Met a Boy at Seventeen (Kellic)

Chapter 6

A/N: Short chapter is short. I promise the rest will be longer.

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Chapter 6 - Kellin - Sticks, Stones, and Techno

“Justin,” I say, heading out into the living room. “I’m going somewhere.”

Justin looks up from his laptop and the paper he’s bullshitting—I mean, typing—for one of his classes. “Where?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I do not feel comfortable divulging this information."

"Fuck you. Okay, fine, but you’re not having anything that I’m making tonight. If you’re gonna go out, get your own food."

"Harsh. You are the worst person to live with."

Justin shoots me his middle finger as I walk out the door.

When I step outside, I realize that I don’t really know where Josh is. I’m assuming he and the rest of the gang are at HQ, but in reality, they could be anywhere around here.

But does that mean I’m gonna just let it go? Hell no.

I’m honestly not a violent person—I swear. I don’t go out looking for blood—not without reason, anyway. I don’t start fights, but I’ll gladly engage in them if someone else starts something with me. Those kids in the bathroom earlier today? They started something with me, though I don’t think they knew it. Josh and the gang have definitely started something with me—and they do know it. So if I end up kicking at least a few of their asses, they’ll know they had it coming.

Okay, so maybe I am just a little bit violent.

But I wouldn’t be doing this if Josh hadn’t started going after Vic. That’s stepping over the line. Vic didn’t even do anything. I’m not letting him get sucked into this any more than he already is.

I find myself getting angrier and angrier the longer I think about this. By the time I reach HQ, I’m so pissed and unstable that I have to stop and take a few minutes to calm myself down. I’ve come up with a plan. I’m not going to beat them up. I’m going to steal from them, like they tried to steal from us.

Once I feel confident that I am no longer completely homicidal, I press my ear up to the front door. I don’t hear anything, so I push it open, stepping carefully inside. The main floor is empty, and I still can’t hear any voices from either upstairs or downstairs, so I make my way to the trapdoor and open it up. It blends right in with the rest of the floor; if it weren’t for the short handle sticking up, and the fact that I’ve seen the gang open it themselves, I wouldn’t even know it was there.

I still can’t hear anyone, so I slide down the stairs, back into the basement. When I turn the corner, I make the mistake of glancing over to where I was yesterday. On the floor there’s a bloodstain, right where Oli got hit. By me. By my knife.

I keep walking.

I turn and navigate my way through the widely arranged furniture until I reach one of the beds on the far side. I’ve been here before. I know the drill.

I lift the mattress up, and sure enough, there they are—weapons and drugs. I pull the small black backpack that I brought off of my shoulder and set it down on the floor, opening it up and shoving everything inside. I know there’s more, though, so I search under every piece of furniture. Pills and powders, knives and guns, syringes for injections, matches and lighters—it’s all here. I know for a fact that they deal drugs. I wonder what would happen if they found they had no drugs left to deal? I mean, they’d probably get more from somewhere, but this will set them back, and so will the lack of weapons. Oli said they had extras—well, now those extras are gone.