Survive: A Darrel Curtis Love Story

Chapter 1

~ Chapter 1 ~

Blair Creed's Point of View

"You need me to walk you home?" My best friend, Mickey, asks me. I shake my head, sliding his old jacket over my cold shoulders. He gave it to me back when we were dating, but he made sure I kept it. I couldn't afford to buy most of the stuff I need most of the time, so he still buys me stuff occasionally and I pay him back when I can. (And I bail him out when his dumb ass gets arrested)

"Why dont you stay the night here? I heard your pops is out on another drunk rampage looking for ya again," Mickey insists. I thank him but deny the offer again. My father knows I'm friends with Mickey, I gotta head back to the church for the night. Mick gives me a quick hug and I hug back briefly. 

"Any idea when I'll be seeing you again?" I shrug and shake my head. 

"I'll be around, you know where I am."

I flash him a smile and wave as I head out the door of his bedroom to the area of the party. The music is blasting and I feel my organs vibrating in my chest. I skip down the big staircase to the front door. When I open the door that's probably double my 5'2" height, I turn back and give Mickey a wave. He gives a sloppy salute in return and I slam the door shut behind me just to run down more stairs to the long, winding driveway. 

More people are arriving just as I'm going and expensive cars and cheap ones are parked up and down the drive. I wave to some and shoot dirty looks at others. Everybody in this town knows everybody but me. Nobody knows me like Mickey does. All they know is my name and I'm Mickey's friend (or girlfriend to those unaware of our mutual breakup 2 years ago). 

I take a cigarette out of my jeans and strike a loose match on my belt. A flame flickers in the dark and I light the end of the cancer stick, sticking the other end in between my lips. Shivering, I rub my hands together and shove them into my deep pockets.

It takes probably half an hour to walk up the hill to the church at the top. Dust or dirt falls onto my shoulders as I open the old, creaky door. I shut it behind me and turn the old lock, pushing the old bench in front of it. Next to it is a window and half of one of the boards is fallen. I blow out a cloud of smoke and tuck a strand of my frizzy red hair behind my ear. 
I try to fix it, but without a hammer, it's hopeless. I sigh and shake my hands loosely before heading over to the stairs along the side of the inside. They lead to a balcony area upstairs that I assume was used to fit more people in each service, but when the recession hit a while back, the church was abandoned. 

It used to be a church for blacks, there would be graffiti on it sometimes and the windows had been broken many times. Personally, I don't mind the blacks, they're all nice to me - probably because my dad was mixed. Mickey was a different story, I'm sure he was probably one of the ones vandalizing the church. I wouldn't put it past him, the rich bitches are usually white and white people usually hate blacks. I don't. 

My favorite nana was black. As nice as my nana was, her son--my father--was hell as a person. Just thinking about it makes my eyes tear up. I take a deep breath and wipe my eyes with my fingertips. I take a long drag of my cigarette and fuck under the stairs to where I keep all of my things in a crate from Doc's store nearby. 

I take Mickey's jacket and toss it over the crate. This time I rub all the way up my arms before reaching into the crate and pulling out my sleeping bag and a lump of clothes in a sack I've been using as a pillow. If Mickey knew I lived like this, he'd make me stay with him. He doesn't come around here much, particularly due to the race thing (again).