The steps of the church are empty now, the shining black surface of my shoes shining slightly with drying tears. 

They didn't find her for two months. They gave up hope.

And so fifty people flocked to a church dressed in their Sunday darkest and dawned veils and gloves to celebrate the only person I loved. And they wouldn't even allow me to speak at the funeral. Or rather, he wouldn't. 

He, the man with the tattoo peaking up through the collar of his shirt. The man with the newly shaven face and the deadbeat eyes. 

He, my father. If you could even call him that. 

He's standing by the car, a long and boxy blue sedan with duck tape over the corner of one window. He hasn't shed one tear since he came. Not that I even expected him to. 

All day, people would place their hands on my shoulders, complete strangers and distant cousins, and they would tell me that I was in their prayers. That I was in their hearts and thoughts. My father, the one who created me, hasn't said anything but: "We're leaving soon, Katya. Make sure your shit is packed." 

Gee, thanks pop. 

I watch as he whips his sunglasses off his face, beginning to storm towards me. Out of apprehension, I stand up quickly, dusting off the back of my tar-colored dress, and I begin to walk towards him. Best not to piss him off today. 

"Katya, let's go." His gruff voice booms from a few feet away from me. I roll my eyes, shoving my phone into my small black bag and I stomp towards the car, swinging the door open violently. 

"Don't be so grabby, Katya." He growls from behind me, more annoyed than menacing. This only leads to me slamming the door closed behind me. 

The inside of the car smells of cigarettes and weed, and I see a few burn holes in the itchy gray covers of the seats. Great, now I'm going to smell like a back alley strip club. That's probably what this car turns into on the weekends. 

My father slides into the driver's seat, not even bothering to slip on his seatbelt. Without even turning back to me, he turns on the radio, and begins to play music that is so grotesque I don't even think anyone would want to listen to this. But, like a good daughter, I just ignore it, pouting in the back seat. 

You can't expect me not to pout, I am a 17 year old girl who is being forced to live with a nicotine soaked idiot. 

"When we get to the house, I am going to wait in the car. You go a grab whatever stuff you need, I'll have some buddies come up to the house later to collect the rest of whatever it is you want from that shithole of a house." 

He's one to talk, I heard he lives in a two bedroom hovel on the first floor of a rat-infested drug den. But maybe that's just my imagination. 

No one says anything for the rest of the short ride from the church to my home. Or what was my home. The white painted wood boarding the house now just feels empty and cold, as it did the day I came home that fateful day. 

But I honestly can't feel anything from that day. 

Because I know she's out there somewhere.

She has to be. 

We finally pull up to what used to be my little piece of heaven. Now it's just a hole of abandoned memories and ghosts of my past. 

"Alright," My father says, pulling the car into park. "Go inside, we're leaving in ten minutes." 

I just scoff and make sure to slam the door shut as I walk up the small steps to the house. 

This will be the last time I walk these steps. 

The last time I see the decorative doormat.

The last time I turn the gold-painted door knob and step into the one place I have ever felt truly safe. 

Get it together, Katya. I tell myself. 

Save your tears for your damn pillow. 

I step inside, and I cover my eyes as I walk up the metal spiral stairs, hiding the hallways filled with pictures and portraits from my view. I don't think I could stop crying if I started. 

I enter my room, the small square of four walls and a tiny twin bed. The music posters on the walls. My vinyl record player in the corner. My artwork strewn across the floor. This room belongs to a girl I will miss for the rest of my life. A girl who I will always long to be but I know will never ever be possible. 

I open the door to the tiny box of a closet, and I frantically begin to shove my clothes inside a suitcase, the only one I have. We didn't get to travel a lot, mom and I. But we always managed to find new adventures, like walking around the neighborhood backwards or learning to swing standing up. 

And now I don't even recognize myself in those memories. 

I hear a horn honk from outside and I part the blinds to see my father waving at me from the car. Not in a friendly, "dad-like" wave. It's a "hurry-the-fuck-up" type wave. 

So I do what any loving and caring daughter would do. 

I flip him off. 

I finally finish packing my bags, and I descend the stairs, struggling with the heavy load of bag. This SOB can't even be bothered to help me. He's definitely going for father of the year award. Maybe Morgan Freeman can give him the award but Steve Harvey will come along and take it away and give it to someone like Cosby or something. 

I turn my head back, and gaze over the little hall that lead down to the kitchen. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes but I shake them away, my dark hair moving down from its loose ponytail. 

"I'll miss you, mom." I whisper to the house, before I exit the house for the last last time. 

.......

"Home sweet home." My father's gruff voice pulls me from an uncomfortable slumber, and I sniff, rubbing my puffy eyes as I look outside the window. We're outside a large condominium complex, the walls a sterile beige color and all the doors colored a dark dark red. Doesn't look as bad as I thought, but I decide not to get my hopes up. There could still be rodents and lions and bears, oh my. 

I exit the car, and I watch as my father goes along ahead of me, no doubt desperately wanting to get away from me and my heavy bag. 

Lazy asshole. 

So, with a huff, I finally pull the bag from the back seat, and begin to drag it along to the stairs. I watch as my father goes up the metal stairs, his work boots stomping awkwardly along the steel, making a sort of mismatched beat to some awful song. 

With a heavy exhale, I begin to lug the suitcase up the steps, nearly tripping several times and I am about to make it to the final step when the slippery bottom of my shoe hits a patch of water and I slip, banging my knee against the edge of one of the stairs and sending my bag flying forward. 

I hiss in pain, gripping my knee to my chest, and I stare a large purple bruise begins to form against my  tan skin. 

Great. 

I stumble to my feet, brushing myself off, and I begin to walk forward when I freeze. 

"Nice bra." The boy in front of me says. I say boy, but golly, he is anything but. His face is sharp and angular, so oddly perfect that if you moved anything even one millimeter, he would look grotesque. His cheeks are too high and his lips too perfectly shaped. It's odd. 

But what is the most odd is his eyes. With his skin, he's clearly Latino, but his eyes are a steely gray, like mercury or a melted piece of silver. 

But the thing that makes me stop in my tracks is his words, and the lacy pink bra he twirls in his hands, a grin on his pierced lip as he scans over the intricate patterns. 

"Hey, give that back!" I shout, racing forward and grabbing it from his hold, and I think I see the edge of a tattoo peering out from the wrist of his black long-sleeved shirt. 

As soon as I grow closer to him, his silver eyes grow cold and lose their humor, and a look of disgust and repulsion crosses over his face. 

"What makes you think you can talk to me, puta?" He growls. Now, I'm no Latina, but I definitely know he just called me some sort of insult, and I am not one to take that.

"Listen, churro, I have been having a real shit of a day, so please, proceed with your daily tasks and leave me the hell alone." 

And his jaw. Drops. 

Figuratively of course, but jeez, his jaw could cut wood. 

The murderous look in his eyes makes me grow serious however, as I quickly bend to pick up my clothes and stuff them back in my bag. But by the time I stand back up, he's gone. 

Disappeared from sight.

This is the very first actual chapter and I am so so so so so so so excited for this story! 

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noë