"Do I have to fucking go?" I sat on the couch, backpack slung over my arm. My mom rifled through stacks of papers in front of me, busily glancing at the time. She's dressed head to toe in black leather gear for battle. A battle I was all too familiar with.
"Lucas Hemmings! Watch your fucking language!" My mom bustled around the corner of the coffee table, blonde hair swept into a high ponytail. "I've told you this everyday for the past four years! Yes you have to go." She shuffled through the cupboard next to the tv, looking for her favorite blade.
"Why do you get to go out hunting?" I whined, thrusting a hand through my blonde quiff. I rolled my eyes, watching as she seethed my two favorite blades in her belt. My family kept all their knives in the cupboard by the television, all the guns next to the fridge, and anything that didn't fall into those categories in the garage.
"Because I can Luke." She sighed, slinging her own backpack over her shoulder. She called up to my older brothers to let them know she was leaving, Jack barreling down the stairs to join her. I rolled my eyes at his smirking face and threw my head back against the couch.
"Do I really have to?" I moaned, wanting to go hunting with the rest of my family. I am only seventeen, my brothers Jack and Ben, were a few years older. My mom had always forced me to go to school, although I would never really have a normal life. I was born into a family of vampire slayers, nothing really normal about that. Of course we all had "normal" jobs and friends, like my mom was a math teacher at a local elementary school. Ben worked at a supermarket, and Jack at a brewery. Andrew Hemmings, my dad, left when I was young. Apparently the life of a slayer had proven to be too much for him. Fucking coward.
"Yes Luke!" My moms tone was one of annoyance, glaring over her shoulder at me. Her youngest, and laziest son. I was a great slayer, and I had the potential to do very well in school. But I instead chose to sit in the back of the classroom, headphones blaring the new All Time Low album as I stared at the ceiling.
I huffed out a breath of hot air, and furrowed my eyebrows at my mom. Jumping from the couch, grabbed my backpack and slung it over my shoulder angrily. stomped out the door, slamming it behind me, my mom shouting at me through the wooden door. Simply ignoring her, I threw my bag into the backseat of my slick black Camaro. A present I'd gotten for my seventeenth birthday. Sliding into the front seat, I gunned the engine and tore out of the driveway as if burning rubber was a sport.
