Chapter Five

So a while ago I was informed by my boyfriend that I write fiction like I write essays (aka my writing is shit), so taking his advice I signed up for a class, with a wonderful teacher. Therefore here I am, a few months later, hopefully with all my tenses in order, better descriptive language, and some fresh new ideas. Critique Critique Critique.

Jenette awoke from her sleep to the click clack of tumblers and the creaking of her cell door as it was pushed open. The sound was so unpronounced that her roommate still slumbered on, but Jenette was always a light sleeper.

She had been waiting for this day for months. Her hand tightened on the grip of the gun hidden under her pillow in anticipation.

Luckily concrete floors do not creak. So when Drake crossed the floor to her bed, the girl in the bunk above her didn't even stir.

Drake leaned on the desk opposite the bunk and waited for her. He didn't have to wait long. She was already pushing the cotton covers off herself, reaching underneath the bed for her nondescript shoes.

She was still wearing her pajamas, to which Drake raised an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes at him, and pointed above her to the other girl, mouthing "nosy." Jenette was going to wear her khakis to sleep, but the girl kept peppering her with questions, so she eventually consented and changed back into her pajamas. Nosy bitch.

Jenette tiptoed over to the desk chair and grabbed her clothes off the back. She didn't bother telling Drake to turn around as she changed, he wouldn't have anyway. When she finished, she took her pajamas and pillow and made a vague Jenette shaped mound on the bed, it wouldn't stand up to close inspection, but if her roommate got up in the night it would hold up to a sleepy eyed glance.

She turned to Drake mouthing, "Ready to tear it up?"

He grinned.

Either the guards didn't know of the existence of the monthly boiler room raves, or they simply didn't give a fuck, figuring that if the teenagers sweat off enough anger they would impart less trouble onto them; they were partly right.

Sometimes on the 23th of the month a kid would turn up dead in their bed, a dice toss between stab wound or asphyxiation on puke, more often the earlier than the later. But if that happened there would be less fights during the rest of the month, a win win situation for the guards. Sure there would be more paperwork, but less wounds among the guards.

The raves were always held on the 22nd, because the day after monthly maintenance of the pipes, plumbing, and heating systems would occur, so all the boilers were shut down the day before. Equaling pseudo air-conditioning in the normally roasty-toasty room. Which would eventually be substituted by writhing, heat-giving teenagers bodies, and if any of the workers noticed the rank smell of B.O the next day, nobody heard anything of it.

Normally Drake would not be caught at such a sordid affair, he preferred the rank of the gym, it smelt more satisfying than the noisy din of the raves. It was more of Jenette's scene. She went for the deadly cage fights, especially tonight's fight with a rumored particularly enticing reward.

As they walked down the dank silent corridor to the small metal door of the boiler room Drake gripped Jenette's clammy hand silently in support, only dropping it to bang on the metal door 4 times: 1 hit then 2, wait a few seconds, then 3 and 4. The door slammed open, releasing with it a cacophonic din of trance mixed with screaming, and shouting. As they strode in the bouncer Big Joe, who rightfully earned his nickname, slammed the fat heavy door behind them, leaving silence in the hall once again.

The circular room stretched up 100 feet filled to the brim with electronics and rusty pipes. On a normal day it would be too hot to bear, with all the steam and heat escaping the boilers, but because everything was shut off the fans blew cool air in from outside. All the emergency strings of incandescent lights were turned on, adding a tinge of yellow to everything inside.

Drake was lost to say the least, he hated social gatherings, even though this was so very far from his mother's Sunday afternoon lemonade and cookies jamboree as possible. He felt an arm slither around his waist, startling him, only to look down and see Jene grinning up at him with her famous crooked smile, she drew him with her into an alcove behind one of the larger pipes. From there metal webbed steps lead up the walls to higher levels used for the maintenance of the pipes.

she crooked her finger and drew his ear to her level. "We have to go greet someone before we can go out onto the floor, I've been ignoring his summons, so he might be a tad bit pissed."

Drake nodded his head quizzically.

As they passed people on the way up, lounging on the bars and leaning against the walls, Jenette nodded her head at a few of them, scowling at others. When they finally reached the top, where the electronics panel of the boiler room was located, a ratty sofa sat in the corner, surrounded by a few reclining girls and a couple of ripped men that looked like they did not belong in a juvenile detention center, but in an actual jail.

Jenette whispered to him, "Stay here, no matter what, I can handle this."

She let go of Drake's waist and strode right up to the couch, to the only boy that looked out of place. The boy's eyes followed her all the way.

With his skinny form and silk black suit he did not fit in with his sweat clad jumper wearing crew. But he stood out from them all, very distinctly, with his hair and eyes that reminded Drake too much of his own. The only difference between them was complexion and physique, while Drake was tanned and lean muscled the boy on the couch had the consistency of a parsnip, along with the coloring of one, he looked long, thin and washed out. But Drake could tell that he held power over the group by the way the gravity among them was centered on him.

He wondered how the simple Jenette could hold his attention.

And he realized, because she was not simple. She carried herself the way the boy did, strong and true. For her small stature, she was powerful.

The boy held out his hand to her, and she placed hers into it.

"Morozko, it is wonderful seeing you again." She smiled politely.

"Dear Kotyonok, why have you not come to visit me, I have missed your wonderful company, and entertaining stories." The boy expressed in a thick Russian accent.

"I have been busy these few months, preparing."

"For what. my dear?" He furrowed his eyebrows, then all of a sudden he laughed, sending peals of laughter all around the room, everyone, Jenette and Drake included, stiffened.

Still giggling he wiped tears out of his eyes, "Kotyonok, you cannot mean that! Why should you harm yourself in that way." He sighed rolling his eyes, "Come sit here by me, where you belong."

Jenette stood up straighter. "Morozko, I thought we discussed this..."

The boy suddenly appeared in front of her, and bent down to look in Jenette's eyes, to her credit she did not even flinch, even though Drake did not catch him move from the couch. He was just suddenly there.

He dragged his long thin fingers along her cheekbone, moving his lips to her ear, whispering something unknown to her, to which she nodded. The pale boy smiled with his lips, the grin, not reaching his eyes, as he floated back down to the couch.

Jenette swallowed and licked her lips.

Morozko stared at her, his eyes hungrily following her every move. Without taking his eyes off of her, he pointed at Drake asking, "Is he your second?"

She nodded.

With a poker face he turned to Drake mockingly saying, "I hope you have trained her to protect herself properly, or there will be hell to pay..." He left that hanging in the air.

Drake swallowed and raised his courage, "She can take care of herself."

Morozko stared at him, cocking his head to the side, finally dismissing them with a flick of his hand.

Jenette took off, striding to the stairs, shortly followed by Drake.

"Jene, Jene!" He ran trying to catch up with her. Finally he reached out to grab her hand. "Vasquez! What the fuck was that!?"

She muttered. "A hell of a lot of sexual tension."

Drake sighed running his hand through his pale hair in frustration. "Yeah I can see that. Why haven't I heard about him? You usually tell me about all the guys you fuck."

Jenette closed her eyes, raising her hand to her temple, massaging it. "Just drop it Drake, let me just go win what I came here for."

He dropped it, but swore to bring it up again after this night, but right now he couldn't afford have Jenette's attention anywhere but on the fight she had to win.

Suddenly the music cranked to a halt, and from the floor they could hear a loud booming voice exclaim.

"Now for the moment ya'll been waitin' for, the fight of the night!" Cheering rose up with every word the announcer exclaimed.

Jenette and Drake took off for the ground floor, and pushed their way through the crowd of people to the center of the floor where a large, old metal cage rested. The announcer stood on it shouting at the top of his lungs.

"The winner of tonight's battle of supremacy will be awarded these." He pointed to a table laying beside the cage, while turning to look directly at Jenette. "Generously donated by our sponsor Morozko Tolstoy."

Right there sitting on the table guarded by Big Joe's huge ass was what those weeks of training were for: ammunition. Not just plain old ammunition, but all different kinds, the most prominent being the 12 practical magazines for Jenette's Browning Hi-Power.

So Morozko is like Russia's Jack Frost, a great name for this frosty parsnip OC of mine, (his last name is Tolstoy because I love Leo Tolstoy for gifting this world with the amazing book that is War and Peace.)

He calls Jenette "Kotyonok", which means kitten in Russian, it is very affectionate, I want to work on his story a bit more, I like his character a lot, but why does everyone respect him so much? It shall be revealed, along with why they need the ammunition.

I can't wait to write this fight!