Chapter One

Wooo! Let's go! Book Three 😁😁

Aegis

Chapter One

Hiking my backpack higher onto my shoulders, I keep my head down as I duck through various alleyways trying to reach my destination. It is drizzling out and I just want to get out of the rain as quickly as possible, I can't catch a cold, I don't want to get anyone sick around me. My hood brushes against my buzzed hair as I duck and weave through various side streets. The buildings provide no coverage from the rain, but rather tunnel the biting winds making it harder to walk.

Tugging my sweatshirt closer, I'm surprised that I am not shivering yet.

Making a left, I pick up my head as I hear voices; I don't want to encounter anyone back here. Cutting back over towards the main road, I see a woman and a man arguing at the end of the alleyway but there was no way for me to turn back at this point. I will just drop my head and walk around them. Doing exactly so I almost past the arguing couple when I hear a squeak and the sound of a jacket rustling catches my attention. Turning back on my heel I see the man's hand moving towards the woman and without even thinking, I duck in the way and take the blow to the jaw.

Pulling my scarf higher on my face, I hide the results of what he just did and stare into the man's clearly not sober eyes and give him my nastiest glare. He curses at me and grabs me by the shoulder, I throw one punch, the only self-defense I know, and knock him out cold. Pulling my hand back I tuck into my pocket as the skin feels taut and tense.

"Why did you do that?" The shell-shocked woman behind me asks.

"I didn't even process what I was doing until I had already eaten the punch," I mumble stepping away from her, towards the opening by the street.

"He's going to hurt me worse once he wakes up," she says with tears in her eyes.

"Are you married?"

"No,"

"Do you live together?"

"Yes,"

"Are both of your names on the lease?" I ask bluntly, and she looks at me confused. I'm still mastering the art of being compassionate on a very finite timeline.

"No, just mine," she says.

"I'm heading towards a women's shelter if you need a place to sleep for the night until you file for a restraining order," I say simply. She's in a good situation to remove him from her life altogether but that would be up to her, not me.

"Restraining order?"

"You can do whatever you please, but I wouldn't stay with anyone willing to hit me," I say as blurry memories pop up. I am sympathetic towards abuse victims, it's such a dark hole to be stuck down.

"I-I I don't know what to do," she stutters out with fear in his eyes as she glances down at the unconscious man.

"Who is more important? You, or him?" I've had to learn how to have these conversations more efficiently, remove as many variables as possible, keep it short and concise, don't give them the room to over complicate it. But sometimes I can still come off a little harsh.

"I love him," she says jutting her chin out.

"Then stay here and take him to the hospital when he wakes up," I say neutrally.

"He's going to be very mad when he wakes up," she says, and I just shake my head.

"Are you scared of him?" I ask her seriously and she drops her gaze and falls silent.

"I have been with the woman's shelter long enough to know that if you fear the person you supposedly love, and they are willing to hit you in a fit of rage, then it is not love," I say calmly but firmly. How many times have I heard that be said to the woman that rotate in and out?

She stands there with tears in her eyes and wringing her hands and I would smile at her, but my mouth is covered by my scarf. I gesture for her to follow me and she hesitates for a moment before staring at the man on the ground. She slowly starts following me and we walk in a tense silence as we walk the last few blocks to the shelter.

"Do you work at this shelter?" She asks me quietly.

"I volunteer there," I say honestly, but opt to admit some things from that truth.

"Thank you," she says quietly, and I chuckle.

"Women have to stick together," I say smiling to myself.

"Are you hurt?" She asks me seriously and I shake my head.

"You are not the first woman I have stepped in front a punch for," I say avoiding the fact that I have probably done this five or six times now.

Praying that we haven't hit capacity today, I am thankful when I see there is a single bed space marked on the door. Yanking the doors open to the shelter, the woman follows me as I walk her through check-in and someone else takes her to her cot and gives her a blanket and pillow for the evening. Walking into the kitchen I drop my stuff in the corner and wash my hands. I am handed a chef's knife and I start chopping with my battered hand, trying to ignore the rough shiny material that has covered my knuckles.

"Zana," a firm voice says from behind me.

"Yes, T?" I ask her, ignoring my hand.

"We've talked about you interfering with people's affairs and getting hurt because of it," her voice says sounding closer.

"I'm fine," I say.

"Then take your scarf off,"

Putting the knife firmly down on the counter, I spin around and yank the scarf down frustrated. Looking into T's dark brown eyes, I can see the concern in them, and I try to not lash out her, she is just worried about me after all. She brushes her fingers along the now jagged part of my face, where I was hit earlier before I pull the scarf back up. She runs her hand over her longer hair. Meeting her gaze, I am thankful for the fact that we look so similar, as she is the only reason I am currently enrolled in school.

Her hands tense for a few moments and I can see the stress in her face as her crow's feet wrinkle momentarily. She hates when I get hurt, it increases the chance of someone noticing my weird reaction to being injured. But I can't quite help it, it's not like I actively go searching for trouble, it always just seems to wander into my path. I do enjoy helping people, but I know keeping T from worrying is more important.

Eventually, she sighs and walks away, and I go back to preparing the meal for tonight. When dinner time rolls around, I have my hand wrapped up and the women I helped earlier today come and sits next to me. I work on my schoolwork and we eat in silence. I am thankful that the jagged part has started to recede on my face. I take my work to my cot and accidentally stay up for hours trying to finish all my assignments. As two in the morning rolls around, I finally finish and am thankful to finally lay down.

Getting about four hours asleep is normal for me at this point and it's a necessity. The only reason I can continue to stay here continuously is that I do so much volunteer work, and so I push my schoolwork off until later in the evenings. T doesn't approve of my actions, but as the person to run the shelter, she knows she needs all the help that they can get, and I don't exactly make a fuss. My flip phone starts vibrating at me early the next morning and I quickly shut it off.

I drop my bag of personal belongings into T's office before I leave and head off to school. The beaten part of my face has relaxed as did the marks on my hand. I run my fingers across my face absentmindedly during class and marvel at how smooth the skin is again. As I am leaving the classroom, I hear snickering behind me and duck over towards my locker as two guys stand on either side of me. I grab my books and slip them into my bag and slam the locker violently.

"Hey cutie, how was class?" The taller of the two ask me and I bite my tongue.

Turning on my heel, I try to quickly escape this situation before it escalates any further. I need to stay out of trouble right now! A calloused hand grabs my arm and I stall and look back. The same tall, blonde, has my arm in his hand with a smirk on his face.

"Where are you going? We just want to talk," he says with a coy smile and an aggressive look in his eyes.

"You should never touch a woman without her permission," I seethe before whacking him with my backpack, stomping on his overpriced sneakers and practically running away. It wasn't uncommon for some boys to treat me like this, ever since I mentioned in a debate that I was queer, they've been making that I just haven't met the right guy and who would be the one to woo me back to being straight.

I am thankful when I am outside again, the cool air feels nice on my face as I quickly descend the steps and hit the sidewalk. I make my way downtown, back towards the shelter, but get sidetracked by all of the Christmas decorations that are starting to go up. I start walking down a few different roads and am quickly swallowed by a crowd of people all looking at a window display. The soft, colorful lights twinkle innocently, and I can't help the small smile that crosses my face. I love this time of year; everyone is just a bit nicer.

Bouncing back towards the side streets, I start weaving my way over towards the shelter and stall when I see people in one of the alleyways. Fear paralyzes my body as I see two men in my way, and one of them is pointing a gun. The man's eyes shift towards me and my stomach churns so violently as I stare into deep red eyes, that's not natural. We don't break eye contact as I take in his longer almost silver hair and warm tanned skin, yet he has a pale undertone to his appearance. The bags under his eyes are nearly purple and I can see a massive scar going through his one lip. The gun fires and I take a step back in shock and the other man drops to his knees.

Run you, idiot, I scream at myself, but I am not quick enough as the second shot is aimed at me and hits me square in the chest. The pain radiates through my body and I crumble to the ground in a ball. I force my breathing to become even more ragged as he approaches. The panic that is slowly consuming me makes it easier for me to not have to pretend. How did I even get into this situation?

"Stupid kid, don't you know not to wander around in alleys?" A swift kick to the back of my head makes me see spots for a few moments as the man walks away.

I lay on the ground for a while until I am absolutely sure that he is gone. I slowly push myself up and find the back of my head completely rough. Yanking off my sweat-soaked sweatshirt, I take it with me and feel my chest area. The area is as hard as a rock, but the bullet is just sitting in my bra. Throwing the bullet into a dumpster a few blocks away; I finally make it back to the shelter and rush to T's office practically in tears.

"T!" I yell bursting into her office and her head whips up surprised.

"What happened?" She asks rushing over and closing the door before ushering me into a chair.

Her hand stalls on my shoulder as she sees the hole in my shirt Her fingers brush against the hole in the cloth and pokes at it before very gently brushing against my now rock-hard skin. Her shaking hands retreat to her lap and tears burn in my eyes.

"I was just walking home T! I cut down the wrong alleyway trying to get back here quicker, and I-I stumbled upon something I shouldn't have. Please don't be mad at me, I'm so sorry T," I blubber. The logical part of me tells me that she would never kick me out, but anxiety and fear tend to overpower logic.

"Are you hurt?" She asks me in a very soft voice.

"My skin is hardened again but I'm fine, the bullet didn't pierce my skin," I say seriously, and her brown eyes look at me.

"For all that is good in this world, start taking the long way home," she says sternly, and I start to calm down.

She stands up rather abruptly and walks over to her desk, I watch as she pulls out a baggy long sleeve shirt and a hat. Handing it to me, I spin around and quickly change. Pulling the beanie onto my head, it feels strange against my rock-hard skin, but I am thankful for the fact that no one will be able to see the back of my head right now. I had sprinted so quickly to her office I doubt anyone would have noticed anything anyway.

T and I talk for a few moments before she asks if I can help in the kitchen today, our cook called out sick again today. It wasn't uncommon for people to call out, it was all on a volunteer basis except for T's job. I quickly agree to help out, and I can tell she is trying to read me.

"Did you get your report card today?" She asks me, and I look at her slightly surprised, but then again, she always remembers.

I pull out the manila envelope and hand it over to her. She opens it eagerly and I watch as her eyes light up slightly as she checks over my grades. I already know what she is looking at, straight A's plus my GPA is sitting at a 3.92 overall. I don't mess around when it came to my studies. I need to graduate with good marks, so I can go to college and make something of a life for myself. I don't have a choice to do well in school, it is the only thing that will get me off of the streets.

"I'm proud of you Zana," she says seriously.

At that moment I am not worried about the rock-hard skin on my chest and the back of my head. I am not worried about the man that just tried to kill me and I am not worried about the stupid boys at school. I relish in hearing those five words for those few seconds and remind myself why T and I have this deal.

"Thank you for everything," I say seriously. Meeting T was one of the best things ever to me and I am thankful every day to have her supporting me.

"Stay out of trouble," she says swatting at me with the folder, but she doesn't give it back. She always keeps my report cards; they are hung up somewhere apparently.

"I don't go looking for it!" I yell defending myself and she shakes her head amused. I don't seek out the danger, I just have a bad habit of cutting down the wrong side streets. Circa city isn't exactly the safest place for a homeless teenager

"If you weren't bulletproof, we would have a lot of bigger issues to be dealing with," she growls out, but she has a spark in her eye. She's not angry, just worried.

"Alright, I am off to the kitchen," I say grabbing my bag and heading to work.

Dinner is slightly late because it is only me tonight to finish prepping for almost one hundred people, but nobody makes a fuss. Everyone is thankful for the meal, and many pitch in and try to help me try to serve everything. When everyone is finally served, this is just one bowl left for me. I grab my bag and plop down at the one table in the corner and yank out all of my books and get to work studying while eating. Somebody comes and takes my empty bowl from me later on and I smile at them thankful. A lot of the frequent women here help with clean up and to set up for the evening.

When midnight rolls around, I am almost done my work. Tonight, is a lighter night considering we just went through our midterm exams and I am thankful for being able to go to bed slightly earlier in hopes that my skin will return to normal but the time that I wake up tomorrow.