is shouting about, again. The music blaring in my ears, drown out her drunken slur. Her lips move rapidly and her face turns a purplish red. I don't even know what I've done wrong this time. I ignore her and turn on my side, facing the wall, away from her. She'll go away eventually. I'm just about to look for a new song when the player is ripped from my hands and flung onto the floor. The earphones are still lodged in my ears when the song fizzles out with a loud static wheeze.

“What is-” I don't get to finish my sentence. My words dry up about the same time she slaps me across the face. She keeps hitting me. My face, my head, shoulders. I don't think she's even aiming her blows. I scoot out from under her attack and run out the door.

“Useless...” I don't hear what useless name she was going to call me, but I'm not sticking around to find out.

“Whoa-” Katie calls when I run into her on the stairs. She does a double take when she gets a good look at my face.

“Sin?” She asks grabbing onto my arm. Her panic makes her voice high pitched and it trembles slightly. “What happened?”

Her eyes are big and blue and beautiful. And in them I see the one thing I hate the most. Pity. She doesn't have to feel sorry for me. Nobody does!   

I yank my arm from her grasp and run down the stairs. I don't stop until I reach the corner at the end of our street. Then I stuff my hands into my jacket, pull the hood over my head and head for the only place I ever felt home, besides Katie's house - The streets.