The Damage is Done

Prologue

Hey guys, I just wanted to quickly give y'all the basics on my main characters so you won't be confused. It's not hard, I just thought it would be helpful.

>Elliot Kell- 13 in the prologue, 17/18 in the rest. Only child. Orphan (you'll see). Lives with her cousin

>Blaze Dyer- Elliot's cousin. 20 years old. Drug dealer for the Chicago Hellhounds

>Dominic Bailey- Respected member of the Chicago Hellhounds. 18 years old. High school senior. Lives in the gang house

This story is going to be pretty intense, I hope, so if you have a problem with violence, cursing, and possible sex scenes (I haven't decided yet), then I would rather you read something a bit safer than yell at me in the comments. K Bye.

Prologue:

I stared blankly at the unmoving body lying at my feet. I felt nothing but relief while I let the crowbar fall limply out of my right hand. The hollow thump it made when it hit the blood-stained carpet shook me from my momentary state of numbness and I was finally able to take in my surroundings. The overturned furniture, the broken lamp, and the scarlet liquid that covered the majority of the room made the scene look as if it came straight from a horror movie. But this was most definitely not a movie. This was real. The dead man bleeding on my shoes and his unconscious wife were proof enough of that.

 I had no idea what to do next. This wasn't a carefully thought out plan by any means, in fact I had no intention of murdering my father until about twenty minutes ago, and I was no trained assassin, which explained the colossal mess that the struggle between my parents and I created. I knew that eventually the police would find out about what happened so I should probably get rid of any evidence suggesting that I was involved, but taking care of the bodies and the state of the room would be a feat for anybody let alone a gangly thirteen-year-old girl.

I needed to make a decision—and quick. I knew that it was just a matter of time before my mother regained consciousness, so I bolted from the room and straight to the kitchen drawer that I knew contained a small lighter, grabbed it, and made my way through every room of the house, lighting all of our curtains on fire. When I entered my bedroom and saw that my mother was still knocked out I heaved a sigh of relief before abruptly coughing when the smoke from all the fires I set became stronger and stronger. I picked a glass perfume bottle from my dresser and threw it with as much force as I could muster at the wall that my mother was slumped against, shattering the bottle and dousing the wretched woman with the pungent liquid. I peeked out into the hallway and noticed the fire threateningly crawling towards my parents and me and flicked my thumb against the lighter before I calmly threw it at my mother and walked out of the house, not looking back.