Drowning: the story of a teenager
folder
DarkFic › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
1,598
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
DarkFic › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
1,598
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
New Friends
Chapter 6:
“I’m not going to tell you again. Get the fuck out of my way.”
Misha looked up, tears still in her eyes to see a spritely young woman, hands angrily on her hips staring down at her. Cold blue eyes softened a little after seeing her tears, and the woman stood straighter, hands slipping to her sides as she bent over to peer into Misha’s face.
“Ah, honey, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m just pissed at the pigs in this station. Fuckin’ tryin’ to lock me up for fuckin’ prostitutin’… it’s prostitutin’ if I ain’t makin’ shit,” she wrinkled her nose and stuck out a hand. “My name’s Tasha. Tasha Broughnette. You?”
Misha gingerly took the hand and slowly smiled. “Misha… Kashen… Stant… ugh I don’t really know.”
“Stant? Like that bastard pig fucker cop man Stant?” Tasha asked. Coffee skin seemed to darken as her eyes narrowed. “That son of a bitch is your dad?”
“Step-dad,” Misha said softly, and then looked away, eyes concentrating fixedly on the steps of the station.
Tasha’s eyes seemed to narrow even more, becoming cat like slits as she surveyed the woman seated in front of her. Misha had the broken look of a trapped animal, clothing skewed and face ashen, there was definitely something wrong, and if that bastard cock-sucker was her step-dad, Tasha had a pretty good idea what that something was.
She knelt down in front of Misha, softly pulling her face upwards so brown eyes met blue, and they seemed to stare into each others hearts for a moment. Tasha nodded grimly, and then rising, pulled Misha to her feet as well.
“C’mon hon, we’re gonna get out of this place. I’ll take you someplace nice,” she said.
“But what about your cop thing? Don’t you have to take care of that?” Misha asked, stumbling after the petite woman gently pulling on her arm.
Tasha flashed a dazzling smile back at Misha, “No biggie. They’ll just write me up again next week like they always do. ‘Sides, it’s your fuckin’ dad that always gives me trouble. That motherfucker’s been on my ass since he got here.”
“Step-dad,” Misha said quietly.
“Right. I wouldn’t want him to be my dad either. C’mon, walk faster. I want you to meet some people.”
Misha crawled in through her window as the sun came up, stretching contentedly and snuggling into the softness of her bed. She had made sure to wait until Dan’s car had pulled out of the driveway before even attempting to get back into the house. He was drunk when he had attacked her, but there was no need to face him now, even if he was sober.
She had timed her entrances and exits perfectly and hadn’t laid eyes on him for a good two weeks or so. She had become fast friends with Tasha and everyone else she had met that first night. Misha smiled softly at the thought of her new friends and closed her eyes, drifting into sleep.
Tasha was the most beautiful person Misha had ever seen. Barely hitting 5 feet, her small stature hid the ferocity of her strength and nature. The spritely black woman was curvaceous and dangerous, dressing in scandalously short skirts and tops, decked in thick army boots supposedly swiped from a local store. A glimpse of shapely legs and toned muscle always distracted people from the fact that a blade was tucked into a boot, strapped to the inside of her thigh. Tasha was dangerous and strong, but breathtakingly beautiful. She kept her honey hair tightly curled and short against her scalp, skin the color of coffee and fierce ice-blue eyes that seemed to notice everything. Misha had questioned her about the unusual blue stare, but Tasha had just shrugged, “It’s the white man in me, honey” and flashed a perfect glittering smile.
She definitely dealt in questionable affairs, knowing all the dark corners of the city, but the woman was honest, loyal, and gentle of heart, quickly latching on to Misha and holding her through whatever trials she should face.
After leading Misha away from the station, Tasha had taken her back to a dark house, television screen flickering in the window. Seated in the shadows were three figures, faces lighting up from the blue light of the television. Tasha had introduced Misha, who blushed timidly and stared at her feet the entire time.
A woman had stood up, smiled and hugged Misha, who could only manage to pat this strange woman’s back clumsily, before looking towards Tasha for help.
“Introduce yourself,” Tasha had said with a grin, and the woman stepped back and stuck out a graceful, perfectly manicured hand. Misha took it and rested her palm hesitantly against the cool skin of the person in front of her.
“My name is Sheera Parvey,” she had said, her voice whispering softly through blindingly white teeth. Misha noticed the glint of amazingly sharp canines and had trembled slightly.
Despite her intimidating appearance, Sheera turned out to be just as gentle and kind as Tasha. The two were best friends, having met some time ago in the similar way that Tasha and Misha had found each other. Although at that time, both women were behind bars, angrily cursing the people who had put them there for the night.
Misha thought, if there was anyone who could rival Tasha’s beauty, it would be Sheera. She had skin the color of cinnamon which seemed to kiss the lean feline nature of her body. She didn’t seem to be like anyone on Earth, because she moved like a cat: slow, graceful, disguising speed and strength in her delicate body. She had black hair that grew down to her hips, oiled and brushed to a high sheen so it rippled like dark water against her back. Every full moon though, Sheera would dye her hair a startling white “to match Mother Luna’s crazy awesome look” she explained. At that time, she would also put green cat eyed contacts over her coal-black ones, and walked like a sleek panther throughout the city in all her unearthly glory.
“Over there is Dante,” Tasha said, moving on to the other two figures still seated on the couch. A handsome man had smiled broadly and waved at her, but seemed distracted with a notebook sitting in front of him, and had made no effort to move.
“He’s a writer,” Tasha whispered into her ear, “poetry and lyrics and stuff, sells them to record people, that kind of shit.” Misha had nodded slowly, looking at the man in front of her scratching out a word on paper. Muscled and naked from the waist up, he had a scar across the left pectoral but otherwise, his skin was flawless. Brown hair swept carelessly in front of glasses which seemed unusual against the chiseled masculinity of his features, Misha cocked her head as they reflected light from the television off of them, but realized they were just r eading glasses as he took them off to peer at the images on the screen.
“And last but not least, that’s Damien,” Tasha said pointing to the last remaining figure on the couch. His eyes flitted in Misha’s direction, and he grunted softly before returning his attention to the screen.
“He doesn’t talk much, not even to us,” Tasha said apologetically.
Misha let her eyes gaze on his figure a moment longer. She didn’t think she had ever seen a more perfect man in her entire life. His hair was short and dark blue, spiked into sharp curls that traced his face, hiding the glint of silver on his ear, on his brow, and one on his lip. His muscular arms were traced in dark swirls, some indecipherable magic tattooed into his very skin. He was an angel.
Her nights were her refuge, leaving as the sun set to spend with her new found friends, returning in the morning to start the day. School hadn’t been a problem. Misha was smart, and easily finished all her assignments at school… it was just a matter of timing. Not dealing with Dan would make everything easy.
“I’m not going to tell you again. Get the fuck out of my way.”
Misha looked up, tears still in her eyes to see a spritely young woman, hands angrily on her hips staring down at her. Cold blue eyes softened a little after seeing her tears, and the woman stood straighter, hands slipping to her sides as she bent over to peer into Misha’s face.
“Ah, honey, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m just pissed at the pigs in this station. Fuckin’ tryin’ to lock me up for fuckin’ prostitutin’… it’s prostitutin’ if I ain’t makin’ shit,” she wrinkled her nose and stuck out a hand. “My name’s Tasha. Tasha Broughnette. You?”
Misha gingerly took the hand and slowly smiled. “Misha… Kashen… Stant… ugh I don’t really know.”
“Stant? Like that bastard pig fucker cop man Stant?” Tasha asked. Coffee skin seemed to darken as her eyes narrowed. “That son of a bitch is your dad?”
“Step-dad,” Misha said softly, and then looked away, eyes concentrating fixedly on the steps of the station.
Tasha’s eyes seemed to narrow even more, becoming cat like slits as she surveyed the woman seated in front of her. Misha had the broken look of a trapped animal, clothing skewed and face ashen, there was definitely something wrong, and if that bastard cock-sucker was her step-dad, Tasha had a pretty good idea what that something was.
She knelt down in front of Misha, softly pulling her face upwards so brown eyes met blue, and they seemed to stare into each others hearts for a moment. Tasha nodded grimly, and then rising, pulled Misha to her feet as well.
“C’mon hon, we’re gonna get out of this place. I’ll take you someplace nice,” she said.
“But what about your cop thing? Don’t you have to take care of that?” Misha asked, stumbling after the petite woman gently pulling on her arm.
Tasha flashed a dazzling smile back at Misha, “No biggie. They’ll just write me up again next week like they always do. ‘Sides, it’s your fuckin’ dad that always gives me trouble. That motherfucker’s been on my ass since he got here.”
“Step-dad,” Misha said quietly.
“Right. I wouldn’t want him to be my dad either. C’mon, walk faster. I want you to meet some people.”
Misha crawled in through her window as the sun came up, stretching contentedly and snuggling into the softness of her bed. She had made sure to wait until Dan’s car had pulled out of the driveway before even attempting to get back into the house. He was drunk when he had attacked her, but there was no need to face him now, even if he was sober.
She had timed her entrances and exits perfectly and hadn’t laid eyes on him for a good two weeks or so. She had become fast friends with Tasha and everyone else she had met that first night. Misha smiled softly at the thought of her new friends and closed her eyes, drifting into sleep.
Tasha was the most beautiful person Misha had ever seen. Barely hitting 5 feet, her small stature hid the ferocity of her strength and nature. The spritely black woman was curvaceous and dangerous, dressing in scandalously short skirts and tops, decked in thick army boots supposedly swiped from a local store. A glimpse of shapely legs and toned muscle always distracted people from the fact that a blade was tucked into a boot, strapped to the inside of her thigh. Tasha was dangerous and strong, but breathtakingly beautiful. She kept her honey hair tightly curled and short against her scalp, skin the color of coffee and fierce ice-blue eyes that seemed to notice everything. Misha had questioned her about the unusual blue stare, but Tasha had just shrugged, “It’s the white man in me, honey” and flashed a perfect glittering smile.
She definitely dealt in questionable affairs, knowing all the dark corners of the city, but the woman was honest, loyal, and gentle of heart, quickly latching on to Misha and holding her through whatever trials she should face.
After leading Misha away from the station, Tasha had taken her back to a dark house, television screen flickering in the window. Seated in the shadows were three figures, faces lighting up from the blue light of the television. Tasha had introduced Misha, who blushed timidly and stared at her feet the entire time.
A woman had stood up, smiled and hugged Misha, who could only manage to pat this strange woman’s back clumsily, before looking towards Tasha for help.
“Introduce yourself,” Tasha had said with a grin, and the woman stepped back and stuck out a graceful, perfectly manicured hand. Misha took it and rested her palm hesitantly against the cool skin of the person in front of her.
“My name is Sheera Parvey,” she had said, her voice whispering softly through blindingly white teeth. Misha noticed the glint of amazingly sharp canines and had trembled slightly.
Despite her intimidating appearance, Sheera turned out to be just as gentle and kind as Tasha. The two were best friends, having met some time ago in the similar way that Tasha and Misha had found each other. Although at that time, both women were behind bars, angrily cursing the people who had put them there for the night.
Misha thought, if there was anyone who could rival Tasha’s beauty, it would be Sheera. She had skin the color of cinnamon which seemed to kiss the lean feline nature of her body. She didn’t seem to be like anyone on Earth, because she moved like a cat: slow, graceful, disguising speed and strength in her delicate body. She had black hair that grew down to her hips, oiled and brushed to a high sheen so it rippled like dark water against her back. Every full moon though, Sheera would dye her hair a startling white “to match Mother Luna’s crazy awesome look” she explained. At that time, she would also put green cat eyed contacts over her coal-black ones, and walked like a sleek panther throughout the city in all her unearthly glory.
“Over there is Dante,” Tasha said, moving on to the other two figures still seated on the couch. A handsome man had smiled broadly and waved at her, but seemed distracted with a notebook sitting in front of him, and had made no effort to move.
“He’s a writer,” Tasha whispered into her ear, “poetry and lyrics and stuff, sells them to record people, that kind of shit.” Misha had nodded slowly, looking at the man in front of her scratching out a word on paper. Muscled and naked from the waist up, he had a scar across the left pectoral but otherwise, his skin was flawless. Brown hair swept carelessly in front of glasses which seemed unusual against the chiseled masculinity of his features, Misha cocked her head as they reflected light from the television off of them, but realized they were just r eading glasses as he took them off to peer at the images on the screen.
“And last but not least, that’s Damien,” Tasha said pointing to the last remaining figure on the couch. His eyes flitted in Misha’s direction, and he grunted softly before returning his attention to the screen.
“He doesn’t talk much, not even to us,” Tasha said apologetically.
Misha let her eyes gaze on his figure a moment longer. She didn’t think she had ever seen a more perfect man in her entire life. His hair was short and dark blue, spiked into sharp curls that traced his face, hiding the glint of silver on his ear, on his brow, and one on his lip. His muscular arms were traced in dark swirls, some indecipherable magic tattooed into his very skin. He was an angel.
Her nights were her refuge, leaving as the sun set to spend with her new found friends, returning in the morning to start the day. School hadn’t been a problem. Misha was smart, and easily finished all her assignments at school… it was just a matter of timing. Not dealing with Dan would make everything easy.