Between two kops

Chapter seventeen

Steven

Harsh sunlight cut straight through the blinds, right where a plastic slat was missing, hitting me dead in my half closed, swollen eyes. My head was uncomfortably heavy, and I could still taste the bitter flavor of last night's defeat mixed with beer and votka in my mouth. Feeling completely wrecked, I reached for my phone on the nightstand and glanced at the screen: 10:15. s**t. My first two classes were already completely shot to hell. Looks like I'm smoothly skipping school again today... Whatever, f**k it anyway, the world isn't gonna end over one more unexcused absence.

But what actually jerked me awake and finally dragged me out of bed wasn't that f*****g sun in my eyes, but the furious, raised voices echoing from the living room. Looks like my mom and dad were going at it again over some petty bullshit or another added to the endless list of made up problems.

I sat straight up and got out of bed with a heavy sigh. Honestly, I didn't have an ounce of strength or desire to make the bed and tidy it up right now. Ignoring the absolute mess in my room, I opened the closet and grabbed the first pair of cotton shorts that caught my hand. I threw them on quickly and headed toward the hallway. Only then, as I walked toward the door, did my brain finally wake up completely and start rewinding last night's scenes... That stupid loss right at the end of the Derby, then that bloody throwdown with the Grobari in the park after the match... Pure madness of a night, bro.

I walked out into the living room and ran straight into the well known hell. Mom and Dad were screaming at each other at the top of their lungs, eyes bulging and veins throbbing on their necks. A pretty much daily, classic scene in our pathetic, worthless house.

"It can't go on like this anymore, do you hear me?!" Mom's voice cut through my noisy steps on the old laminate floor.

"And how's it supposed to be, Jovana?!" Dad shot back a second later, even louder, full of attitude.

"You're going to stop drinking, or I'm leaving this house this exact second?!"

"Oh, go f**k yourself already! I'm just wondering who'd even take in someone as sloppy and lazy as you?!"

"So now I'm suddenly sloppy and lazy to you? You drunk i***t!"

"No s**t, what else are you?! Go ahead, enlighten me, please... When was the last time you brought any money into this house? When, huh? Never, f**k! If it wasn't for me, everyone here would've starved to death."

I stopped just a couple of steps from the bathroom. That familiar squeak of the old laminate betrayed me smoothly. Both of them broke off their argument at the same time and whipped around to look at me.

Mom was the first to drop her gaze bitterly to the floor. Dad didn't. He just stared at me motionless with that heavy, hungover, blurry gaze of his, full of some sick disappointment. As if I, just by existing, was the one who ruined his entire life and all his plans.

"Here comes your little son," he muttered bitterly through his teeth.

"Good morning to you too."

"Good morning? It's ten o'clock, Steven!"

"So?"

"So school started at eight?!"

"I know it started at eight, Dad."

"Then what the f**k are you doing here?!"

I just shook my head indifferently and kept walking toward the bathroom. I didn't have the slightest desire or strength to explain to him where I was last night and why I was late. As blind and drunk as both of them were on their own rage, they didn't even notice that my entire face was beat up and bruised from last night's fight... Ha... so much for them, their attention, and that famous parenting.

"Steven, I asked you something?!" he shouted after me.

"Like you'd understand anything, Dad..."

"I understand everything just fine! You go to those beat down matches of yours, you do drugs over there with those junkies off the street, and you do f*****g nothing with your life! You don't give a damn about anything!"

"And like you know a single thing about my life?! Suddenly, imagine that, you care about my life, huh?! Come on, Dad, stop talking s**t, please!"

"Steven..." Mom chimed in nervously, trying to signal me with her eyes to shut up and not pour oil on the fire. Well, enough was enough... I'm not keeping quiet for anyone anymore, f**k this.

"What, mom?!" My voice shot out of my throat much louder, rougher, and more out of control than I had planned. Everything inside me suddenly snapped, and the words just started pouring out of my mouth.

"Every single day I listen to you two screaming at each other. Every f*****g day! And then you both remember me when you need to find someone to blame for your miserable lives!"

"Well, we only argue because of you! You ungrateful brat!" Dad yelled.

I laughed softly, with a massive dose of irony in me... Classic, well rehearsed parents' poetry, about how I shouldn't have even been born and how I'm just ruining their lives and family... I've been hearing that exact same story since the day I was f*****g born, every single goddamn day, to the point where I know every single next sentence and curse word directed strictly at me in advance.

"Then why the f**k did you even make me?! Did I choose to be born on my own, huh?!"

"Don't you dare be so rude, Steven!" Mom said, trying to cool things down.

"Whatever, I don't give a f**k about anything anymore..."

Dad took a step toward me. He was still clutching a nearly empty glass bottle in his left hand, while already dropping his right hand and tightening it into a solid fist.

"Watch your mouth when you talk to me, you little piece of s**t!"

"What?! You're gonna hit me, huh?!"

I didn't back down a single millimeter. I f*****g wasn't afraid of him at all anymore. If he wants to fight, we'll throw down like men, right here on the spot. But I sure as hell wasn't going to let him intimidate me with those constant threats of his ever again in my life.

Mom suddenly stepped between us, terrified, knowing full well that Dad was ready to physically come at me. All three of us knew that damn well in that second. After all, that was always his only move... Screaming, violence, blows, and forever playing the victim.

I didn't want to wait another second for this argument to turn into something even worse and bloodier. I turned around without a word, walked into the bathroom, and slammed the wooden door behind me. Only when I was left alone in that silence, leaning against the tiles, did I realize how hard my heart was actually pounding in my chest.

I pressed both hands against the sink and looked closely at my reflection in the mirror. A purple, bruised shiner stretched out under my left eye, crossed my cheekbone, and went all the way to my temple. It wasn't anything massively huge, but it was more than enough for anyone to spot from a mile away. My lip was slightly split right down the middle... That two meter tall freak really clocked me good in the chaos last night.

I don't even know why, but I gently touched the swollen skin with my fingers and instantly winced from the sharp, stinging pain.

"Fuck..." I muttered.

I cranked the faucet all the way open and started painfully washing my face with ice cold water. With every touch, I only intensified the stinging and the pain. I kept my wet hands pressed over my face for a long time, trying to somehow clear the hangover out of my head and calm down that uncomfortable, throbbing heat of my skin, if even a little bit.

***

"Bro, I swear to you, we haven't had a brawl nearly this serious with the Grobari in a long time."

Victor Tanasijević was sitting across from me in the garden of a local cafe bar, dead serious with wide open pupils, recounting last night's scenes from the Derby. Meanwhile, I was listlessly stirring with a tiny spoon a coffee I didn't even have any desire to drink.

"Bro, everything was going awesome until the riot cops f****d up the whole brawl by showing up," I said, looking up at the sky.

Even though it was barely half past eleven in the morning, dark clouds had already heavily covered what little sun was supposed to warm us up today. That's our standard Balkan ritual right before the start of summer. One day the sun is scorching, and the next it's rain and total storms. One minute it's a pleasant 25°C, and the next a gale force wind is knocking down trees and ripping everything apart. Classic story, my brother...

"You think someone might've tipped off the cops? We were fighting in that dark park in the middle of the night, no passerby could've seen us on that clearing without a shred of light," Victor mused, lighting a cigarette.

"We were probably just tailed by some plainclothes cop while we were meeting up... I doubt anyone snitched to the fuzz."

Victor stayed silent for a few seconds, staring at the smoke from his cigarette slowly dissolving above his head.

"Anything's possible, bro."

"Gimme a smoke... My damn pack fell out of my pocket in the middle of that scramble last night."

Without a second thought, Victor immediately handed me his pack of cigarettes and a lighter that was already running dangerously low. I took a smoke, put it in my mouth, skillfully lit it, and took that first, long drag. Pure relief in my head, my brother...

"Where's Dean anyway?" I asked him, blowing smoke toward the sky.

Out of the three of us in the crew, I honestly expected Dean to be the one to ditch school without a second thought and be the first to roll up here to hang out, but instead, Victor and I beat him to it. Dean took off somewhere last night and isn't answering his phone at all. Who knows where that lunatic went and who he woke up next to...

He's probably hanging out somewhere with some chick while Victor and I sip coffee and wonder what's going on with him. Old player...

"No clue, bro. I called him a couple of times, his phone is completely off," Victor said, shrugging his shoulders.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed loudly against the glass table of the cafe bar. Who the f**k could that be now?

"Is that maybe Dean?" Victor hoped.

I picked up the phone and checked the notifications on the cracked screen. I shook my head miraculously, it was Christina, not Dean. How the hell did she end up messaging me on i********:?

My first thought was that this wasn't just another one of Nick's pranks and provocations. Nowadays, a lot of girls give their social media passwords to their boyfriends, and vice versa... acting like jealous stalkers, bro. Realistically, why would she even write to me... I wondered.

I unlocked my phone and went straight into her chat.

"Hey, sorry for texting you out of nowhere like this... Could you maybe come over to my place in an hour, so we can work on that history project together?"

Ah, yeah... I completely forgot about that f*****g history school project.

"I can roll up," I texted her back briefly and coldly, not making too big a deal out of the whole thing...

"Great! See you then, Steven."

"You didn't give me your address."

"Oh, yeah! Jovana Gavrilovića Street 15"

"Awesome, I know where that is... See you, princess."

I knew damn well she iced me out and left me on read solely because of that nickname I threw at her on purpose. That nickname annoyed her more than anything, which, of course, was only a bigger and sweeter reason for me to keep calling her that all the time.

"Oho, you're smiling and typing away. Some chick, huh?" Victor's cheerful, teasing voice abruptly snapped me out of my thoughts. I had completely forgotten I was even sitting in a cafe bar with him.

"Nah, nothing special, bro," I said and locked my phone, putting it on the table.

"Oh, stop bullshitting, please... You wouldn't be smirking slyly at that screen if that girl was irrelevant to you!"

"I'm telling you straight, my brother... Nothing special, chill."

Victor just smirked slyly and shook his head indifferently. He knew me long enough to figure out exactly when to leave me alone, but also well enough to know I usually only spill the full story when someone bugs me long enough.

"Come on, talk, bro... I'm all ears," Victor said, leaning back into his chair.

I looked at him across the edge of the table. For a second, I seriously considered telling him about Christina. Telling him how last night, in the middle of that f*****g chaos and everything happening at the stadium, I was thinking about her again. How I imagined her across from me, on the South stand, among thousands of Grobari. How it was enough just knowing she was somewhere over there for my whole brain to completely fall apart.

"Nah, bro... just some girl from school. The teacher dumped a history project on us, pure hell..."

I dropped my gaze to the table, pretending I didn't care about Christina or that project at all. But knowing Victor and that mug of his, I knew I wasn't gonna fool him so easily with my fake expressions and cold attitude.

"Wait, wait, bro! Don't tell me that's the little chick who slapped the living s**t out of you that night in front of the bar, huh?!" Victor suddenly cut me off with a grin.

Ah, f**k my life... I thought to myself, caught off guard.

"Did you guys actually see that, s**t?!"

"Well, alright, not everyone in the crew saw it, but I sure as hell did... Bro, that little chick dealt you a serious life lesson," Victor said and started laughing even louder.

"f**k it... It really is her," I muttered bitterly, looking away.

"I knew it! You've got a thing for that little Grobar chick, huh? That's why you defended her at the bar in front of the whole neighborhood back then. Ah, now everything makes complete sense, my boy!"

"Come on, stop breaking my balls, Victor, please... I don't have a thing for her at all. We just have that f*****g project to finish together and that's it, nothing more."

Victor started busting my chops and ribbing me now, but realistically, he wasn't wrong at all. The little Grobar chick really knew how to throw down. No joke, she was the first girl in my life who ever dared to raise a hand and hit me, and God forbid, right in front of my entire crew. Christina had serious balls, and I had to admit that to myself. It wasn't every day I ran into girls like that... and that's exactly why I liked her. She was completely different from all those plastic, empty girls in our grade.

Victor kept cracking up laughing, the instigating loser. But realistically, it was funny from the outside, except I never liked showing any emotion in my life when I actually liked someone. In our world, that's the absolute biggest weakness, and other guys from the street can't wait to use it against you. First they start threatening you, then they beat up or r**e your girlfriend, a prime example for others to show you how dangerous and serious they are in a war.

"Wait a minute... Isn't she that rich little girl? What was her name again... Oh, right! Christina Veljković?" Victor's tone suddenly turned serious.

"You know her?!" I asked him in surprise. They didn't go to the same school, and her name wasn't circulating around fan circles so much that everyone would know her.

"How could I not know her, my brother... A lot of guys from town ended up serving serious prison time because of her lawyer parents!"

That piece of information shocked me. I knew the whole story about her parents being rich, but I didn't expect them to be f*****g lawyers. In my head, I figured they just owned some big company or something...

"You know damn well, bro, that I never liked hanging around those rich snobs... but this time, things seemed completely different."

"I know, bro. A total miracle..."

"You know what the worst part is?" I said out of nowhere.

"What?"

I shrugged.

"Nothing."

"Beer?" he asked.

I looked at him, dead serious. We hadn't even finished this coffee, and he already wanted to move on to the next drink. Though, honestly, I didn't feel like drinking this coffee anyway.

"It's eleven thirty."

"So?" he raised his right eyebrow, as if I had just offended him by refusing.

"Bro, the day barely started... What do you mean, beer right now?"

"That's why I'm asking. You've got all day to think about her..."

"Ah, go f**k yourself," I said with a laugh.

"So, beer?" he asked for one last confirmation to go to the bar and grab two cold beers.

I didn't answer him, I just nodded and looked out at the street. Victor got up and headed toward the bar, while I remained at the table alone.

I stayed another half hour or so with Victor in the cafe bar garden, knocking back those mugs of beer pretty fast, just to kill that heavy feeling in my gut and get ready for what was coming. And then it was finally time to move on... Christina, her house, and the tension surrounding that project. I said goodbye to Victor and headed straight from the cafe bar toward her address. The sooner I got there, the faster we'd get it all over with, and I'd get her off my back once and for all... or at least that's what I kept telling myself as I walked down the street.

As I approached her neighborhood, everything around me started changing drastically. No more of our gray, cracked apartment buildings, painted graffiti, and smashed entryways. I was entering a quiet, sleek neighborhood with huge, modern houses, tall gates, and security cameras on every corner. A true tycoon and lawyer paradise. I walked with my hands stuffed into my cargo shorts, fully aware that with this shiner under my eye and split lip, I stuck out in this area like a wild beast let loose in a museum.

I stopped in front of a massive house, surrounded by tall concrete walls several meters high. f**k, is it really this huge?! I generally knew Christina was rich and definitely had a serious place, but honestly, I didn't quite expect something like this... This, my brother, wasn't an ordinary house. This was a f*****g Hollywood mansion...

The solid iron gate looked so brand new, as if nobody had ever even touched it. Everything was clean, honestly, way too clean for my taste. Weirdly enough, even the air itself smelled completely different in this rich neighborhood. A strong scent of freshly cut grass and some expensive flowers whose name I had no clue about drifted from the other side of those tall walls. Somewhere deep in the yard, you could hear the quiet, rhythmic sound of sprinklers meticulously doing their job, as if even the grass here had a strict schedule for when it was allowed to grow.

Next to the door, I noticed a modern button glowing light blue and a small speaker on the side. I figured I was supposed to ring it and wait for someone to finally show up. I stepped up, reached out a finger, and pressed it once, then immediately a second time.

Only then did I randomly look up and spot a huge, black camera right above the front door.

Of course. A camera too. I had a trip like it was already recording me and analyzing me longer than it should. Where the f**k did I even come to? What am I actually doing here... For a second, I seriously considered just turning on my heel and going back where I came from. My beat up sneakers suddenly felt even cheaper and dirtier than usual. Like they absolutely didn't belong on this polished concrete.

I impatiently went to ring a third time, but the heavy door beat me to it and opened on its own. An older woman in her sixties stepped right in front of me. Her uniform was literally like out of the movies black, perfectly ironed, without a single wrinkle. Do her parents actually have real servants in the mansion?! It can't get any f*****g worse than this... I muttered to myself, visibly pissed off at myself.

She sized me up briefly and coldly, from head to toe, as if trying to figure out what kind of street mug I was and what I was even doing on this doorstep.

"Good afternoon, young man. How can I help you?" the woman said in a quiet, somewhat raspy voice.

On her uniform, on the left side, I noticed a small silver tag with a name written on it.

"Good afternoon, Jovana... umm... I need Christina. We have some homework assignment to do for school."

"And you must be Steven Stajić, right?" she suddenly asked quite politely, changing her tone.

Her smile was in place, but her eyes didn't match that tone at all. As if she was already used to doing this a hundred times a day and none of all those passing people stayed in her memory at all. I understood her to some extent... Who the f**k actually likes serving spoiled rich brats? Nobody. f*****g nobody in this world.

"That's right, ma'am. In the flesh," I said briefly, trying to act more relaxed than I actually felt.

"Come in, young man. She's upstairs, in her room," she smiled softly and moved aside, leaving me plenty of room to step into the yard of this massive, expensive fortress.

I nodded in gratitude and walked past her. The yard was huge, full of vibrant flowers and a perfectly trimmed hedge that some guy, probably a gardener, was carefully shaping and cutting with big shears. Just how many people work in this house, f**k?! I asked myself internally, though I was well aware I'd probably never find out the exact number.

Everything I'd only had the chance to watch on tv up until now, in various foreign movies and shows, was staring me right in the face in all its glory. Exactly those same surreal scenes. Gardeners, private maids, probably personal chefs and who knows who else... Who the f**k would've thought that a lawyer's job in this country could afford such a classy and expensive lifestyle.

"Please, come inside, Christina is already waiting for you upstairs," Jovana said and opened the massive front door of the mansion for me.

I nodded to her once more and stepped inside behind her without a word, ready to meet the princess.

The interior of the mansion was, if that was even possible, even more expensive and gorgeous than the yard and the entrance itself. Most of the walls and floors were made of pure marble, and massive, priceless chandeliers hung from the ceilings, glowing in every direction. I can only imagine in my head what kind of four or five digit figures were sunk into all this furniture, construction, and estate design.

The older woman quietly led me up to the second floor. We climbed the wide marble stairs and stepped into a long hallway that had at least six or seven different rooms. The lady just gently pointed me toward a wooden door at the far end. I instantly guessed that behind it was Christina's room. I knocked just for formality and immediately, rudely, and brashly pushed them open without waiting for an answer, like some real street ruffian. And of course, I was completely right... Christina was lying casually on her huge, black and white bed, obviously waiting for me to finally show up.

"You finally come..." a slow smile crept across her face as she got up from the bed.

She was dressed pretty casually for a home outfit. She had on very short, athletic cotton shorts and a gray crop top that completely bared her flat stomach. An absolute bomb, f**k.

"Yeah, I'm here..." I stepped closer to her and gave her a quick hug, strictly friendly and just for formality.

While she moved away, I quickly glanced around and took in her room. There were piles of books on the wall shelves. Looks like Christina likes to read. But the walls... On the walls, she had various framed photos, Partizan posters, and pictures of their stadium. And worst of all, right smack in the middle of the main wall, she had a large hand painted Partizan crest, along with some other fan memorabilia. A disgusting sight, my friend... I swear to my mother, I'd whitewash and repaint her whole room red and white right now if I could. I bet my life those colors would look a thousand times better on her.

"Make yourself comfortable, Steven. I'll go grab all the supplies and paper we need," she said and immediately started rummaging through the bottom drawers of her desk.

I sat down on her comfortable bed... f**k, how soft it was, unlike that hard piece of junk in my room where I sleep like I'm lying on concrete rather than a mattress. Christina had her back turned to me while looking for things, so I took the opportunity and spent most of that time just watching her. The gorgeous sight of her tight ass in those short shorts was simply something I couldn't or wouldn't ignore.

The little Grobar chick was genuinely a gorgeous and dangerous in her own ways kind of girl, bro...