Veela Skylark {D9}

Veela Skylark

I have a long history of not following the rules.

A lot of people might say that I'm living a stereotype. Yeah, I'm the little orphan girl who got into the wrong shit. I'm the "misunderstood criminal" who steals and breaks everything I touch because I was raised without a mommy and daddy. I'm the rebellious, tough gal who doesn't put up with anyone's shit.

Hate to break it to you, but nobody like that exists. This is the real world, not a storybook, not a dream. I'm as conflicted and complex as the next person, and I still don't have my life figured out.

Others have it figured out for me.

I was the errand girl for the older kids in the home. I was light like a feather, quick and silent - still am - so I could swipe goodies before anyone realized I was gone. I did it mostly for the attention. A girl's gotta have friends, and I wasn't about to be some loner. I did what I thought was best.

Then we grew up. School got stressful, lives got depressing, and the older teens started craving a new kind of candy.

I got paid this time. Cold hard cash. The greens I used to buy the clothes I wanted, not the rags donated to me. I'd sneak out, find their dealer, slip the baggies into my jacket pockets, and be on my way. I didn't touch the crap myself; I knew it would cost me too much money, and the high didn't sound worth losing all my earnings. I was just the delivery girl. For awhile, that is. One of the dealers decided to hire me. He would pay me double, he said. Who was gonna say no to that? I could be more than the errand girl. I was climbig the ladder; I was their new dealer.

Temporarily.

One night, I got busted. Not by the law, not by an adult. I got slammed into the wall by some guy wearing a bandanna, cold steel pressed to my throat. I have to say, it was one of the more terrifying moments of my life. Sure, I knew about drugs and violence but I had never been exposed to pain before. Death even less. I seriously thought I was dead meat.

"Are you the girl that's been dealin' on our turf?" he growled. I'm no idiot. I knew what he meant, I just didn't know it was his turf. I thought it was my boss's.

I know now not to trust sketchy dudes.

Had to talk my way out of that one. He pried me for information; names, locations, who I was selling to. Who was I to say no? I told him the truth. I admitted my naivety, then I countered with my own questions. Just one, actually. "What about you? Who do you work for?"

A gang, he said. Most dangerous in the District. The kings of crime and violence. He said his name was Needle. I said my name was Feather. He liked that. Said I was clever, just clever enough to impress the guys who wanted it. It was enough to spare me. But I'm an eager beaver, what can I say. I had to take it one step further. I warned him that because of his actions, I was out of the job. All my money, lost. Who was going to compensate, huh? A girl like me deserved what she worked for.

He said he'd think about it. Wasn't his decision. Told me to meet him there again in a week. A week isn't a long time to decide if you made the right decision or not. Asking to be affiliated with a gang? I should've insisted that we wait a month, but he would've forgotten all about me.

He said yes. I never changed my mind.

Really, all I did at first was help unload shipments. Crates and crates of illegal goodies, drugs and weapons included. I worked with the same group of guys every time, so I was only part of a branch. The rest of the gang was a mystery to me. A giant question mark. Then Needle told me I had to attend one of their "meetings." Unknowns are not allowed to be part of a gang. Sooner or later I'd have to show my face.

It wasn't so bad. Crowded, but not bad. I learned names and faces. People learned my name and face, or pretended to. I felt like an insect.

These triplet boys were running things. Most things. They were loud-mouthed and swore like sailors, and the rest of the gang was rowdy, even the girls. I was a mouse in a corner.

My first shootout wasn't long after that.

I always had a gun on me. Needle said it was for emergencies when I needed to protect myself. I'd never pulled the trigger before. Just kept it shoved in my back pocket, loaded with the safety on. It always felt heavy like it didn't belong there, but I didn't have a holster. I had to make due.

When the first shots rang out, my instinct wasn't to look for trouble. It wasn't to whip out my gun and start defending the boys. I literally bolted behind one of the trucks and crawled under it, hoping to Ripred nobody would see me. Didn't even occur to me that a stray bullet could've bounced and knocked my brains out. I just waited under cover with my hands over my ears, scared like a mouse. I assumed everyone died until I heard Needle calling my name. Revealing myself was embarrassing. Here I was, a gang member, and I couldn't face the music. I couldn't handle what I had signed up for.

He took me out for shooting lessons.

That's where I met Bouncer. Really, that's where Bouncer met me - and tried to hit on me the moment he saw me. I had pretty good aim by that time. He was impressed and all, because I could shoot with one gun in either hand. Guns of all types. Needle said he had to train me well, or I wouldn't be so lucky next time. The thought of a "next time" made me feel sick.

After declining him for a third time, I struck up a real conversation with Bouncer. Don't know how it happened, but it ended with him offering to teach me how to fight. Real hand-to-hand combat. I reluctantly agreed because I was suspicious; I didn't think he intended to help me fight. Just thought it was an excuse to get me alone so he could make goo-goo eyes again. Turns out he was serious. He went easy on me at first, but I learned. Took months and months of practice. Eventually I was sparring strangers. Lilac nearly pulled a knife on me, the crazy bat.

We became sort of friends. Good thing too, because Needle got killed not too long after that. Took a bullet to the brain. Not surprising, but it didn't hurt any less. I slept with that man. He was a good man, even if his job wasn't.

Bouncer could feel my pain, I could tell. He was always offering me things. He invited me to the parties where I met Thrasher and Hunter and other members who casually accepted me as one of them. I told them the truth about my work, that I didn't want to do it anymore, that it was too different and quiet without Needle. I asked if it was possible to do something else, since I had already sold my soul to them. There's no getting out unless you die. Bouncer jokingly asked me what I was good at besides unloading boxes.

That's how I met Teva Trigger, and got my new job. That's how I met all of the Seraphims, actually. And because I slept with Barrel.

Now I've got the full skill set. I can fight, shoot, and use a knife. I'm with Trigger's crew now, the prowlers in the night. We mug and thieve until our pockets are full. We instill terror. It's much more intense than my other job, but I adjusted pretty easy. I think I was meant to be more active. I'm quick and light as a feather, after all.

I live in Needle's old house. My old home was too suspicious about my activities and my complete neglect for schoolwork. I stopped going, honestly. There's no point. I'm in a gang, and it's for life. There's no hope for a brighter future. Kind of depressing if you think about it. This is where I am, stuck. Like glue. It was a bad decision, I can admit it. It has more drawbacks than perks, but I don't think I was destined for greatness. I don't think the world of business is for me.

This life is dark, but I make the most out of it.