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CHAPTER 1
ELODIE
Pulling the syringe out of my dad’s arm, I frown. Grabbing a napkin off the side table I wipe away the drop of blood that follows the needle out of his vein. I look over at my mom and see that she’s passed out with a bottle of whiskey dangling from her fingers slowly dripping the rest of its contents on the already stained carpet. Same shit, different day.
Walking over, I reach for the bottle just as she starts to move. I freeze, holding my breath. They know I clean up afterthem, well at least I think they do, but if they actually catch me doing it they act like I’m trying to steal their drugs or booze and I usually get beaten. She stops moving and I slowly reach for the bottle again. Slipping it gently from her fingers, I quietly make my way to the kitchen and throw the bottle away making sure it’s completely empty first.
Opening the fridge door, I look to see if we have anything inside. I grabbed a few things yesterday on my way home from work, but it doesn’t always make it to morning, depending on what kind of drugs they did the night before, or how much alcohol they had. Looks like there is still a little bit of juice and a couple of toaster waffles in the freezer. Grabbing them, I pop them in the toaster and pour a glass of juice. I drink it slowly, savoring it a little. I really love orange juice, but so do my parents with their vodka so it usually doesn’t last long.
Not waiting for the toaster to pop, I quietly lift the tab and spread a little jelly on my waffles. Grabbing my book bag, I make my way to the back door and silently turn the handle, stepping outside. Our neighborhood is on the poor side of town. Most of the people in our town are factory workers or drug dealers. Its population is about twenty thousand give or take.
The high school I go to has a pretty big class, though. Small enough that most people know I’m poor and from a bad family but big enough that I can make myself invisible. We have a lot of rich kids that go there, too, so there is a lot of bullying. I have a job waitressing at a nearby diner in the evenings for a few hours after school. Shopping at thrift stores is pretty much all I can do but I try to find decent stuff so that I’m not picked on at school. For the most part, I’m left alone aside from the occasional comment here and there about my parents.
Making good grades has always been a priority for me because I knew the only way I would be able to go to college was if I got a full scholarship. Photography is my life and so everything I do is geared towards the fine arts and photography. My art teacher has been helping me to make sure I achieved everything I needed to qualify for admission. Ms. Bates is the best. She has helped me so much and she doesn’t pressure me to find out why I am pushing myself so hard to get this done. NYU isn’t an easy school to get into on scholarship unless you are at the top in grades and extracurriculars. But I did it. Just a few more weeks and I’ll be there.
Settling my bag on my shoulder I start walking, chewing my waffle as I go. Surprisingly, I’ve never had any problems walking to school other than a few catcalls from creepy men. None of them have ever made a move though, thankfully. I don’t know what I would actually do if that happened. I’d run, I guess, since I’m no fighter. At five foot five, I’m too small to do much of anything to intimidate someone, and I could be easily overtaken by a man. It’s a sick world we live in.
As I make my way to school, I see someone with blond hair duck to the side out of the corner of my eye. What the fuck? My heart races, some part of me knowing instinctively that they were watching me. Am I being paranoid? Maybe. But I justknowsomehow. Stopping, I look around trying to spot them again, with no luck. Picking up my pace, heart still racing, I continue on to school and make it into the classroom just before the bell rings.
Taking my seat in the back, I pull out my notebook and start writing down the homeroom assignments for the day. Mostly it’s just a bunch of math problems to do and a couple of English assignments. Today is my art class day and I’m excited to show Ms.Bates the pictures I took the other day at the park. I’m working on portrait style photos right now. Blurring the edges around people and bringing them into the perfect focus is trickier than people think it is. The lighting has to be just right, too.
There was a couple at the park with their toddler and I got some really adorable shots, with their permission of course. The mom asked me to send her the photos and gave me her email address. She even offered to pay for them after gushing about how good they were, but I declined, telling her they were for a school project.
While I was shooting them, I couldn’t help wondering if there was ever a time that my parents were that way with me. I don’t remember if they were. For as long as I can remember it has always been the way they are now. Feeling my eyes start tearing up, I swallow hard and take a deep breath. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but it hurts all the same. How can someone not love their own child? Why would they not protect them, and keep them safe? I understand that drugs can change people, but I feel like they would have been shitty parents even without them. Taking care of your child should be an instinctual thing, right?
Both sets of my grandparents were gone by the time I was five. I don’t really remember them either but I know they all used to be heavy drinkers. My mother’s parents died in an accident and my father’s parents died about ten years apart, both from a heart attack. No aunts or uncles either.
Sometimes I dream about what it would be like to actually have parents that care for and love you. People who want to see you do well and don’t belittle you, or beat you. Even just a crumb of decency. It doesn’t do me any good to think about things that will never happen. The only way out for me is when I leave for college.
The bell rings. Grabbing my book bag, I loop it over my shoulder and head to my locker down the hall. Opening it, I grab my camera and my SD cards from the top shelf, sliding them into my bag carefully. I’m cautious with the camera because Ms. Bates gave it to me and said it was a donation. I’m saving up for a camera bag, but I’m not quite there yet. I also take out my book for History class while I am here, because I don’t have time to come back after art class.
Tugging my hood up over my head, I shove my hands in my pocket and walk to the other side of the school for my next classes. I know people probably think I’m weird for wearing my hood at school, but it’s my protective shield against the world. It keeps me more invisible. Or at least I feel like it does. That’s what matters right?
Ms. Bates’ class is always chaotic when I walk in. She is usually bustling around and gathering supplies from the last class or laying them out for our class. Easels are set up today so I guess we are going to do a bit of painting. I’m not very good at it, but it does help me with my photography by giving me a sharper eye for colors.
Lowering my hoodie, I carefully pull my camera out of my bag and set it on Ms. Bates’ desk. She will go through and critique my photos while we are working in class. We have a system, after all this time, that works well for both of us.
Settling into my seat, I begin working on the day’s assignment.
CHAPTER 2
DRAKE
Elodie almost caught me following her this morning. Usually, I do much better about keeping myself hidden, but I had to skirt around a couple making out on the corner of the building and got a little closer than I usually do. I need to be more careful; the very last thing I want to do is spook her. Angry at myself, I think back to last week when I had to beat the shit out of two creepy fuckers that were following her on her wayto school.
Elodie is so beautiful and this is such a shitty neighborhood, that I get into at least three fights a month, if not more. One of the guys actually followed her all the way to her house one day and tried to watch in her bedroom window. He doesn’t have eyes anymore.
I’ve been doing this for years. She has no idea; of that, I’m certain, but I’m going to have to be more careful if I don’t want to get caught. When I left for college a couple years ago, I had to start having Dad’s men watch her. Hopefully they stay out of sight better than I did today. His guys are good, though, since they do this a lot for him. On days I don’t have classes, I do it myself. Today is one of those days.
I may not be a part of my father’s business, but I can, and do, still give them jobs; only when it comes to Elodie though. Whatever happens outside of that is none of my business. I have to have plausible deniability since I am going to be the family attorney in a few years. I have been learning under my father’s current lawyers about the family business. At this point, I still have to take the classes, but I know everything I need to know already to pass the bar, and already have a job at the most prestigious firm in New York City.
Some people have problems taking anything handed to them, I don’t. For one thing, I have earned my place here, but also, I’d do anything to protect Elodie. It’s been this way for me since I was twelve years old and saw her for the first time. Little ten-year-old Elodie. The saddest girl I have ever seen. Ethereally beautiful even then, at her young age.
It was my first day back at public school. My father sent my brother and me abroad to a private school for elementary, but wanted us back in public school after that so we could build localconnections. Someone bumped into her in the hall, scattering her books everywhere. No one stopped to help her, not even me. I couldn’t. I was transfixed by her.
She silently picked up each book carefully, a single tear sliding down her cheek. When she twisted to readjust her bag, I saw a wince of pain. Someone had been hurting her. That afternoon, I followed her home. Her parents are scumbags. They beat her that night. I vowed right then and there that I would protect this girl from this day forward. The absolute blinding rage I felt when I figured out who was hurting her almost prompted me to go in and take her home with me right then and there.
Unfortunately, Elodie’s parents get their drugs from a rival mafia Familia. My father won’t let me get directly involved in her life until she leaves for college. It’s frustrating, but I do understand. We can’t start a war over one girl, though I would in a heartbeat if she asked me to.
