(trigger warning; no filter, intense)
miki's pov;
"i'm a pyscho"
my unstable and shaky breath brushed against lucas' neck. he was on my lap, cuddled safely against my chest. his brown hair draped over his left eye, as he let out silent snores while his chest rose slowly.
to clarify, i've been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. i can't control my impulsive need to hurt everything around me. no matter who or what, you will die at my hands if i didn't have lucas and john to restrain me.
the broken boy resting in my arms has DPD. otherwise known as "depersonalization disorder." he can't tell fiction from reality and has trouble with empathy and controlling his emotions.
john, who was sitting across from me, suffers from severe bipolar activity and anxiety. he's in a constant state of distress, worrying about everything that occurs around him with no energy to be found. he does his job well even if he's off his rocker.
oh, by "job" i mean drugs.
we're drug lords.
michin, smii7y, and kryoz is our pseudonyms. it's who the drug business addresses us as. our real names are kept classified. michin means "crazy" in korean. smii7y and kryoz are just some names john and lucas have thought of.
we were counting the money from our recent drug haul. we sold at several night clubs in south carolina, where white trash activity was flourishing the most.
so far, our drug cartel has hauled in $500k in the last run. our professional hookers and criminal dj's sold a profit of over a quarter million. we doubled it by extending our empire to northern canada.
northern canada was always a tricky place to sell. our empire sometimes intertwines with zea's and nugget's territory. they don't mind seeming that they are acquaintances with some of my best men. but following drug lord's unspoken laws: never cross territories.
lucas stretches in my lap, nuzzling into my chest before letting out a light yawn. john got up and conversed with the gangsters at the large weighted doors. the penthouse we lived in was immense. there were so many rooms and not enough people to occupy them.
7 bedrooms, 4 of which are used to host our guests or our company's best prostitutes if they are willing to please some of our workers. 2 are reserved for our drugs and weapons arsenal. and finally, the master suit. where my beautiful boyfriends share our king bed.
the penthouse overlooks the city of new york. we have a wonderful view of manhattan and all the best clubs. john is into selling at casinos since people come in there with lots of time and money in their pockets. lucas likes to be be boring and raid strip clubs or dance clubs for a drug sweep. drug sweeping is basically selling all your drugs you've been assigned with in one night. that brings in at least $50k a night, but requires time and a lot of social interaction.
me, however, will prefer to think out of the box and target large corporation ceos. they usually make large demands in small amounts of time, and stays loyal for the sake of their companies reputations. just sucking their money out makes me, at a minimum, $120k.
the time read, 2:44 am.
"bedtime lukey." i hunched over to whisper in his ear. he groaned and sat up on my lap. lucas was in an adorable bear onesie that was slightly oversized. his eyes were glossy and his cheeks were flushed. the poor boy was sleepy and tired from this mess of a night.
