The Bad Boy's Sweetheart novel Chapter 2

"Fuck, I said pass me the blunt," I ordered furiously at the dark alleyway beside my house to the man beside me. The wind was irritating my body and my hair kept going in my face. The man was still focusing on rolling his weed.

"No, don't beat him, please!” Mom pleaded as she watched me get emotionally destroyed with each whipping.

"Come on!" I huffed as memories tugged at the core of my mind.

He was done and gave me my favorite blunt; cocaine. I smoked it, swaying myself as I inhaled my daily dose of this drug. All life disappeared and I was on a great high, all the way up on cloud nine.

"Get away from her." I rocked myself with my hands on the sides of my ears.

My eyes got bloodied as the high took me in a funny daze. I began to twirl around with tears dripping down my eyes and the heartless man who silently remained doing his blunt.

It was a day of doom-like my daily days of life. I didn't deserve to live if she wasn't here with me. The high began rushing through my head as the sirens were heard coming to our direction. The man got out but I didn't, disloyalty were those in the blood of strangers.

“And I think to myself

What a wonderful world!"

I sang loudly as the police handcuffed me and got me inside their cramped up car, to the Michigan police station, I watched the dreamy trees and the peaceful breezy night as the sun settled down exotically. I saw people-lots of them as they rushed to their homes and kids played.

"Mommy, I want this one." I pointed to the toy.

"Honey, we can't afford it.” She said.

My heart had a designed wonderful wall around it. I alluded to the fantasies of all that was dark and violent. I knew what I am already; a melancholy. A bad boy with no mother and certainly, a delinquent.

The car stopped and the police officer dragged me to the station under the starry stormy night. The white walls made me want to throw up, my mind was still in a high.

"Rys, why do you keep coming back to me?" Officer Dalton, the one in chief, said. He was a close friend of my father but treated me like a son more than my own dad.

"I missed seeing your face." I laughed crazily at my comeback, my husky voice coated with the smoky scent of cocaine.

"When are you going to stop from beating yourself like that?” He frustratingly questioned with tired eyes, I felt for him, I was too much on everybody.