"Ayo, watch the fucking leather!!! Don't sniff your coke on my shit!"
The windows were down on Damien's car as the wind whipped through my hair. I sat shotgun. I always did. I felt the full force of the music from here— every beat and bass. It sounded like Chief keef. Maybe G herbo. I never kept up with any shit like that to know.
His giggling buddies were behind me. I noticed a line of cocaine being drawn on the leather seats of Damien's EX-L Honda accord.
He was better than me. I would've stopped the car and tell them to get the fuck out.
"Yo Carter, you've been quiet whole ride. Wassup?"
I barely even noticed Damien talking to me— my eyes glued to my phone.
"Babe, why's your location off?"
"Why the fuck are you ignoring me???"
"Are you hanging with those fuck ups again???? Are you serious?!?"
"If your dad won't beat your ass, I fucking will! Come home right the fuck now!!!"
Lila's messages ranged from emotional stuff like those, and then some.
Fuck. I accidentally opened them.
Damien moved one hand from the wheel to turn off my phone, his thumb pressing against the power off button.
"Mellow out, dude. She isn't here. Why do you give a fuck anyway?"
Damien continued. My eyes flickered towards him with a tired look on my face.
"She's been getting like this since a few days ago. I don't know why."
Damien took a long drag from his cigarette, the ember flaring, painting his jawline in a sharp orange glow.
"Bro…" he exhaled, thick smoke spilling out of his mouth as he flicked ash out the window, "she's your girlfriend, not your fucking mother."
I didn't answer. Couldn't. My phone felt hot in my hand, like her messages were burning through the screen.
Damien shook his head, grinning like he always did when he thought I was being dramatic.
"I brought you out to chill," he said, tapping my knee once with the back of his hand. "Not to watch you panic over your bitch like she gonna phase through the window and drag you home."
"She won't!" one of his boys yelled from the back, voice nasally and wild. Probably because his nose was still bleeding—tiny streaks of red running down over the dusting of white.
"Shorty ain't doing SHIT!"
That actually made me crack the smallest smile.
For like two seconds.
Then everything went to hell.
Blue lights exploded behind us—sharp and violent—painting the inside of the car in alternating flashes of cold and panic. The bass still thumped through the speakers, but now it sounded like a countdown.
Damien's grin vanished instantly.
"Aw, hell no…" he muttered, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. "CPD? For WHAT?"
My chest tightened. My throat felt like it was closing.
In the back, one of the guys scrambled, wiping the powder off the leather with his sleeve, making it ten times worse.
"Bro, what did we DO?" another hissed.
Damien killed the music with a slap of his hand. The sudden silence felt like a gun to the head.
My pulse hammered. Hard.
This wasn't a warning. This wasn't random.
Damien's knuckles tightened around the steering wheel.
The cop approached slow—too slow—his flashlight slicing through the dark like a blade. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, louder than the wind whipping through the open windows.
"Everyone stay still," Damien muttered, shoving at his friends, trying to make the mess behind us look less like a crime scene. Powder smeared. Bottles clinked. Useless.
The officer stopped at Damien's window.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
That cold knuckle-rap on the glass felt like it hit my spine instead.
Damien rolled the window down.
"Evening, officer," he said, voice attempting casual, but it cracked at the end.
The beam of the flashlight swept across his face, then mine—slow, deliberate, like the cop already knew something we didn't.
Then the light paused.
Right on the two half-empty bottles wedged between the driver's seat and mine.
Fuck.
My stomach dropped.
"Step out of the vehicle," the cop said with no hesitation.
Damien tried, "Yo—Officer, we can expl—"
"Now."
Still no emotion.
Still no chance.
The dread hit me full force, cold and sharp. It felt like all the air got sucked out of the car.
I opened the door with stiff fingers, the night air slapping my face. The gravel crunched under my shoes as I stepped out, hands instinctively raised. My chest was tight enough to crack.
Behind me, Damien's friends scrambled—spilling excuses, shoving shit under seats, whisper-panicking like idiots.
None of it mattered.
The officer circled the car like he was inspecting a carcass.
"Driver, keep your hands where I can see them."
God fucking damn it. What was even my luck at this point?
Lila was the one who had bailed me out that night. If I had called my dad, it would've been my ass.
After a blur of paperwork, lectures, and humiliating silence, Mrs. Graham's car was waiting for me.
I jolted awake, heart hammering. the bedsheets ruffling as I suddenly sat up.
Stupid fucking dream. Why does my mind always do that? It wasn't the first time Lila was right about something. I never hung out with Damien again after that.
I would've slept like a baby in a place like this— if it wasn't for that putrid smell. No kind of experience sleeping on the el next to smelly homeless people could've prepared me for this.
I sighed, rolling out of my bed— my body being shocked awake as my feet touched the cold floors. I rubbed my eyes as I yawned.
Mrs. Graham needs to fix this shit.
Dragging myself out of the room, I made my way upstairs. The main floor smelled like…well, nothing. Relief washed over me. At least this level wasn't a biohazard.
I saw Lila first. She was on the couch reading some kind of magazine. The pages didn't turn. Was she even reading?
"Morning."
…she was ignoring me. Fuck you then.
I drifted toward the dining hall, feet scraping against the hardwood. Then to the kitchen.
I cracked the fridge open to see bags of…I didn't know what. Things wrapped foil. It made me feel uneasy.
Yet, I never got the chance to play detective and see what it was. The fridge had been slammed shut by a hand. I looked to see who it was— Mrs. Graham.
"What are you doing in here?"
"Uh…I was just hungry…I thought I'd—"
"The kitchen is off limits, alright sweetie?" Her voice was calm, but there was steel under it. Why the hell would the kitchen be off limits…?
Her eyes were faintly red. She didn't sleep well, or something…?
Well, that was pretty fucking weird.
Before Mrs. Graham's usual demeanor could return— a voice called out.
"I'm gonna ask you again, bitch. Where's dad?"
I turned around to see Lila. The woman frowned. I did too. Was she there the whole time?
"I thought I told you, Lila—…your dad he was…"
A pause. Like she was trying to remember the lie she told yesterday.
"He went of with the rescue team—! He'll be back soon."
Things escalated even further when Lila pulled something from her back pocket.
What in the fuck—..?
"Lila—! Put your father's gun down! He doesn't like you touching his stuff, you know this!!"
The gun cocked as Lila pulled the mechanism back.
Fuck. She knew how to use it???
"Answer me with the truth, or I'll shoot you where you stand."
"I can't believe you. I raised you. I'm your mother—! And this is the thanks I get!?!?"
Mrs. Graham's voice cracked with desperation.
"You wouldn't pull that trigger. You couldn't possibly—…"
Mrs. Graham's voice trailed off, her eyes widening. Lila's eyes were cold. She was beginning to take aim.
Before I could even respond to the chaos around me, she was on me. Her hand clamped over my mouth, a knife pressing just shy of my throat.
Lila's eyes were wide—ferocity mixed with fear. Hesitation flickered across her face.
"You wanna know what happened to your dad, Lila???"
Wait, what?
Her grin stretched too wide, predatory. The cracks in her smile made her look insane, and her ragged breaths cut through the tension. The unnatural redness in her corneas increased.
There's no way— she's infected???
"He was supposed to be your breakfast. But you just had to RUIN the surprise, didn't you!?!"
The words hit my brain like a punch. My groan muffled against her palm as she yanked me closer, the blade pressing harder.
Adam's family coded freaks. Just like I said.
She leaned in, nose brushing my cheek as she inhaled my scent. It made my skin crawl.
"Adrian smells good, doesn't he? Maybe he could be my dessert!!"
I struggled under her grip, groaning louder. My hands clawed at hers. Not listening to Lila was a fucking mistake.
"Let him go. Now."
Lila's voice cut through, cold, unwavering.
Mrs. Graham laughed. A dry, maniacal sound that crawled under my skin.
"Let him go??? Why? You'll just kill me if I do!"
Her knife began to dig into my skin, my eyes watering with pain and frustration. If you're gonna shoot, shoot please—!
A beat.
Mrs Graham faltered just slightly after seeing that Lila wasn't about to surrender. Her deep, manic smile returned.
"Let's see who's faster then—! My knife, or your—"
The shot rang out. I shut my eyes as tightly as possible.
I should've stayed asleep. Honestly.