I'm not gonna finish this until I've finished at least two of my other stories, but I had to write this so I could get it out of my head. Sorry if its bad.
Disclaimer: i own nothing
Enjoy! Although that might not be the right word...
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"You wanna die, bitch?!" I shoved the gun into the side of the fucker's face, pressing until I was sure it would leave a mark. His eyes were wide, he was backed up against a wall, and he wasn't expecting a girl to fight back. Even though he knew I was gunna kill him, he still tried to get away. I locked a hand round his throat. He spat at me. He missed, but that's beside the point. I shot the bastard's brains out, and he slid down the wall, leaving a trail of blood.
"Ugh." I surveyed my clothes. They were covered in blood. Huh. I'd have to go change. But first, I swiped the guy's wallet from his pocket. A little extra cash can't hurt.
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That was the first person I killed. I was seventeen. The guy made a big mistake, and didn't think I'd fight back. And ya know something? I didn't feel a thing when I pulled the trigger.
As far as I'm concerned, life started age twelve. Seven years ago. But before that, it all kinda…I don't know how to explain, but to put it in crap Hollywood terms, it made me what I am today. Ugh. I hate talking like that.
Dad was in the whole business of selling 'big guns to bad people' and he was wanted by the government for selling to terrorists. I'm not sure if that was true, but it probably was. He only married mom and had me as a cover, so he could hide behind us as a kind of shield. Mom loved him, but he didn't love her. She tried to drown it in Martini, but she was a violent drunk. And who better to take out her rage on than her young daughter? Whenever dad was there he would hit her for drinking when I was around and then hit me for not stopping her. Thank god he was hardly ever there. So all this added up to me being the 'problem kid' at school. No teachers could handle me, and despite my good grades they hated me. In fact, I was getting the best grades, but they didn't care because I sat at the back of the room playing with lighters. They left me pretty much alone.
So, when I was twelve, I was already an accomplished hacker. I hacked dad's bank and got some cash- I could always go back and get more; he was a rich man- and stole his phone. I was a kid, but with my dearest father's cash on me, the dealer he was connected to listened to me, and I got what I wanted. He got a big tip on top so he wouldn't tell dad. It was amazing how many kids at school wanted to act 'bad' and go 'off the rails'- pretty soon I was making my own money, selling drugs, alcohol, cigarettes and knives on the playground. It lasted 'til I was nearly fourteen. I never did get caught. Heh.
But when I got caught throwing knives at the back of the bike sheds, the teachers went mad at me. The kids watching me ran for it, and I was hauled up before the principle. He was in my face, yelling at me and spitting while he talked. Something about the dangers of knives and how I could've killed someone and why did I have them on school property? I didn't pay any attention, just flicked my lighter on and off. He snatched it from me, tried to force me to listen to him. Without really paying much attention, I punched him in the nose. He fell back, broken nose bleeding, and I was dragged off by a teacher. Eventually it took three to restrain me. They even went as far as to calling the police.
Dad had a legal business too, and he was respected, so a few words from him and I was off the hook with a warning, criminal record and a fine, which dad paid. Mom sent her driver to pick me up. He didn't say a word, didn't even look at me. I sneered and ignored him..
I walked in the door, intending to go straight to my room, but my way was blocked by mom. And dad. Oh no. both of them. They began screaming and hitting and shouting until I turned and ran. I didn't get very far before dad grabbed my wrist and stubbed his cigarette out on the back of my hand. I screamed. I was young; I wasn't almost immune to pain like I am now. I fell to the ground and he signaled a friend of his from the front room to drag me to my room. But I still had some fight. I open handedly slapped the guy when he tried to grab me, and ran out the front door. I hitch hiked my way to New York.
I survived on my wits for months, pick-pocketing and shoplifting and cuting my way into hostels where I could sleep. I always have been cute. Still am, which makes some bitches think I'm weak. I show them soon enough. But even still, I slept rough some nights. I lost connection with dad's dealer. Didn't have the money to pay him. It was a rough time.
I was fifteen before I learned how much money I could get by working the streets. I made some friends in the red light district and they showed me the best spots to pick up clients. They took me in until I could afford to rent my own place. It was a crappy little apartment, tiny and dirty, but it suited me just fine. Before I turned sixteen, I got back into the drugs game. Never in my life did I take anything myself, but I sold stuff to some of my clients, and soon I was a respected dealer. When I started taking business from the more connected dealers out there, they sought me out and came to 'talk' with some of their gang buddies. I know I should've been scared, but I was really past caring what happened to me. Without me really saying much they figured I wasn't new to this, and decided it would be better if I wasn't an enemy. So I guess that was when I joined the gang.
Within a month of that I stopped…I gave up…hmm. What I'm trying to say is I stopped being a whore. I had plenty cash and now I was connected to the gang. The leader made sure there was always a place open in the city if we had nowhere else to go. He had loads of apartments and there was always someone there. It was in exchange for us doing all his dirty work. I got more and more involved in the gangs business: fighting, robbery, starting fires, mugging, and sometimes kidnap. There were always police to avoid, other gangs to fight off. I didn't kill anyone until that day. After that I killed whenever I needed to; I'm mad enough for it not to effect me in the slightest. That's always really been my problem. I'm insane. I never looked back on my past before today. I got a new family; the most hardcore dealers, thieves, murderers, thugs, rapists, arsonists, con artists, kidnappers, smugglers, assassins, hookers and the occasional spy in America. I didn't know all of them, but they were in my gang, so they were my family.
But then Kira showed up, and my family began to be killed off; one heart attack after another. We all kept an eye on the TV for news of what was happening, who could die, who had died. I had to count myself one of the lucky ones. Sure, I was wanted by the police, but I'd been going by a fake name since I left my parents house. I refuse to say it was home. It's not like criminals to be sentimental, but when the first few of us died, we were scared. Some of us cried. But I never did. I haven't cried since…well, I can't remember. But I'm nineteen now, and the world is changing. It's the first time we ever took the side of the police in anything. We side with the anonymous detective. We side with L.
Sorry for the crappy ending. I wasnt really sure why I wanted to write this so badly, but it DOES have something to do with Death Note! She gets more involved with L and Kira as the story develops. This is the only chapter thats gonna be in first person, the rest will be in third, unless you guys say otherwise. I'm not continuing with this until two of my three in-progress stories are finished, but i wanted to publish this bit. R&R, so that if i dont get any reviews, i'll know i shouldnt continue.
