A/N: Thank you guys for the feedback! The fact that I even managed to get 4 reviews when I posted a vague first chapter AND this is an OC story astounds me. So thank you all for reviewing, following, and favoriting!

So this chapter is in first person narrative, and I have yet to decide if I want to switch back and forth between Dee and Damian's POVs or if I want to stick to Dee. If you have a suggestion about that I'd be happy to hear it.

Well, I hope you enjoy!

There's nothing harder in this world than dragging my lazy butt out of my warm bed on a Sunday afternoon. After at least 10 hours of rest and another few hours of reading while still snuggled under my covers, I usually head to my kitchen while still in my t-shirt, lounge pants, and fuzzy socks to grab a snack from my fridge before retreating back to the dark cave that I call a room. That was the extent of my plans for today. That is, until I remembered that I had already made plans with my friend today. And I'm not one to break a promise, unfortunately.

Remind me again why I even bother to make friends when I have to give up my free days just to see them.

Shrugging on my coat overtop a flannel shirt, I slide out my bedroom and carefully step into the living room, trying to keep footfalls as silent as possible in case my mom made her way home early this morning. Sure enough, I see a large lump on the couch, shrouded in covers with dark hair hanging down, just barely scraping against the floor. She's out cold.

Of course. She always is when she comes home.

For a moment, I'm tempted to try and wake her up and tell her where I'm going, but I think better of it. Knowing my mother, I could spend well into Monday morning trying to rouse her. I'll just let her get up on her own.

I take a few steps into the small kitchen attached to the living room, grabbing a pad of paper and scribbling down a note:

Ma,

Went down to the café to meet Jess. There's chicken in the fridge. Be home soon.

-Dee

Not exactly true, but what my mom doesn't know won't hurt her.

Tip-toeing back into the living room, I place the note on the coffee table next to my mom's soundly sleeping form. She looks so peaceful in sleep, so much younger than when she's awake. I feel bad about leaving her like this with just some chicken in the fridge, but I have no choice.

Lola will have my head if I cancel on her.

Again.

The streets downtown are oddly abandoned today instead of bustling with life as they usually are around this time. It's so close to nightfall that you would think there would at least be some hookers picking up some of the leftover johns that didn't make their rounds last night or some teens experimenting with weed. After all, it's still the weekend. But I only see one high-heeled girl in the distance talking to a guy in a gray pickup truck, as well as a gangly looking 20-something dude leaning against the brick wall of the old bakery, looking high as a kite with a big grin plastered on his face.

Ah, I never get tired of the beautiful scenery down here in the East End.

"There you are!" I hear from behind me. Turning around, I see Lola approaching in her signature studded leather jacket and dark skinny jeans with her dirty blonde hair pulled back into a messy bun. Old makeup still paints her face, only slightly smudged. Her usual Sunday look. Somehow she always manages to look better than me, even when she's a hot mess.

Which is basically every day except Saturday and Friday, come to think of it.

"I haven't seen you in like 5 years," she groans, bumping my shoulder with her own. I roll my eyes and push back at her lightly.

"It's been a few weeks, dude," I argue with a smile on my face. She shrugs, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me away from the edge of the sidewalk.

"Same thing."

I chuckle, allowing her to lean her arm on my shoulder. I have to admit that I feel slightly guilty about bailing on Lola constantly these past few weeks. I'm one of her only friends, practically her family. Her only family, really. But I've been busy balancing work, school, and taking care of my mom. I barely find time to breathe, much less see friends. I don't know what a social life feels like. And she has a job of her own to attend to. We're both bad at keeping up contact.

"How'd you make out last night?" I ask, leaning against the brick wall behind me. She flashes a smirk and reaches into her shirt, pulling a few $20s out of her bra. Lola is a real class act.

"Not bad," she admits. "Could have been better, but I've had worse nights. 'Cept one guy tried to get the full experience for $20. Do I look that cheap?"

She shakes her head and stuffs her wages back into her bra, adjusting her tight top. I briefly wonder if she knows why she hasn't been getting much business these past few nights, but I assume she knows. The talk on the street has been deafening lately. There's no way she hasn't heard it too. I'm not the one getting into a stranger's car each night, and even I know to be suspicious.

"Are you being careful?" I ask her, allowing some concern to show through. She rolls her eyes at my cautiousness.

"Who are you, my mother? I'm always careful, Dee. You know that."

I shake my head, wondering if she knows what's going on and just doesn't care. She has a tendency to avoid problems like they're the bubonic plague.

To be fair, I have the same bad habit.

"You know what I mean," I insist. "Haven't you read the newspaper lately? They still haven't found that creep, and they found another girl just two days ago. The death toll us up to 10 now. Most of them were prostitutes, and I know for a fact that you ran out of pepper spray last week."

She rolls her eyes, groaning like a teenager who just got reprimanded by a parent. It's hard to believe that she's the older one out of the two of us by a year. It seems like I'm always acting like a mother hen, reminding her to take care of herself.

"I'll get some more first thing tomorrow, Mom," she promises. I snort a little and nudge her with my shoulder as a random thought occurs to me; I'm the mother I never had.

Go figure.

"I'm holding you to that. Until then, I'm sticking close to you whether you like it or not."

She raises her eyebrows in disbelief.

"I'm seventeen, you know. I don't need to be babysat. I've been doing this long enough to know which guys I should avoid."

She shakes her head at me and pulls a cigarette and lighter out of her pocket, lighting it up. I wrinkle my nose at the overpowering smell of the smoke. Lola knows about my disdain for smoking and tries not to do it in front of me, but when she's nervous or on edge, she can't help it. Just the fact that she pulled out a pack tells me that she's more nervous about this psycho running around than she's letting on.

"C'mon, Lo," I urge. "I'll just hang around and make sure no creeps pull you into a white van. Just until they catch this guy."

She chuckles at bit at that, hitting my shoulder lightly and taking another drag of her cigarette. I move my head out of the way in time for her to blow out so the putrid smell doesn't go up my nostrils. I'm like a school health teacher when it comes to smoking.

"The answer is no, Dee. I can take care of myself."

Somehow I knew that was going to be her answer.

"Fine," I relent. "Just don't blame me when you end up on the evening news."

Lola lets out a throaty laugh, some left over smoke drifting out of her mouth.

"You know what they say; it doesn't matter what they're saying as long as they're talking about you."

I know she's trying to make light of this mostly for my sake, but I still can't help but be worried about her. I'm that nervous, overprotective friend who inserts myself into my friends' business and gets jokingly called 'mom' all the time. I can't help it. After all the people I've seen utterly destroyed by these streets, I'm not going to take any chances with the people I care about.

Especially considering the number of people who fall into that category is dwindling.

"Just be careful, okay?" I tell her. She nods, being semi-serious for once in her seventeen years of life.

"If it makes you feel better, I promise I'll do my best to be more cautious and I'll make sure I always have my pepper spray on me. Okay?"

I nod hesitantly, not sure what Lola's definition of 'cautious' is.

"Deal."

I'm sure Lola can take care of herself. After all, she's survived so far, and killers in the East End are as common as catching a cold. No one's gotten to her yet. That's a good sign, right?

Besides, I'm sure she won't notice if I just so happen to be hanging around the café on the nights she's working…

If this serial killer doesn't get to me, Lola will.

A/N: Like always, feedback is gladly appreciated, and I hope you liked this chapter!