Ricky Sanchez.

That was the name of the boy I'd had my first kiss with. A secret, shy, and adorably awkward kiss shared between two crushing 7th graders behind the buses during a field trip to an art museum. I was giddy, full of butterflies and moderately terrified as my mind raced around the world and back. It was sweet. Innocent. Safe.

It was not this.

Instead of fluttering butterflies, It felt as if the earth under me was vibrating. Like the world around us erupted in a have of sparks, shocks, and explosions. I probably couldn't think up a complete sentence if my life depended on it. There was only the soft yet firm pressure of the lips in contact with mine. Kissing.

Dean's hand was tempered steel behind my neck, holding firm while massaging the scar there without shame. Like he wanted me to accept that he knew it was there. The other was slowly creeping down the side of my body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I whimpered as I tried in vain to pull away, to push him away, but the formidable male was far too much to handle. As he stepped closer and angled my head upwards to accommodate his height, I suddenly forgot how to protest.

Ever so slowly, beyond any reasonable consideration.....my eyes shut.

That wandering hand snaked against the low curve of my back, a large palm securing me closer. The pressure against my lips increased, and slowly our mouths opened more to each other. Tasting.

Whiskey and mint.

He tasted like the essence of who he was. Strong and bold, cold and slightly toxic. Yet, somehow still there was warmth. A strange vibrancy of comforting warmth that was creeping deep into my bones.

Teeth scraped against my bottom lip, a sharp tug on the sensitive skin causing me to whimper again. He didn't mind though, as he continued his mission with a gentle, well-contained fury.

My head.

My heart.

My scattered brain was losing any real sense of thought. My poor unsteady heart was getting too close to beating its way out of my small, electrified, body.

Not real. Wasn't happening....couldn't be. Except, that freakishly innate sense of my thoughts he always seemed to possess was determined to prove me wrong.

The kiss suddenly deepened.

With the tip of a tongue even softer than his lips, he traced the inner rim of the same lip of mine he'd nibbled, giving me goosebumps as he asked permission for something I wasn't giving. Something unreal to me.

A small gasp escaped as I was bitten a second time, harsher now as if he was demanding me to give him just enough space to dive in like he wished. And suddenly like an obedient little schoolgirl, I did, my mouth suddenly tasting much more of the drugging whiskey and mint, as his body molded closer with mine. Devouring.

A deep guttural moan escaped Dean's mouth as I became more pliant to him as if my compliance was his drug. Our mouths' were now moving in perfect sync. I gripped onto his forearms, having no clue what to do with myself and hoping they'd keep me grounded.

I'm not....cannot......Can't think.

A sudden need to breathe emerged welcomed yet intrusive at the same time. An excuse to pull away. Just a second long enough to think.

My eyes snapped open as I regained my senses, seeing the face that was so devastatingly close to mine. I ripped away from him, our disconnecting mouths creating a low, embarrassingly audible smack. They didn't stray far, however, as my panting was accompanied by Dean's own breathing just centimeters away. I could feel the heated breath on my face.....that sweet yet burning smell of alcohol wafting under my nose.

I feel warm. Too warm.

"Dean...", I began to speak, not having a clue what to say with my brain as numb as it felt. His arm remained snaked around my back, with his other hand now gripping my side to hold me in place. The thudding against my ribcage was still yet to cease, and only served to spike again as Dean just shook his head vigorously to cut off my protest, and still panting, his hand flew up to grab my jaw and to dive in again for more punishment. I shot backward, still trapped in his arms, still too warm, and still incapable of thought.

Until the sound of the front door unlocking, then swiftly creaking open reached my ears.

"Yo, Patience! You here still?"

Dean's fingers traced against my jawline, his hypnotic gaze and crippling hold around the curve of my back beckoning me closer to him again. I turned my head to avoid his determined mouth, my fingers suddenly gripping the hair atop his warm scalp as his hollow breathing now came against my ear causing me to shiver.

"Guys?" That voice again. Trey.

Warm lips trailed a path of fire down my throat. Another shiver.

Trey......Trey?

A cold, unforgiving bucket of ice washed over me, cooling every electrified synapse and nerve there ever was. Like a flipped switch, my mind could finally comprehend where I was. What I was doing. Who I was doing it with. My fingers gripped onto the large arms of the drunken boy wrapped around me, and I attempted again to put complete distance between our bodies. Irritation curled my lip as the two hands didn't even budge.

"Dean," I hissed angrily, as I tried to push against this boy's sinewy arms. In an action I was coming to realize did a lot when drunk, he shook his head in response, artic eyes demanding my compliance. A fire was in those drunken eyes, he was not letting me leave.

"Hey, where are you guys?" Trey's footsteps signaled where he was in the apartment, which currently was the kitchen, with his shoes tapping against its linoleum floor. But the steps soon began their way onto the carpet and towards the beginning of the hall outside of this bathroom.

A fire of my own lit inside of me, and unlike Dean's, every drop of it was anger. How dare he?! Full mental and motor control was mine again, and I didn't think twice before I smacked him hard and straight across the face, the slap resonating loud enough for even Trey in the other room to hear it.

The limbs imprisoning me instantly dropped as Dean's drunken form repelled back and out of the doorway as his default defenses kicked in. His friend came into view just a second after.

"What the-did you just slap him?!" He stared at me in shock from behind his friend, before his eyes narrowed into an accusatory glare. Dean, however, remained in his silent drunk-man's persona, only now he looked at me like I had just snatched his favorite toy. And then killed his puppy, my mind randomly added on as the look in his eyes intensified and I noticed his jaw tick. I didn't give Trey an honest chance to really take in my flustered appearance and be able to make any deductions from it. I simply shoved my way between the two boys.

"He tried something he shouldn't have, and I gave him what he deserved." I angrily gather my belongings and went for the door, tearing it open just a fraction before a large palm slapped it close again.

"Hold up, calm down. What happened?" Trey's accusing glare was gone, and now he looked slightly worried, glancing between me and the boy still rooted some ways from us. "Did he try something funny with you?"

Heat rushed into my cheeks under the weight of embarrassment. I could still feel his touch. And now, his stare under my skin as well, fermenting into my very bones.

"Nothing, okay!" I pulled open the door again, not even looking back at either of them as I left that godforsaken apartment. "Make sure he doesn't drink himself to death," I shouted venomously as my feet burned down the hallway.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

What the heck was I thinking?! I wasn't, that's what. He was drunk and he kissed me. Touched me. Touched my scar.

And I sat there and let him.

I let my inner schoolgirl break through my defenses. I let that naive yet sickeningly familiar electricity I always tried to deny take over my body. I couldn't understand it. All I had to do was think. But like sad little prey and the venomous cobra hunting it, I let him strangle my senses, the very contact of him infusing a venom I couldn't handle.

I let him kiss me. Drunk, unpredictable, and tasting like alcohol. Why?!

That question plagued me my entire descent from the building. Then again, as I raced my car on a path home. It wasn't until ten minutes later at a quiet stoplight, with the beginnings of rain tapping softly on my windshield that my answer emerged.

I was weak.

I let myself be vulnerable because I felt that somehow, somewhere he was vulnerable too.

Stupid, foolish, idiot.

And as the lights silently turned green, and the rain increased in intensity, I swore to myself.

Never. Again.

»»----- - -----««

I woke up the morning after practice with a solid understanding of three things.

I needed half a bottle of aspirin.

A good cigarette.

And my memory of the night before was nothing more than cloudy images shot full of holes.

I was only granted a reprieve for one, which came in the form of a small pill bottle sitting on my nightstand.

Which I also don't remember putting there.

The strong morning glare from my bedroom window wrecked havoc on my temples as I tried to piece together my yesterday.

I remember Fasa's call about how Shaw felt I was slacking lately. About how he was ordered to organize a special practice session just for me. Then there was that colossal but nameless idiot they'd forced into a concrete cellar with me. We were fighting. I remember the beating he took, me nearly knocking him out....except those freaking pricks threw him a high powered taser at the last minute. Fasa slipped it in when I wasn't looking.

I hadn't been ready.

And god, had it been too long since last time. The jolts, that burning smell. Then came that special mix of physical pain and bloody rage every cell in my body knew all too well, unleashed after Fasa and his dogs stood at the sidelines taunting me over my opponent's sudden upper hand.

Everything was murky from there. Cussing. A lot of yelling, someone's bones cracked.....a gunshot somewhere along the line, then I'd conjured up a bottle of Jack somewhere. More cursing. Being so friggin done with it. I'm pretty sure I called Trey. And from there, the hazy blur turned into straight black.

Except, there was something lingering. Nonexistent, yet whispering just loud enough to nag the back of my thoughts. A voice? Followed by something my mind whispered as sweet, worth craving.

God, I really do need a smoke.

A tired yawn escaped me. I was shirtless, but still in the same briefs and pants as yesterday. Slowly, my mind registered the aches in my body, then the bandages on my chest and hand. I swore in frustration as my mind came up blank regarding where the latter came from.

Trey patched me up?

Again, I thought ruefully as another hot swear shot out. Yet another case of him mopping up my mess. Man's gonna need a badge and award soon.

I groaned and rolled out of the bed, running hands over my eyes, and cursing the massive hangover still drumming sharply behind my temples. Bottle of aspirin in hand, I downed a glass of water in the kitchen and checked the date in time on my phone. Late, I guess.

No way was I going to be on time for school today. When summoning the urge to care failed, my headache had me marching into the living room and laying across the sofa, preferring much more to sit here in the dark doing absolutely nothing for a day and kick the face in of anything that urged me to do otherwise. God knows, I probably need it, even if allowing time to pass by doing nothing wasn't necessarily something I knew how to do.

It wasn't until I laid my throbbing head down, did I register that my bare feet stepped over a soft foreign material on the floor beside the couch. I picked it up in curiosity, stupidly thinking it was Trey's despite knowing I've told him numerous times to stop throwing his crap on my floor.

Except it wasn't.

By the size of it, I knew it wasn't Trey's. By the color of it, I knew it wasn't a guy's. My thoughts went back to last night.

I bought a chic home?

Of course. Of course, my retarded-self did.

Now, I have to check to see if any of my craps been stolen.

Irritation grew as I rose up again, ready to throw whoever's this was out. I had just marched into the kitchen with my hand over the trash as something suddenly registered about the item. Something familiar. My brows slowly furrowed.

I'd seen this before? I pulled it back up, studying the jacket for real this time.

That nonexistent whispering came back.

When a slight inkling arose in my mind, I did something stupid. Something to prove wrong the ridiculous thought that was emerging in my head. Focused despite this bleeding hangover, I bought the soft material close to my nose, regardless of how stupid it looked.

My shoulders tensed as the scent filled my senses. I laughed numbly to myself.

Nah.

I shook my head before a second whiff. The foreign object bunched tightly in my fist stared back at me with its bright greenish color.

And suddenly I was ever so slowly counting to ten.

One...

Two...

I'm mistaken. Tripping, right?

Three...

Four...

Freaking loony.

My feet carried me out my apartment to another shortly down the hall. Not even caring that I was barefoot and shirtless. It took about a minute of the side of my fist pounding against the rickety door before my irritated, sleepy-eyed neighbor tore it open.

"Dean?! The fu-"

"You see anyone new in the building yesterday?"

Anger lingered on his face before a long swear flew out. He knew I wouldn't be here asking questions unless there was a problem. He grunted and leaned against his door frame, rubbing a burly hand over his eyes. "What's new supposed to look like?"

Nothing happened in this building without Lamar knowing about it, honestly, nothing on this block. He knew every druggie, dealer, busted lock, nice old lady, tire slashing ex, and floor pissing cat in the neighborhood. Information was his business, and with him and his boys always around he was the one to ask if anyone new came sniffing.

Anyone small, naive, and out of her freaking mind.

Five...

Six...

"White girl. Brunette, kind of blue eyes, 'bout my age?"

"You're fortunate I like you, kid." He sighed and paused for a minute in thought, a pause long enough to have my knuckles twitching for contact with the nearest hard surface. "You talkin' about the mouse, ain't you? Yeah, I saw her come in during my smoke. Looked like she was gonna piss herself 'til your boy showed up. Uh.....you good, kid?"

I hadn't gotten to ten.

Blood was pumping through my ears, and my teeth were gritting together enough to crack my own jaw as I stormed back to my apartment, slamming the door shut on creaky hinges. There wasn't even the option to feel confused, to ask questions. For the second time in 48 hours, I saw red.

What did Trey do last night? What did I do?!

From that second, my morning routine no longer registered. I didn't care how or why the mirror over my bathroom sink was newly broken. I didn't register the appearance of the clothes thrown onto my body. I didn't even comprehend how long it took my motorcycle to carry me to that stupid school. It was only as I stood in front of the building, that actual thoughts began running through my mind. Cold calculations.

Like how much force it usually takes to snap human bone.

Like what time it was, and how long it would take me to get to him before he got to second period.

As soon as I saw the only friend I had rummaging through his locker among the crowded hall of passing students, I made a b-line straight for him. I wasn't completely without sense, so the first thing I did was give myself brief pause, to verbally thank him for helping me last night. He's a loyal friend, one I don't deserve, and frankly, I wouldn't have been mad if he just let me stumble myself home. But, kindness wasn't one of my virtues and that was the extent of it.

Because the next thing I did was punch him square in the face.

"Dude?!", came his response as his books dropped and his head snapped back into position, eyes wide and whiplashed. He didn't get to finish his sentence before both my hands gripped roughly into his collar, shoving him up against the next locker with a metal bang! loud enough to alert everyone around us. Textbooks tumbled out of his open locker, more noise.

"WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT," I growled with fury drumming an anthem between my ears.

"Dean, god, bro calm down."

"What", I thundered, now startling more nosy onlookers, "Happened. Last. Night?" My voice gradually reduced to an evil snarl the more I spoke. My rage now directly in his face. Any fear in my friend's eyes suddenly vanished as his face settled into a scowl.

"Get outta my face, move your hands, and talk with some respect or so help me god, we'll both get arrested for the blood in this hallway." Trey knew he wasn't a match for me. He knew it would take little more than ten slow seconds for me to pound him into the ground. But, Trey was the type to put his all into taking you down with him if he knew his chances of winning weren't necessarily high, dirty fighting included. Furthermore, he clearly knew I had respect for him. I knew, good and well, that I didn't have full right to give him a beat down. Not yet, at least.

Six long breaths were my effort to begin to reign myself in. My tightened grip slowly loosened into a full release, before I roughly pushed off of him. Onlookers gradually resumed their routine as I leaned back against a locker, breathing as I glared icily at the ceiling. My fist clenched repeatedly with the urge to punch something.

"MYOB, yeah?" Trey snapped at a small group of remaining gossipers still staring at me in fear and judgment. He stuck his middle finger up directle4y at them, the gesture remaining there and following the group until they were fully out of sight. He sighed and picked up his belongings, tossing the needed ones into his locker as I cooled off. "Your head on straight now?", he finally asked.

I didn't move but my eyes met him in a side glare. "I need a smoke."

He scoffed with a grin. "That bad, huh?" My jaw clenched. "You know how long it took you to get off them last time. I suggest you not start back up."

I couldn't stop myself from smacking the locker. "Trey."

His eyes widened and both hands went up in innocence. "Alright! Alright! I'm gonna level with you. You're not gonna like it-"

"What did you do?" I suddenly couldn't contain the question. He was taking