I. MY CHICK BAD.

307 9 14
                                    

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒:
• this book will contain mature themes including violence, language, sex, drugs, and gangs. If you are underage, this isn't something I fully recommend! If any of these aspects trigger you, do not read.

*Spanish translations will be at the end. Enjoy!

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                            It wasn't her choice to move

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It wasn't her choice to move. She liked it right where she was, having spent the majority of her adolescence growing up in the same small town. Everyone knew everyone and their petty familial drama that always seemed to end up on the streets at 3 a.m. It was never experienced out of free will, but that's what they were used to. It was normal, as normal could be.

Sydney loved the close quarters of her small town, never having to travel far for anything. It was convenient and in some way, made her feel secure. She was closed off from the rest of the world and all she ever knew were the four corners of her own street. That's not to say times never got tough living that way. The majority of her life was tough.

Food was low, air conditioning was practically nonexistent, and clothes were usually hand-me-downs from the local thrift store. Sydney made the best of it, regardless. It wasn't paradise but it was home, and that was all she needed. Things were different now, though.

One house fire and suddenly her whole world was flipped upside. There had been fires before this one, of course. But there was no going back to normal after this. Nearly everything had been completely and entirely ruined. No food, no bed, nothing. Instead of taking to the streets or a homeless shelter, Sydney used it as an opportunity to make the big move out of town.

South central L.A. was vastly different from what she was used to. People held themselves different here, and they certainly weren't the kindest of people either. She wasn't extraordinary by any means. She was average height with a petite stature, skin warm and rosy, and slightly messy auburn hair that stuck out on every which direction. But she felt pretty — she knew she was pretty.

Clad in an extra short denim skirt with a waistband that sat just below her hip bones and a strapless white cotton tube top that hugged her curves. The air was hot and thick, a dry sort of heat that easily had her sweating. She scrunched her nose as she climbed out of her small car, running fingers through her hair in an attempt to fan the back of her neck.

The neighborhood seemed quiet enough, tall palm trees lining the streets for as long as she could physically see in the blinding sunlight. She huffed softly, placing her hands on her waist as she took a moment to figure out where to start. Popping open the trunk, she leaned in and reached for one of her suitcases, struggling to get it out from underneath a larger bag.

She tugged and she tugged, causing multiple other bags to tumble right out and onto the pavement. Sydney inwardly cursed at herself and tilted her head back, eyes fluttering shut just for a brief moment. The sound of a nearby car engine caught her attention as it seemed to pause near her, blinking as her gaze caught stares of three different men piled into a red impala.

BAD THINGS. (Oscar 'Spooky' Diaz.)Where stories live. Discover now