I pick up my bag and wander across the street to collect my shoes, looking up at my apartment with
cold emptiness. I’m numb, feet aching, tears streaming down my face and wander slowly into the
building, letting myself in and getting up to my floor via the stairs. It’s deathly silent, around two am or
thereabouts and I try not to make too much noise that will disturb my neighbors.
I only sat on the cold sidewalk for a minute, before self-preservation kicked in, my numbness, made me
move and walk inside. I can’t stop sobbing, but I feel dead inside. I don’t think I can handle this pain if I
sit and ponder it, so I have decided to walk, anywhere, anyplace, until my legs fall off, so that I do not
sit here and cry over his leaving me.
Again.
When I get into my apartment, I throw my bag and coat and shoes aside, find sneakers and a hoody
and pull them over the top of my dress, tuck my hair behind my ears and head back out. I don’t want to
be here surrounded by everything that reminds me of him; the unicorns he bought me lying
everywhere, the memories of every part of this place he has inhabited or touched, or even the fact one
of his jerseys are hanging on the handle of my bedroom door.
I pull my phone from my bag and turn it onto silent mode, not that he’ll call but it’s part of how I’m
feeling. I ponder leaving it behind, but he ingrained into every part of me for so long that I should
always have it with me, in case I need help, and I take it, despite myself.
I don’t want pings from my social media or anything to infiltrate my head right now. I want to walk and
cry myself out, so I will come back and sleep and try to forget all of this. I don’t know what I’m going to
say to him when I see him again, if he ever sees me again. I don’t even know if this was a fight or a
breakup anymore; it’s all such a mess in my head and I can’t think straight.
He seemed like he was closing a door on me, emotionally, physically. I’m not sure how I come back
from that anymore, especially when I don’t know if I can ever trust him the way I want to. Knowing she
was in Miami has hurt me irreversibly.
He left me, again. I’m so heartbroken and mad, and yet empty.
I know I over-reacted and acted crazy; jealousy and insecurity spiking, knowing he fueled it by keeping
the fact she came to Miami from me. It still hurt to think he would do that, how he couldn’t understand
why this would upset me.
I have every reason to feel insecure when it comes to Natasha, he has no clue what it’s like to feel this
way or how much it screws you up inside. I know I just acted like an idiot and more so when that stupid
bitch Miranda started on me. But he has to see his blame in the final eruption of everything I have been
holding inside of me.
I’m done with drinking; I always make an idiot of myself and I get way too volatile and emotional. It’s
great until something sparks us off and then we are completely wrong for each other. We can go either
way; either lust crazed, all over each other, crazily in love or at each other’s throats and hurting one
another stupidly.
I get outside and make my way down the steps. Tears making my face ache and my head hurt. I want
to get myself together and not feel anything; maybe if I sober up, I will be able to calm the chaos and
right now, I just want to walk. The streets will be quiet now and the air will do me good, help the alcohol
work its way out of my system for a while.
***
It’s been an hour or two, I’m not even sure anymore; the sky has lost the darkness and we are moving
into dull grey light. I’m freezing, my nose is numb, legs like Jell-O from the amount of walking I’ve done
in the last hours. Shivering and decide I maybe should head back to my apartment to heat up, maybe
think about what I am going to do if this is really it for us. I guess it must be nearing four or maybe even
five am and it’s dumb for me to keep walking the streets all night like some sad homeless nomad.
I pull out my phone from the pocket of my hoody to check the time as I walk the street, signs of life
starting around me as the garbage trucks and traffic get a little more frequent and people start milling
around with early morning chores. I skip over someone sweeping out a shop door and swipe my
screen.
My heart lurches when I see I have seventeen missed calls from Arrick, ten texts too, even voicemails,
which he never leaves. My stomach lurches with sudden butterflies of fear. I stare at my phone, unable
to contemplate even reading them or calling him back while I’m still a mess and my hands are numb,
yet I don’t know what to do. If he’s calling to end things properly, give me all the reasons that we are
not working, then I don’t know if he would try this hard. Maybe he’s calling to have a go and fight some
more, chew me out on exactly how I behaved, now that he is soberer and knows I will be too. My hands
tremble and I stare numbly at his name in duplicate on the row of missed calls, so broken up inside.
I’m only a few blocks from home where I can face calling him back and have somewhere to sit down if
this is truly bad. It’s not like him to try calling me so many times when I don’t answer, especially if he
assumes I’m in bed asleep, so it can only be awful; possibly telling me all the reasons he wants to be
free of me. I wonder if he would properly break up with me over a phone call and shake it out of my
head. Afraid to think about this in case it starts another wave of tears.
I turn a corner and walk into a girl who is looking down at her feet with a hood pulled over her head,
dressed in black and obviously homeless. She walks right into me, even though I try to dodge her, with
an ‘ooft’ and then skip out of the way with a mumble. I slide my phone back into the pocket of my hoody
protectively, it’s not uncommon to be mugged in these streets and she looks like a street kid; a little
unkempt and possibly dodgy.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you.” The strong English accent that comes from under the black hood is crazily
familiar, I turn and glare back at her as she keeps walking at speed, and doesn’t look around.
“Camilla?” I call out impulsively, the head of the hood spinning as the face which I haven’t seen since
that night in the club, turns my way in surprise. Wide eyed and free of makeup, Camilla looks like a lost
child and stares in open mouthed panic.
“Sophie!” Her pallor loses what little color it has, and I stalk towards her, seeing nothing but rage and
anger, bubbling up from somewhere deep and after a night like mine, she gets the brunt of my turmoil. I
punch her square in the face without a single ounce of thought.
Arry would be proud of the perfectly poised and formed knuckle duster I deliver, just as he taught me,
sending her reeling on her ass across the path, her hood knocking back to reveal that bright red messy
hair that stands out like a beacon. She grabs her face; blood instantly running from her nose and then
begin shaking my hand manically as pain sears through it with an alarming speed.
Hurts like a mother fucker. How the hell can he punch men and not react?
I think I may have broken every one of my knuckles and maybe my thumb as stinging, dull ache
spreads over them alarmingly and knocks the fight out of my sails. I clutch my hand to my chest in
agony and yet still feel a little satisfied with the sloppy mess on the sidewalk
“You bitch. I think you broke my nose.” Camilla tries to yell, but it’s muffled by her hands and the fact
she has red liquid running down her face. I feel strangely better, at my little release at finally getting to
really hit someone, even if that does make me a shithead.
She deserves worse.
“I think we are pretty fucking even! That’s for trying to drug me and leaving me to be raped by some
power mad fuckwit. You’re lucky I don’t stomp on your head.” I snap at her and shove her with my foot,
in a bid to goad her to get up and face me. Arrick always told me I should fight fair, and if this bitch
wants to get up and go, I am so in the mood to have a girly punch up. I’ve enough anger to expel and
she has earned my wrath.
“You’re fucking crazy… What the hell is wrong with you?“ Camilla scrambles to her knees and starts
crawling away from me like a coward, unable to face me, and I roll my eyes. She’s using her sleeve to
rub the mess from her face and smearing blood across her cheek.
“Get up! I’m not going to touch you if you’re going to act like a fucking girl and be this pathetic.” I follow
her and watch in irritation as she uses a lamp post to get to her feet and scowls my way.
“Go ahead… Save someone else the bother.” She bites back as tears stream down her face and I
frown at her angrily.
“What? Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you? You have a fucking nerve Cam. After what you
did? I hope you rot in hell.” I turn to walk away, tossing my hood up and still nursing my hand. It’s
burning like hell and already starting to bruise, and I really could use some ice. It’s another reason I’m
happy to walk off and not hit her again. Arry must have hands like steel if this doesn’t bother him, I
seriously need a medic. I think the pain in my hand is enough reason for another bout of tears.
“I’m as good as dead, Sophs…. If they find me then I’m history.” Her pathetic voice follows me, and I
can’t help myself from turning, despite hating her, my inquisitive side gets the better of me. That
desperation in her voice that claws at my gut, the weakness of my non-asshole side.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I glare at her, trying not to care, but she seems so desperate that
for a moment I waiver in my rage for her.
“Drug dealers. Criminals. I don’t mean low key street pushers; I mean the big time, Sophie. Mafia type
men who think nothing of slitting your throat for not paying up.” She starts to cry, pathetic little silent
tears rolling down her face and I’m torn between keeping on going, forgetting I ever saw her, and
turning back to her. It’s clear she wants someone to listen and I’m sorry she picked probably the only
girl in the city who doesn’t care about her anymore.
I’m so beyond not caring.
“Why? What did you do? Don’t think for a minute this makes me forget what you tried to do to me…
You tried to get me raped Camilla… You left me to be raped. Is that what you do? Let men rape and
abuse girls like me?” I yell at her, stomping back, despite my inner protests and face her now she is
back on her feet. So much anger still bristling inside of me and I need to know why? Why she would do
that to me.
“No…. You were …. Revenge. I told you I was a bitch when I was pissed. You left me high and dry, and
I was angry at you. It cost me dearly for that apartment, meeting you in the city… All the time I invested
in you. The other girls do it willingly, for drugs and the men pay to have a good time, with girls who are
a little more class than street pushers.” She sniffs, wipes her face on her sleeve and lets go of the
mess. Sadly, it’s not as bad as it looked, just a bloody nose and a little redness and I doubt it’s even
broken. I’m disappointed in myself that I couldn’t even inflict a broken bone on her.
“I recognized one of them, her family has money. Why would she need to offer sex for drugs?” I ask
drily, hardly convinced that her little story is even legit, and she’s not playing me for sympathy.
“Not everyone’s parents keep supporting them when they become a problem… You’re one of the lucky
ones. The girls get hooked on my product and when mummy and daddy stop paying, they become one
of my party girls. Sex on tap for wealthy men who get to do whatever they want to them. Lucrative little
business deal until I took on the wrong girl.” Camilla cries some more, then wipes the tears away coolly,
that strength I know returning and pulling herself up a little straighter. In this moment I still hate her and
yet, I can’t seem to move. Staring at the way she self composes, but still looks utterly hopeless.
“Someone fucked you over?” I raise my brows in a very non-surprised way with a dead pan tone.
“Left me high and dry, took my product and my money and screwed me over. Left me unable to pay my
debts or fuel my girls.” She’s completely desolate, as though this is the worst thing to happen in her
entire life, but I feel nothing for her. I don’t know if it’s the emptiness because of what’s happened with
Arry or if it’s what she did to me, but I struggle to feel even an ounce of warmth.
“Karma, Camilla…. I have no sympathy for you.” I sneer at her, satisfied that for once, someone got
what they deserved.
“They will kill me if they find me. I’m getting out of the city, out of the state. Going anywhere they can’t
find me. I owe them too much money and they don’t like lame excuses.” She’s rambling at me, I guess
I’m probably the first human contact since she went into hiding and by the looks of her, it’s been a
rough few days. Her clothes are grubby, not her usual classy style.
“What happened to your parents. Was that all a lie? Was there ever a rich family and a house in the
Hamptons?” I watch her warily, trying to piece this altogether. My head going back to before, and
everything I thought I knew about her.
“No……. I’m a runaway from London, whose smack head mother used to pimp out to dirty drug dealers
to keep her in heroin. I was hustling street corners from the age of twelve to keep her in supply. I ran
away as soon as I saved enough and well… here I am.” She raises her brows with a sardonic smile
that screams ‘broken little girl’ and for a moment that tug of empathy gets me low down. One tiny little
hint of someone I can maybe understand a little, looking at her and wondering how much of her cold
heart was created by scars from a childhood she didn’t deserve.
“We’re not that different you and I, but I would never use people the way you do. Even if I did end up
homeless on the streets, instead of with my family.” I pull back the sympathy, despite a little deeper
insight into why she is the cold bitch she is, I still hate her too much to care. Just can’t forget what she
tried to inflict on me, as payback.
“Well, good for you! Some of us must actually survive any way we can. We don’t all have a rich family
to sweep us off to happy ever after. Some of us are dirt poor and left to run again, even after everything
we try to build for ourselves.” She lets out another sob. Feeling sorry for herself and it’s wholly
unattractive on that normally attractive face.
“Building a life based on the suffering and abuse of others is not an admirable success… You deserve
this. I’ve no sympathy for you having to run.” Girls like us don’t continue the circle of abuse, we learn to
rise above it and help others… But Camilla is another type of beast, who uses her pain to close her
heart off to other girls and does to them what was done to her. She has more issues than I do, and her
trauma obviously runs far deeper than I allowed mine too.
“Easy to say when mummy and daddy keep you in a lifestyle, right? Fuck off, Sophie, you have no idea
what it’s like to be scared and hungry and running for your life.” She scowls at me and moves to walk
off, dismissing me with a cold glare.
“What the hell would you know? I’ve been all of those things and more. They adopted me, at fourteen. I
was a runaway, living on the street, fending for myself and hiding from someone who raped and beat
me daily, since before I can ever remember it starting. Don’t fucking tell me what I don’t understand or
can never empathize. My father made me run for my life; either he was going to end up killing me, or I
was going to end up killing him.” I snap at her viciously, choking on the raspiness of my own voice, full
venom on show and no hint of weakness anymore when talking about that scum bag. My scars
concerning him are toughened now, not open gaping wounds, and it doesn’t hurt to say this out loud.
Camilla stares me in open mouthed astonishment. I guess the penny finally dropping as to why I am
how I am. She sees in me, what I saw in her. Some sort of kindred, who maybe in another lifetime,
could have been real friends.
“I’m sorry… I never knew.” She backtracks pathetically, stunned by what I said, and I guess
momentarily at a loss for words. A tiny hint at the human within her, before she closes it back up and
snaps the ice queen back in place.
“Like it would have made any difference to you… Just go away, I’m done here.” This is going nowhere,
and I don’t want to be involved with her problems, or the mess she’s made. I truly think she has made
her own bed and needs to lie in it. If only to save so many girls from what she does to them.
I turn to walk away from her, throwing back a nasty glare, a parting goodbye in a way, seeing her
turning to walk off too. The end of the fake friendship we never had and walk into a tall figure who has
come up behind me. I walk smack into a hard, tall body, blocking my path and recoil with an ‘ouch.’
Making to apologize when he cuts in first with a dangerous tone, that halts the breath in my lungs.
“Going somewhere?” He snarls at me, grabbing my arm with an odd accent as I try to back away; I turn
in panic towards Camilla, a million things racing through my head in that split second. Thinking the
bitch has somehow set me up again, but she’s being manhandled by two more men, dragging her into
the alley nearby, kicking and fighting hard and I realize this isn’t her…This is what she is running from.
My heart leaps into my throat, blood draining from my face and I impulsively make a run for it, instinct
telling me to get the hell away from this. He hauls me back effortlessly, as though I am nothing more
than a piece of paper, and wraps arms around my upper body cruelly.
I try to struggle, turning and twisting to break free and aim a kick at his shin with my full fury and
strength, but he’s too strong and fast, grabbing me around the face and waist to get more control and
hauling me after the two men in the ally. Lifting me off my feet so I can only kick my legs out and try
and buck in his arms. He squeezes me tighter, almost breaks my ribs in the process, suffocating me
with the palm pressed to my mouth so I can’t even yell out or bite.
My heart is beating fast, face aching with the force I am being smothered, as we are trundled into a
black car parked in the shadows and I realize they must have seen her and come around behind us to
park here. All the while we were standing arguing, the men she was hiding from had spotted her and
that tell-tale bright red hair. This is my fault.
Shit!
I’m thrown into the back seat of the car as Camilla is thrown on top of me, a man caging us at each
side as a hand comes to my throat to pin me back against the seat and keep me still. I automatically
freeze, knowing that fighting in here is futile and these are men who think nothing of putting a bullet in
your head or a knife across your throat. I don’t have to know who these people are to have a sense of
the danger I’m in. Obedience is what they are going to get, sense tells me to stop fighting.
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