Prepare yourself for this chapter

As I settle into the front seat of the car, my heart is racing like a hamster on a wheel in my chest, and I let out a sigh of relief. Then I realize that I just smoked a cigarette from a gangbanger...in front of my father. Crap. 

The air in the car is thick with angry tension. 

"So, making friends?" My father huffs finally, his voice full of passive aggression. 

I clear my throat, ready to lie my way in circles around him. 

"Yup." I quip, not even looking up at him. 

But of course, West pushes. 

"Even the boy I told you to stay away from?" He snaps, his voice rising in level. 

"Who are you to tell me who I can and can't talk to?" I hiss, huffing and crossing my arms over my chest. I feel like a child but that doesn't mean he can treat me like one after all this time. Once you're a deadbeat, just accept it and leave me alone. 

"I am your father, Katya." 

I just roll my eyes, chortling humorlessly. 

"Since when?" I mutter under my breath, too soft for him to hear. 

"What was that?" He growls, whipping his head to the side to face me. But I'm not scared of him, not the slightest bit. 

"I said, since when have you decided that you're my father? You stopped being a parent to me the moment you stepped out of my life. You can't just flounce back in and become parent of the year. You're not about to go to my art galleries at school, or attend parent-teacher conferences. You are my guardian. That is not the same thing as being a parent." 

I exhale, my head pounding from my rant. Or maybe it's from the nicotine. 

The car is silent for a few moments and I begin to think that West is too stoned to comprehend my words. 

"As long as you are under my roof, you are under my rules." He says flatly. 

"Really? You're going for the basic stepdad routine?" I snap, brushing my hair out of my eyes aggressively. Why can't he just take the hint that this conversation is over?

West sighs deeply, exasperation flooding the air around him along with the stench of weed. 

"And take it easy on the drugs. I might have to call Child Protective Services." I jab. I know I shouldn't be pushing his buttons, but the fact that he's now trying to act like the perfect father is like a bug under my skin that I need out. 

"Look at you, taken one puff of smoke and you think you're tough shit. I don't like this situation anymore than you do, and Vanessa is as pissed as I am that you're here." 

Vanessa, must be the girlfriend, 

"Well, sorry for inconveniencing her." I drawl. 

"You should be." 

I don't bother responding to him, and I don't respond to any of his next jabs and insults, waiting for the moment I can jump out of the car as soon as we get back to the condo. 

And when we do, my hand is already gripping the door handle.

I don't even give him a look as I storm into the condo and into my room. 

"Hey!" An angry and feminine voice shouts from the living room and I back up slowly, peering around the corner. 

A woman, who I assume to be Vanessa, is standing in the hall, her long nailed hands jabbed onto her hips. 

"Yes?" I ask incredulously, my eyes hooded in annoyance. 

"Do not slam my doors. If you break those you're paying for it out of your pocket." She chides, and I squint at her. Who the hell does this woman think she is?

"No." I say simply, rushing into my room and locking the door. I hear her ranting down the hall, and the sound of heavy footsteps signaling West has finally stumbled into the house. 

I scan my room, looking for a way out. The window. 

I get up and turn the rusty latch at the bottom, praying it isn't stuck. The first good thing today, the latch creaks open and I shove open the window, so happy that it doesn't have a screen. 

Just as I begin to hear fists pounding on my bedroom door, I slip out of the window, leaving it slightly cracked so I can get back in later. 

Sayonara, suckers. 

.........

I've been sitting on the roof of the condo for about two hours now, and the sun is beginning to set. It's surprisingly peaceful out here, the sound of the wind against my ears. 

However, my silence is interrupted by the text tone from my phone. 

Mom. 

I quickly unlock my phone, adrenaline pumping through my veins. 

I slump in disappointment, it's a number I don't recognize but a message I do:

"Is this Katya? It's Zeke." My heart lights up a little as I begin to respond: 

"Yeah, hey, how did you get my number?" 

"I have my sources ;)"

I smile involuntarily. I imagine him grinning like an idiot texting me, adorably goofy. 

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're stalking me." 

"Damn, you foiled my plan." 

"You are such a dork."

I am grinning like a crazy person. It's been so long since I've had a friend to text, rather than the occasional 'what's the homework' text. 

Maybe that's the silver lining on my dark cloud. 

Dark cloud...

The curve of his lip as he smirks, the sly expression in his eye that is capable of anything. 

The sight of him in the parking lot below me. 

Wait, he's actually there!

I go flat on the roof as I spy on him. 

He's talking to someone, but I can't see their face. But I can tell they're arguing, their arms flailing around. A fight is brewing. 

The mystery man puts his hand into his jacket pocket, and I squint, trying to see what he pulls out. I realize what it is all too late. 

His arm extends and bang. 

Oh my god Oh my god. 

I let out a scream, then clasp my hand over my mouth. But I watch as Luka's head tilts upwards, expression full of agony, but then fear as his eyes meet mine.

The mystery man has disappeared but Luka is lying on the ground and bleeding. 

I just watched someone get shot. 

I just watched Luka get shot.

Without thinking, I jump from the roof, bracing my legs for the impact of the hard metal landing. When I'm steady, I race down to the parking lot and towards Luka's groaning body. The lot is abandoned. 

"Holy shit what the hell just happened?" I whisper in a hiss, kneeling next to him and looking for a gunshot wound. I sigh in relief, watching as a stain of crimson blood comes from his bicep. He's not going to die. 

"I'm fine." He grits through his teeth, sitting up and examining his arm, wincing as he touches it.

"You are not fine, you just got shot!"

"For god's sake, gringita, keep your voice down!" He hisses. 

"Sorry, but what the hell-"

"Shut up and help me up." He groans and I grab him under his arm, helping him to his feet. I huff slightly, not as strong when I'm scared out of my mind. 

He moves away from me, moaning slightly in pain. 

"We need to get you to a hospital." I ramble, but he just puts up his other hand to stop me.

"No hospital. Just get out of here." 

"I'm not going to leave, you have a fucking bullet in your arm." 

"Fuck - why can't you just leave me alone?" He snaps. 

"I'm not following you anywhere, churro. I was on my roof and I saw someone put a bullet in you. I'm doing what any decent person would do." 

"Decent people don't exist, gringita." He laughs humorlessly. 

"Just stop being stubborn and let me help you!" 

"Fine." He snaps, and he turns on his heel and I follow him into a first level condo. 

It looks exactly like mine, with a small kitchen table, a tv blaring in the background. But unlike mine, there is now hum of people speaking, laughing. It's completely silent. It smells of weed, cigarettes, and god knows what other drugs. 

Luka bumps into a kitchen counter and grabs a first aid kit from the corner, shoving it onto the kitchen table. 

"Well, help." He pushes and I do as he says, pulling a pair of tweezers out of the box. Grey's anatomy has prepared me for this moment. 

I put on a pair of gloves and move in close. 

"I'm not gonna lie, this going to hurt." I warn, and he just nods. 

Expertly, I look at his wound, and I can see the bullet lodged about an inch or two into his arm. With a careful touch, I place the tweezers inside the wound. 

"Jesus." He hisses, his other hand gripping the table fiercely. 

"Sorry." 

"Just do it." He exhales, and I do, as I pull the bullet out a few seconds later. 

I drop it into the trash and grab water and rubbing alcohol. 

"This is going to hurt-"

"Just shut up and clean." 

I ignore his bitchy tone and I begin to wash out the gash. He groans in pain and his other hand latches onto my arm and I freeze. 

I look up at him, frozen. 

He doesn't say anything, just lets my arm go, and looks away. 

I finish bandaging his wound in silence. 

"Where the hell did you learn to do that?" He asks as I'm washing my hands in the sink. 

"My mom's boyfriend taught me. He was a paramedic." 

"I thought you lived with your father." 

I freeze. I do not want to have to explain the most sacred and secret part of my life to a total stranger, who is constantly trying to hurt me. 

"I do." I mumble, drying my hands off. 

I turn around and he's staring at me. 

I expect a thank you, some sign of appreciation. But his face is as set as a stone. And I know he's not going to tell me his thanks. 

"A little advice, don't get shot again." I snap, and with a turn of my heel, storm out of his condo. 

Well, what do you think?