𝖆𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖒 | d.f. | book two

🐍 anna11 🐍

10:03 am

{ 14 years ago }

"let's get a few things straight. your name is changing. from now on you will be responding to and known as anna malecot. understand?" i nod. "you speak when spoken to. do you understand?"

"yes," i answer.

"good. next is, don't think you're going to be living with me and shit is going to be easy. you're going to work for your spot in my family. do you understand?"

"yes."

"great. maybe we'll get along."

i jab at the boxing bag, releasing my frustration on it.

jab.

jab.

uppercut.

side.

stomach.

face.

face.

face.

face.

face.

FACE!

"hate to be the person on the receiving end of those fist's," i hear dominic.

i stop and turn around.

he looks over my body.

he actually looks rejuvenated.

"well rested?" i ask him.

his new room is an upgrade; all of us ours. building one is significantly better than building two.

this in-home gym for starters that building two didn't have.

there's even a track somewhere on the levels.

why didn't we come here first?

"actually, yeah. i have a bed rather than a cot," he answers, smiling.

"congratulations, you've been upgraded," i sarcastically say, clapping my wrapped hands.

"i'm going to take that as genuine. so thank you."

"what are doing in here?" i ask, "stalking me?"

"completely not worth my time. i'm just trying to use the bench. gain some muscle in my upper body region."

i snort.

"uh-huh, and i'm doing pull-ups," i smirk and turn back around, resuming punching the bag.

"you always knew how to fight?" he asks.

"as a matter of fact, yeah. i was sloppy, but ann straightened me out. i wasn't afraid of her like she wanted me to be," i tell him, without much reluctance. "she's not my mom, but she's the only person that's been there for me. longer than my own parents." at the mention of my parents, my punching increases.

"do you remember them?" dominic asks, sitting on the bench to the bench press.

"vaguely.  i mean, there's some shit, but i don't know you."

"i barely know myself."

i stop again, grabbing the bag and holding it still.

"okay!" i announce, "i read your file," i smile, walking over to him with my hands held behind my back.

"my what?" he asks.

"your file!" i emphasize, "oh sorry, your "record"," i say, air quoting.

"my record?

"are you normally this slow? don't answer that. yes, your record. i snuck around and peered into things. i can tell you the paper version of yourself. if you like."

he's silent.

contemplating.

he seems to have this laid back attitude. i guess you don't forget things like that.

"... okay. maybe i should hear this."

"perfect. sit back, relax. here's your recorded life:

dominic david fike, born december 30th, 1995, to jessica fike- father not listed on the birth certificate. older brother to younger siblings alexander fike and apollonia fike.

during elementary, you got good grades- great grades actually. you were a decent student. middle school is when the disciplinary notes started to roll in. not turning in homework. back talking teachers. my personal favorite, smoking in the bathroom.

high school you skipped a lot. a good amount until you were told that you wouldn't be graduating because of your credits. and miraculously, you pulled out an almost A average at the end. why hide that beautiful brain?

after graduating, you stayed in naples. you were pretty clean- record wise- until you turned 23; last year.

you, your friend max, your friend matt, and your brother alex, decided to go on a road trip. to mexico. on record you all say it was a road trip, but cocaine, weed, and pills were in your possession. so i think we all know what kind of "road trip" it was.

no one claimed it at first. it wasn't a shit ton of drugs but enough to keep you guys supplied for a while. since it was none of yours, the cops charged all of you, claiming it was everyone's.

you all were arrested.

max was given two months. alex was given three. you were given five. matt was given seven.

after you got out, you, alex and max decided to work any job that would take felons until getting a lease in texas and eventually moving to texas. this is where we are now.

domestic terrorist," i finish, "somewhere in there you developed a way to alter your dna."

"i still don't agree with domestic terrorist... but, it might hold truth? i do have powers, and no one seems to know where they come from."

"yeah, still mind blowing to watch in action. whatever soraya did, i want to know. would amplify my skills a lot more if i had powers," i pout.

nothing ever happens to me.

"maybe, you don't need them," he says, laying on his back and smiling.

"you haven't seen me full action. my body count is high, and i'm not talking about sex."

"so, what? you get off on killing?"

"i get off on seeing the life drain," i tell him truthfully.

"you should try therapy," he says.

"physical pain is good too," i grin.

he stares at me.

"debating if you say shit for the wow factor or not," he frowns.

i shrug.

"you'll have to find out."

i go back to the punching bag.