Author: Lacey Raine

Chapter 1

 I looked around the room dubiously. It was filthy. I couldn't remember the last time it'd had a good clean. Nor the first time, come to think of it. I sighed. We couldn't afford a decent room, let alone a decent flat. We were stuck with this four-roomed shit tip, with just a matress as a bed. We slept under a thin fleece blanket, with lumpy old pillows. I wanted to walk about and try and get my circulation going in my legs but Blain's arms were firmly around me and I knew there was no chance of me moving. I turned my head to check if Blain was still asleep. He was. I turned to go back to staring at the wall, only for Blain to punch me in the back of the head. "Keep your fucking hair off my face or I'll rip it out," He snarled. It may seem like an exaggaration, but I knew he would do it.

He let go of me. Thankfully, I shot up into a standing position before he could stop me. He raised his eyebrows. "I want to get my legs working again," I explained. "I'm still hurting from last night."

"Oh, diddums," He said. "Did Davey bang you too hard? Bless." He grabbed my waist and pulled me into him. "I bet I can do it harder."

"No... please," I begged. "Not now... later I will, I promise."

"I'm gonna hold you to that," He said. "You know, the only reason I'm not doing it now is that you've got a client in ten minutes."


"New guy," He shrugged. "Easton Parry. I showed him a photo and he was insistent on having you as soon as possible."

"Oh. What's he look like?" I said. He smiled. He knew what that meant - is he so big I feel as if he's tearing me in half? He bent so we were eye to eye and smiled.

"Size of a fucking beercan," He said, slapping my cheek lightly. "But you're just gonna be a good little slut and do whatever he tells you too, alright?"

"Is... was he bigger than Davey?" I could only just handle him, and I normally couldn't walk straight for days afterwards.

 "Oh yeah," Blain nodded. "By at least three inches. Thicker too."

"Blain I don't think I can-"

"You can and you will," Blain punched me in the stomach. "You're no good for anything else, are you? You dropped out of school when you were thirteen. You sold your guitar for crack money. Aside from selling yourself on street corners, what can you actually do?" I didn't dare mention that he forced me to drop out of school when I moved in with him. It was his idea to sell my guitar for drugs. He was the one who'd been selling me for five years. Plus, I could draw. He knew I could. He'd forced me into drawing several nude potraits of him and his friends. And once even a copy of a photo he'd taken of me, tied up, gagged and blindfolded, being forced upon by one of his friends.

He had that picture in a gilt frame above the 'bed'.

I waited until Blain was in the bathroom. I looked around the room. I took in the filthy mattress, the sick painting on the wall, the sparse furniture. I picked up my old battered rucksack. I threw my very few items of clothing together, grabbed my diary, sixty quid from the rapidly shrinking stack of money and a bag of crack. I didn't bother leaving a note or anything.

He wouldn't care. He wouldn't miss me.

I threw the drawing on the wall on the floor in disgust.

Then I ran.


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