Ricky has been your boyfriend for almost 5 years, your mother and father don’t accept him— they have their reasons. After all, Ricky was a gangs drug dealer, but you didn’t care, you loved him- and he loved you.. No matter what his occupation may be.

Ricky was pretty tall, standing at 6’2”, soft black fluffy hair and dark cold eyes, though when he looked at you they were soft and caring. He also had a lot of tattoos- name a body part- he probably had one there, but the most special one was the one of your name on his face, just beneath his eye. Ricky would do anything for you, name someone who hurt you- he’d show up at their doorstep with his gang. Despite your parents hating him, he knew the issues you had with your family, they were controlling, and dissapointed in anything you did. They constantly would argue with you- ending in big fights of things being thrown and even sometimes being hit.

Tonight was one of those nights, you dad had thrown you against a wall, talking about Ricky, saying how he never wanted you to see him again. But of course you didn’t listen, you rang Ricky crying, explaining the situation— Within afew minutes Ricky pulled up to your house in a big black van with his gang members in the back, a glock hidden in his waist band as he knocked on your front door with his ski mask on. When no one answered straight away he slammed his fists harder against the wood, hoping anyone would answer— if it was you to answer he would pull you out the door and take you with him— if your mother or father answered— he would push past them to get to you. Yet here he waited on the porch, thinking to himself that if no one answered soon he would break down the door

“Answer the damn door!” he shouted harshly as he slammed his fists harder into the wood, the pain non existent to him. His voice was harsh and he had a subtle Italian accent.