I hated that someone like her, fierce and mouthy, had numbers like that inside her. Hated that I’d thrown a grenade without knowing there was already a war going on inside. I flicked the ash from my cigarette, watched it scatter in the wind.
“That’s how many days it went on for. And how many times my body… wasn’t mine. I was almost fourteen when it started. Fourteen,” She paused with her own disbelief. Her body began curling in on itself, a clear indication that what she was about to say had sat deep beneath the surface.
“How?” I questioned, the layers were unfolding before me, and I wasn’t about to let that slip through my fingers, not after everything I had blurted out to her, tragically laying my soul bare in front of her.
“Trafficking ring.” Her tone still held flat, her eyes locked forward as if she had put herself in autopilot to tell me. I shifted on the spot at her answer; anger started to form deep within me as I clicked on to where this was potentially going.
She continued, “His name was Billy. Good looking, of course. He ran a circus. Now, looking back, it’s a fucking stroke of genius, really. What better way to draw in young girls than to bring a free circus to desolate areas and stick that fucker out front to wave them in? I bet he could smell the desperation radiating off me from a fucking mile away. There was no one around who gave a fuck about me, not from that feral care home. I was relentlessly bullied at school for things I couldn’t help, and all I wanted was to escape. He found me at a good point, you could say.” A humourless chuckle slipped from her as she shook her head. Her own vulnerability flooding back.
“He was around for a week, and oh, did that fucker suck me in. I went back every single day, straight from school. Hepromised me a new life, a chance to escape. Naturally, I bit his fucking hand off, and… I went with him. Gone were my original escape plans, my attempts at the academic route. I saw a sooner opportunity and seized it. The first seven months or so were where his real work started. Making me compliant and using ‘love’ to achieve it.”
She shook her head once more with a faint scoff as I handed her back the bottle. Figured she needed it more than I did right now. She took a deep drink, screwing up her face from the burn flowing down her throat, an unwelcome feeling which I guess we had both come to enjoy. “I was thrown into learning some performance stuff. We had to pull our weight, of course. We tried various things, me and a couple of other girls, and then I found knife throwing. Billy was all impressed and encouraging, and I got good. Really fucking good, very quickly. It was like the knives were an extension of my own arm, like it was made for me. On top of that, we had to learn to be flexible. Later, I found out that wasn’t just for performance purposes.” Her hand tightened around the neck of the bottle as she took another sip.
“The other girls didn’t seem to last long. They just kind of vanished. I asked him, and he said they’d changed their mind, that they’d been taken home. Liar. They’d been sold off like animals. Billy, for some reason, kept me close. His little ‘Misfit’. His favourite. Probably because I was so starved of affection, I was the easiest to fool. I hung on his every word, and over time, I actually believed I loved him. And that he loved me.” She lowered her head, sniggering to herself. That action pained me more than I realised. Yes, we were two very fucked up individuals, but that didn’t mean we weren’t capable of some fucking emotion.
“I didn’t leave his side apart from performances. I wasn’t allowed to mingle with the public like the other workers were—the ones who were involved in it all. It was just me and him. Hebought me gifts, whispered compliments in my ear, and in some twisted, insidious way, made me feel like we were a team, us against the world. And then it all changed. I came back one night to him absolutely kicking off. Apparently, he’d fallen into debt, and it was time to pay up. He was red-faced, practically vibrating with panic, throwing things across the cramped trailer. It was quite a good fucking act, and I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. I loved him, of course I wanted to help, but how could I? He found a way, alright.” More drink, the bottle tilting further. “Just once, Misfit. That’s all it will take. You can save us from losing everything. I imagine he fetched a pretty penny for my virginity, don’t you think?” Her eyes finally drifted to mine. “Billy had never touched me before that. But I guess once the seal’s off… It’s fair game. I wasn’t as profitable. For a few more weeks it was more ‘Just one more, my little Misfit’. Eventually, he stopped asking me to help. Men would just show up, and it was simply… expected. Sometimes two or three a day depending on the area. More girls came and went, and for a long time I didn’t see a way out. And because of my rapidly falling mood, it was affecting my performances. I got my first punch for not smiling. Someone had complained about my lack of enthusiasm. Big no no. Can’t be bringing issues to him, not with what was happening behind the curtain.”
My eyes widened, still fighting against myself to not say something, anything to let her know I understood more than she would know. This wasn’t another petty little game of who’s trauma hit harder; it was a moment of clarity between us.
“I managed to get away once, but that fucker obviously had eyes everywhere. I didn’t get very far. He dragged me back, and I was cuffed to the bed for the majority of my time there. From favourite to flight risk.” I watched her as she pulled her cuff back, revealing a scarred ring around her wrist. Her fingers were tracing it back and forth before taking another long swig of thebottle. She quickly handed it to me as she pulled herself to her feet, leaning against the barrier.
My eyes followed her as I broke through my own thoughts to speak. “How did you get out?”
She paused, tilting her head slightly at my question before answering, “Patience.”
My brows furrowed in confusion, “Patience?”
“Being trapped with Billy taught me a lot of lessons and solidified the ones I’d learned in the care home. One of them was playing the long game. Having patience, trusting that an opportunity would eventually come up, and knowing that I’d take it when it did. I learned to weigh my options, to be more calculated in my decisions. And most importantly, I learned that no one was ever going to save me but me. I waited. For months. And eventually, it came. My moment. After he’d indulged himself with me for the night, he fell asleep too quickly and forgot to cuff me back up. I lay still for hours, waiting until I knew everyone would be sleeping. His knife was in his trouser pocket, I knew it was. It always was. But it was small, not capable of doing much with one stab. I knew I’d have to be fast…”
I pulled myself up, standing beside her, part of me wishing she would look at me so I could see her raw truth fully.
“I slid myself out of the bed, moving carefully. Watching him, how he breathed, every subtle muscle twitch, meticulously searching through his pockets. I found it, and I started to feel sick and dizzy, but I didn’t waste any time. This was it, the opportunity…”
Leaning my elbows against the barrier, my shoulder sitting against her arm. Feeling the anticipation rise within me, “What did you do?”
“I killed him, Screech. I forced it into his back again and again. He managed to turn over, and I kept going. He went to shout, and I got one in his throat. It dulled his screamsdown to the sickening sound of him choking on his own blood.” Her pause only added a sharper edge to her words. I should have been surprised, horrified even. But I wasn’t. I would have done the same thing. Fuck, if I got a quid for every murderous daydream that has entered my mind, I’d be a millionaire.
My thoughts flashed to Danny, my own calculated plans to end the fucker lay heavy in my gut. To see his lifeless body pooling with blood, choking and spluttering as I twisted the knife deeper into his fucking chest. The ecstasy it would bring.
Misfit continued pulling me back to her, “I felt…liberated. In that moment, I realised I wasn’t weak. I could do something. I did do something. And then I ran. I burst out of that trailer and didn’t look back, just kept running even when I felt like I could collapse. I forced myself to carry on….”
I was silent. Because what the hell do you say to something like that? The wind howled around us, pulling at our soaked clothes, biting into skin that was already too raw. I saw her clearer now than I ever had. Not because of the details. Not because of the gore or the pain. But because she gave it to me. All of it. The worst parts. The stuff that stains.
And then there was what I said to her, about not liking to be touched. I’d meant it as a jab. A low blow, sure, but I was unaware that it would trigger her own internal battle.
And fuck me… I wanted to protect her. Not in that sweet, fairytale, knight-on-a-white-horse kind of way.
No.
This was visceral.
Ugly.
Protective like teeth bared in the dark. I wanted to hunt down anyone who’d ever made her flinch. I wanted to tear Billy’s corpse from the ground just to kill him again, slower this time. I wanted to find every man who touched her and make them feelevery second of it on repeat. But that wouldn’t help her. That was for me. That was my rage, my need.
My fingers clenched tight around the neck of the bottle she’d handed back, my knuckles white. I didn’t trust my voice not to deceive my own anger building inside me, or to say something that would make it about me.
That was the last thing this needed. Misfit stood beside me, unmoving, her arms braced against the concrete edge like it was the only thing holding her up. Her eyes stared out at the nothing beyond the rooftops.
