Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74366 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74366 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Shit, shit and more shit.
For the first time through this sorry mess I feel fear creeping up my spine. I’m out of my depth, and the tequila is wearing off fast. Way too fast.
My nerves are chattering worse than my teeth. I would kill for a cigarette, just to take the edge off, and as I turn the corner I may be in luck. A solitary figure is propped in a shadowy doorway. He’s wearing a hoodie, so I can hardly see his face, not that I’m looking. I’m far too focused on the glow of the cigarette between his fingers.
“Hey,” I say, smoothing back the wet hair from my face. “Could you spare me a smoke?”
He stares at me, I can feel it, but I can’t see his eyes in the shadows. He’s big, much bigger than me. He smells of weed and stale body spray mixed with sweat, but right now none of that matters.
I launch into a monologue, telling him my name’s Laine, and how I was out with a stupid friend who took my phone and keys with her when she left. I tell him it’s my birthday, that I’m having the crappiest night of my life and he’d make it just a little bit better if he’d please give me a cigarette. I realise how stupid I sound, how weak my voice is. How weak I feel.
How alone I feel.
But I’ve felt alone for longer than I can remember, this shit’s nothing new.
He hands me the cigarette from his fingers, and even though it makes me feel a bit icky, I take it from him.
“Thanks.”
“Past your bedtime from the look of you,” he grunts. His voice is thick and raspy, and it makes me feel uneasy.
I press myself against the wall, trying to hide from the downpour and protect the cigarette.
“Everyone says that.” I take a long drag. “I’m eighteen. Perfectly legal, at least from today. Yesterday. It’s not even my birthday anymore. Talk about celebrating in style, things can only get better, right?”
My stupid giggle and attempt at humour seem to go right over his head. He grunts again. Perfectly legal. I regret my choice of words.
I keep puffing away, looking at the floor, concentrating on nothing but the welcome rush of nicotine.
“All alone, then?” I can hear the sneer in his tone. He has an accent, a hint of cockney. It’s gruff and deep and laced with the underbelly of this place.
I realise the fine hairs on the back of my neck are standing up and it’s not from the cold. I realise I’m in a dark street with nobody around besides a man who makes me feel like a mouse in a trap.
I force a smile, gesture aimlessly at the road ahead. “My friend will be along for me soon,” I lie. “She’s coming back, such a ditz.”
He laughs. “You just said she’d bailed. Make your mind up.”
“Figure of speech,” I lie again. “She’ll be back… anytime now…”
“Sure she will.” He takes a step towards me and I take a shuffle back. “You can drop the lost little girl shit.”
“Sorry?” I keep my smile bright, even though my heart is thumping like a bastard.
“How much for the works?” I feel his eyes on me, all over me. He takes another step my way. “How much for a go on that cute little ass? Don’t be shy now.”
“But I’m not…” I drop the cigarette. “I’m not a…” My eyes are wide, but I still can’t see his. “My friend’s coming right now… she’s on her way…”
He nudges the door behind him, and the stench of weed hits me. “Come up, get warm. I’ve got weed, or stronger shit, whatever you want. You’d like that, right? I bet you ain’t so fucking innocent as you look.” I can hear his smirk in his voice.
I shake my head. “She’ll be here soon, and I’m really not… I shouldn’t be here…”
“I bet you make a fucking fortune with that nice little girl shit.”
“I’m not playing…” I move away from him, but back into one of the wheeled bins. Cardboard boxes fall to the floor and make me jump.
He laughs louder. “Come on, baby girl, don’t be such a fucking tease.” His voice is leery, drunk. “Bet you sound real fucking nice when you’ve got a nice hard cock in your snatch.”
My back is pressed tight against the bin, and he’s close, too close. His breath is in my face. It stinks. He stinks. He smells musty and rank, like one of mum’s old boyfriends… the window cleaner with the black tooth… the one who slipped his hand between my legs when we were watching Disney and never came over again…
“You want this… I want this…” His horrible laugh is right in my ear. I feel his lips on me. “You’ve got me all worked up, baby girl… you owe me for the smoke… you owe me now… what you gonna do about it?”