Angel of Chaos

Chapter I

Sometimes I imagine myself in a different world. A world were my parents gave a shit about me. A world where I didn't end up slinging drugs on the streets. I don't know when I lost my motivation to be more than what my father was. I knew that day must have been a bad one though. Most of my days were bad if I was honest with myself. This wasn't a way to live. Someone had told me once I was a wasted talent. I'd taken that to heart.

Here I was though, slipping crack into a junkies hand. He nodded excitedly at me. I calmly nodded once and turned away from him. Cold wind rushed around my face. My nose was almost numb. My cheeks tingled from blasting wind.
   
My days had been the same for 3 months. Wake up. Smoke. Eat junk. Chug a beer. Slip my gun into the front of my jeans. Pack up my supply. Head out. Sell for 3 hours. Come back home. Eat junk. Smoke. The cycle continued until about 11. Then I spent 11 to 3 drowning in alcohol and weed. That day as I turned away from the junkie the cycle broke. Sitting on top of a picnic table in the park at my back was a woman scribbling vigorously in a notepad. Maybe a sketch pad. Deep auburn hair hung in her face as she scribbled.

Cold rushed into me and I pulled my coat around me. The wind blew through her hair and she seemed to get frustrated and yank hair away from her face. Then she looked up and right into my eyes. The shock of her eyes was like a gut punch. My hands shook as I looked at her. She blinked and it seemed to break the trance we both seemed to be in. She hopped up and started packing her notepad and colored pencils. Sketching then. Pencils fell to the snow covered ground and I heard her hiss.

"Shit." Her voice was soft, openly frustrated. I started to jog over.

As I got closer I realized this woman was not the kind of woman I typically went for. I tended to go for woman that looked good on my arm. Tall, blonde and skinny like me. The type of woman covered in a thick layer of fake. Fake tits. Fake ass. Makeup so heavy their faces looked flawless.  The kind that worshipped me because I had money. I let them because no matter what they did I wouldn't stay with them forever. They were just a fuck.

This girl was not that. Diamonds in her ears. She had money of her own. She was short. Short enough for me to get a crick in my neck from looking down at her all the time. She was thick. It was hard to tell much in her winter coat but her thighs were visible in her jeans. That dark hair hung in loose natural waves. I could see no make up on her at all. Maybe a little chapstick. Her cheeks flamed bright when she looked up at me. Naturally beautiful.

"Oh...you are much taller close up." She said and then her mouth dropped open like she couldn't believe she had just said that. I chuckled and bent down to pick up a pencil she had missed.

"Starin' at me, girl? I'll give you the ride of your life. " I grinned when I handed the pencil back to her. Her nose wrinkled.

"Do you talk like that because you sell drugs?" She yelped after she said that. "Ohmygod, Elle. Just get yourself killed why don't you?" She growled at herself. "I'm so sorry. I am going to go." She grabbed all her stuff and crushed it to her chest. I stepped in front of her as she tried to speed away. I grabbed her arm lightly and pulled her towards me.

"Yes, I do. Comes with the territory. Junkies don't trust an educated mother fucker." I spoke the way I spoke to my mother sometimes. 
After years of working this life you develop habits. The way your crowd speaks, the things they find  funny. It all becomes natural to you as well. "I'm Dex. You're Elle?" But Elle was staring at my hand that had grabbed her. My coat had slid up my arm and she could see a tiny bit of the tattoos there.

"Are these all over you?" She sounded like she was in awe of the tattoos.

"Ya know, you're kinda rude." I stepped back away from her.

"What? Yes, Elle." Her head snapped up to look at me.

"You rude, girl!" I laughed but was actually a little offended.

"I came out here to draw! You came up to me acting like a fool. You are rude." Flames danced in her grey eyes.

"Draw? Were you fuckin' drawin' me?" I felt my eyes narrow and I reached out to yanked away her sketch pad. I held it up high so she couldn't reach it.

"Hey! Give it the fuck back, asshole!"

"Shut up." I opened up the sketch pad and thumbed through.

What I saw was beautiful. Dark and harsh lined sketches. A dying rose. A woman ripping her own heart out. Crows pecking away at a rib cage. The last page was me. Hood pulled up around my face. My hand outstretched with a tiny baggie in it. A cigarette in my mouth  and dead eyes. She has somehow managed to make my eyes look completely lifeless. Like a corpse in a body that wasn't yet rotting. I glanced up at the girl. Her cheeks were bright red again and she had looked away from me.

"Why did you draw me like this?" I asked spinning the pad around so she could see.

"That's how you look?" She looked back at me instead of the drawing.

"Like a walking corpse?" I snapped. For some reason the image shook me to my core.

"Yes." There was no hesitation in her answer. No lie. Just the truth shining brilliantly in her gunmetal eyes.

"You really are rude as fuck. Get the fuck off my block." I ripped out the sketch in her book and shoved the pad back at her.

"Your block? You don't have a reason to kick me off 'your block.'" She looked like I had actually pissed her off now. I leaned down into her face and shoved the sketch in her face.

"You could take this to the cops couldn't you bitch?" I growled. I don't know what I expected her to do but it was not slapping me so hard she busted my lip. That is exactly what happened though. I jerked back away from her and covered my face.

"Owww! Fuck." She was shaking her handout like it hurt. Good. "What are you made of? Steel?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I yelled at her, throwing my hands up.

"Oh god. You're bleeding." Her whole demeanor shifted.

Her eyes soften and she stepped into me. She tugged lightly on my coat to get me to bend. I was locked in her softened eyes and bent in the middle. Her cold hand cupped my jaw. I closed my eyes for a moment and let myself feel her soft skin against my face. I could hear her digging in her bag but her hand never left my face.

Slowly my core heated. My heart started to pound like it hadn't in years. The muscles in my jaw under her hands flexed. My chest constricted and my breath heaved out of me. It sounded as if water was rushing high speed through my ears. I was certain I was in some kind of a fit. My thoughts came in a massive rush.

Is this what a panic attack feels like? Am I going to die from a slap? What the fuck is going on? I can't fucking breathe.

Elle moved her hand and everything stopped. Then tilted towards her. She appeared to have a small first aid kit in her bag. Either she was a nurse or clumsy. She motioned for me to sit on the picnic table and I did. She press a small piece of gauze to my lip and held it there for a moment before she looked up into my eyes.

My axis shifted into full tilt.