CHAPTER 6: GUNS
"Come on!" I shouted pulling Kurt onto the B train. It slowly lurched forward and we rolled sat in the row next to the door. It was 8 in the morning and there was only 5 other people on the train. "So." I said to Kurt as he flicked a piece of his chestnut hair out of his face. "This way to your dad's house?" He nodded. We drove the bus back to New York and we were on our way to his dads sitting in the lonely, quiet subway car. "He uh..." Kurt started. "My dad...he doesn't...really like company." It almost seemed as if he has trouble looking at me. It seemed as if there was an awkward wall of silence blocking connection between us. Was it because I told him about my dream? Is it because we are seeing his dad? I don't know. "Why are we going. I mean, what is there to say?" I grabbed his arm and lay my head on his shoulder. "Because he needs to know that you are sick of his drama. Okay? We are going." He nodded in response.
About three hours later we were standing on Blard ave. in Brooklyn New York. Every house was exactly the same but not in a good way. Everyone stared at you and they all seemed like a bunch of bikers that are about to drive right over you. "It's not the best part of town. Just follow my lead." Kurt whispered as we walked up to the wooden door. A golden key was clutched in his hand. It had a rigid end and it reminded me of a sharp knife that doctors use to fix a war wound. Anyway, Kurt slowly placed his knuckles on the door and knocked loudly. Nobody answered. He dug the key into the hole and slowly unlocked it. Kurt grasped the handle and turned it. The first thing I noticed was the smell if smoke. It waltzed into the room like a gust of cold wind on a winters day. The first room contained a plaid couch shoved against the wall and a cot lay on the floor. A fold up chair sat against the side of the couch and a burning ember from a cigarette floated towards the ceiling. It was recently lit and whoever lit it was somewhere in the house. We walked farther into the kitchen and I hugged Kurt's side. I didn't know where we were and it was scary. All the rooms were dark and windowless. The kitchen was just a counter and a dining room chandelier but it was empty besides that. I followed Kurt into one last room that was occupied by one book shelf stacked with heroin, medication containers, and miller lites. The shelf wasn't pushed all the way up against the wall which meant someone was behind it. Kurt grabbed the knife off of the shelf and looked behind it. Before we knew it a tall man with a blue paradise tank top and purple shorts down to the threads pointed a gun at us. A thick mustache stretched across his upper lip and a forest of hair lay across the top of his head. His eyes were brown and looked like Kurt's. "What the hell do you guys want?" He asked with a deep voice. Unfortunately we were all sharing the same air as for the room was small and it smelled like smoke. Kurt shuttered and took a step back. The knife in his hand pushed forward as he stood staring. "Dad. Please don't." As soon as Kurt said 'dad' my heart raced. Kurt's dad took off out of the room. "I'm doing this to protect you. Please trust me." Kurt said. Before I could ask anything, he ran to the door, and locked me in. "KURT!" I yelled banging my fists of the door. "KURT!" But nothing happened. Everything fell silent. I looked around breathing heavily when a twined rope knot caught my eye. I walked over to it, pulling the rope off of a small chest. Inside were knives, whips, ropes, and a bunch of other things he used to hurt Kurt. I thought about his scars as how his father made them. I dug passed all the shameful weapons and found an envelope. I pulled out a small folded up piece of paper. Since I didn't have the time to read it, I looked at the signature. 'Love mom.' Was written in cursive. Just then a yum shot vibrated through my mind. "KURT!" I yelled. The door busted down and Kurt tried to run for me. His dad stood behind him shooting at every moment possible. "Come on!" He yelled. Just then, I grabbed is knife and threw it at his father were it ripped right through his shirt and sliced his skin. He dropped to the ground. One last gunshot and a bullet shot toward us. Kurt fell into my arms.