Years ago tragedy struck the Calloway's causing the family to fall apart. Lucariah Augustine St. Francis Calloway was left in the ruins of it all with a mother who couldn't bother and a father who disappeared one night with his older brothers. For...
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Atticus Greenwick.
He and I had the type of friendship that shared everything. To the last detail. Including our safe spaces. My bedroom was his. His was mine. So it didn't surprise me when he slipped into my room unannounced.
"I hate my dad," he started. His bronze skin was glistening in sweat and his braids seemed to have been pulled at. "Mom had the audacity to leave me with that-" Atticus trailed off into a huff of annoyance, "I can't. I honestly can't." His hazel eyes finally met mine and he startled, "Crow! You're pale as a sheet. And that's saying something."
I shrugged him off, limping to my bed- that was the only goal I had in mind. The rest could come after I've had a seat. "Atty-kiss if you could lock-"
"Already done," he rushed to turn the knob, before joining me, placing my legs over his own. "Are you feeling sick? Is your leg hurting? I have some pain relief in my roo-"
"Shhh." Atticus had a bad habit of babying me. He said I reminded him of a small child and I guess I couldn't blame him too much. He was older than me after all, but only by two years. And he was so much taller. People always said he'd make an excellent basketball player; he said he didn't want to play into stereotypes. Which was stupid in my opinion, he should do what he loves and what he's good at without worrying about the way someone else sees him.
"I just threw up, that's all."
"Right," Atticus nodded, "no big deal." He sneered sarcastically.
"I'm going to need you to drop the attitude," I scoffed, laying back against the headboard with eyes shut. Snapping them open when Atticus pushed my hair back off my forehead.
"You need a haircut."
"Shut up," I grinned, swatting his hand away from my face. "You need a bath, but you don't hear me complaining. You're sweating like a pig."
"Pigs don't sweat, stupid." I glowered at him as he smirked smugly. I can't stand Atticus at times.
"Why are you here?"
"Damn. I'm really feeling the love little man. Real cuddly." He backpedaled at the sharp glare I sent his way, "I meant," he rushed out, "Milo and Garret need us at the spot. They're selling the hard stuff and you know how tricky those fiends could be."
I groaned at the thought of going out in this cold; to the spot of all places. The spot was where the lot of us roam. The abandoned, neglected, the abused, or those kids who need a little edge in their lives. And some dark business goes down at the spot. I won't get into detail, but someone always ends up behind bars or beneath the soil.
You've got to have some deep connections to leave unscathed. Lucky for people like Atticus, Milo, and Garret they had me. Unlucky for me; I was the one with connections and it always came with a hard price to pay.
