I hated my life, even as a little girl. I never got what other girls got; hell, I was lucky to get a bed to sleep in. Most of the time my mother didn't know I existed; she was usually passed out on the couch from last night's God knows what.

We weren't always this messed up. Very faintly I can remember my father and mother talking and laughing, and my mother telling me she loved me most in the world. We were happy, the three of us. I loved my Papa.

Goddamn son of bitch just had to leave, didn't he?

The summer of my senior year didn't start any differently then any of my other past school years. I got up, grabbed my momentarily light backpack (stupid things are SO heavy), ignored the smell of drugs emitting from the woman that birthed me, and, stuffing a piece of dry toast in my mouth, walked out the door to go catch the bus. Sad, no? I finally made it to senior year, my last year of high school, and I STILL had to take the stupid bus. Was there no justice left in the world?

I made it to the bus stop in time to see the tormenter of the ozone layer, AKA the bus, take off down the road, the annoying little freshman making faces at me through the back window. I hoped they fell out. I sighed, and started walking the six miles to Harrison East Side High School.

I was at least forty-five minutes late to first period when some bozo came tearing down the sidewalk, screaming and pushing 80 mph. I froze. There was no time to react, I was going to die. And suddenly the car was stopped.

In front of the car (the driver had passed out), was a man, but not just any man. He had messy, neck long, black hair, and even though a large chunk of his front bangs were pure white, he only looked early 20s at the oldest. The most bizarre part was the huge black angel wings that were right in front of my face. Great, I thought, now I'm on crack on top of being late to English.

The oddball creation of my crack usage walked around to the driver's side of the car. He touched the guy's forehead. "Remember none of this, mortal, or this anila's face," he said. His voice jogged my memory, besides sending shivers up my spine. He turned to me, his eyes an intense gray.

I stared blankly at him. "Who the hell are you?"

A slight smirk appeared on his face, which before seemed rather blank and expressionless. "Lovely. I am no one in a mood to be trifled with, Anila Inakayla."

I rolled my eyes, then sighed. "Okay, I don't who the hell you are, how you know my name's Inakayla, and what the fuck you are, but I-"

The jerk interrupted me. "Aren't you late for your first period class. English, isn't it?"
He laughed at me as I cursed. "Great," I muttered, "I'm late for a class I know I'm going to flunk, I've got a freako stalker, and I nearly die! What next God?!"
The guy with the wings tossed something at me. "My name is Rhondon, Anila Inakayla, and your kamali. Spirit help us, Bade won't like you. Not that that's a bad thing." And he left; laughing at whatever he thought was so damn funny.
I looked at the thing he threw at me, which I miraculously managed to catch. It was a perfect black rose. Somehow, in the confusion in my mind I realized that it had crimson thorns, and the thorns were cutting into my hand.

Somehow, I didn't care.

((A/N: I fixed the quotation stuff! Enjoy, and R&R))