“Get the fuck away from him.” #2
The policewoman looks at me horrified, her hand to her mouth.
I carry on with my rant, something I needed to get off my chest. “Oh, don’t look so shocked; you know this shit goes on.
You know that when a kid complains, they get shuffled off to the next house that’s being paid to abuse kids.
” I sag back in my chair, my rant done. I wince at the pain in my back, which is probably a bruise from the arsehole’s steel-toe boots.
“I’m sorry, Knox. I can’t change what’s happened to you, but I can change your future. You have to trust me. There’s a reason Sharron called me. She knows that for kids like you, I’m the only one that will make it right for you,”
“I don’t trust you.” I cross my arms over my chest, and that hurts too. The ache of bruises blooming and my exhaustion is battling with my defiance.
“I don’t blame you. But give me a chance to prove you wrong,” he says, and for some reason, probably the need for a bed, is weakening me.
“Whatever.” I shrug. He smiles, knowing he’s won. I’m not going to make this easy. I need to find Dean. I don’t care how long it takes me or where I have to go to find him. I will.
The house we drive up to is well posh and big. The upstairs windows are all dark, but the two large ones on either side of the front door have light coming between the gaps in the curtains.
“Oh, good. Kip is waiting up for us. He usually likes to say hello to our newest family member,” the man, whose told me to call him Robin, tells me.
“Who the fuck is Kip? Sounds like something you call a dog,” I snap. I’ve had enough of his jolly chit-chat all the way here. This is the first time I’ve spoken since I left the interview room.
“Kip is my husband,” he says, totally ignore me swearing.
The house is the biggest I’ve ever been in. There are so many closed doors in the hallway. I don’t know why anyone needs so many. How many are bedrooms? Is the house full of kids? I don’t like the thought of that. I know they’ll know what I had to do to eat; they’ll judge me and turn away from me.
There’s a niggling thought that’s pecking away at my brain that tells me I’m wrong. That they could be just like me. I remember he said there’s another teenager here, but is that all there is? I won’t know until the morning.
The door on my left opens, and a huge man comes out.
He’s built like he spends his life in a gym.
His T-shirt strains over his biceps, and he has tattoos running down both arms. He smiles at Robin.
It’s full of warmth and a look no one has ever given me.
“I thought I heard the car.” He looks at me, and he give me a smile too. “Hi, I’m Kip.”
“Kn…Knox,” I stutter as I give him the name I said a couple of hours ago for the first time. It’s going to be weird hearing it.
“Welcome, it’s good to have you here. Let me know if you need anything.” He looks at Robin. “Drake wanted to stay up to meet Knox, but it got too late.”
He looks at me. “You’ll meet him tomorrow. He’s a great kid.”
“Yeah? I’m not, so maybe I’ll skip the group hugs and the kumbaya.”
He doesn’t even blink at my blatant disrespect. I find I’m ashamed of being such a dick. I don’t apologise though, and I stay looking at him.
“Come this way.” Robin breaks my gaze, and I nod.
The stairs are on the right, and I get a look into the room Kip came out of. It’s a living room with a big tv and some comfy looking sofas.
“This is the main bathroom, Knox. Your room has a toilet and a shower, but it’s not very big. If you want to soak in a bath, you can use this one.” We walk past another closed door. He doesn’t give an explanation, so I ignore it. “This is yours.”
He pushes the door open, and I stop in the doorway.
It’s small but has a single bed, one side table, and a chest of drawers.
There’s a small flat screen tv on the top of dresser.
In the far corner under the window is desk, and it has a laptop on top.
Why would they leave that out? There’s nothing to stop me from taking it and walking out the door.
“The bathroom is through there, and there’s shower gel, shampoo, and clean towels in there.
There’s plenty of hot water. Everyone that joins us spends a lot of time in the shower.
There are some clean clothes in the drawer, just some sweats, T-shirts, and a hoodie.
There are new underwear and socks in the top drawer. ”
“Why?”
He looks at me, confused. “Why what?”
“Why all of this?” I sweep my arm around the room. “I was blowing a guy for a fiver tonight, just to buy a fucking sandwich. I can get plenty of cash selling all of this. All I have to do is walk out with them.”
“I know. I’m told that by every new person that joins us. No one has yet. I put my trust out there and hope the kid is still with me in the morning. Belongings can be replaced, but I could lose my chance to help you, to show you the life you should have had. So, I trust you.”
I shake my head at him. At this point, I don’t know if I should just run to the hills or never leave. “You’re really fucking weird, you know that, right? I’m the last person you should trust.”
“Maybe you think that about me too.”
We stare at each other for a long while, he gives in first, almost blushing when he speaks. “I’m guessing you never got that sandwich. Have a shower, and I’ll make you something.”
I don’t want to, I really, really don’t fucking want to, but I laugh. The fucker makes me laugh. “Whatever,” I tell him and walk further into the bedroom, because he got me. I’m not going to be nicking that shit tonight.
He walks out, closing the door behind him.
I flick the lock, then walk further into the bedroom—my bedroom.
I wince as I sit on the bed, my body aching and hurting in too many places to appreciate the softness of the mattress or the fact that I actually have a mattress to sit on.
The burn of tears make me blink, tears that I haven’t let free for too long, years maybe, drip down my cheeks.
It’s easy to wipe them away, to shrug off the reasons why I’m crying, but I can’t.
I can’t dismiss the pain of that foul man’s boots, or worse, the taste of his rancid dick.
Suddenly, bile rises up my throat, and I’m gagging.
The door to the bathroom hit the wall with a solid thud as I aim for the toilet.
Thanks to my empty stomach, it’s only bile that comes up, but the burn in my throat only makes me retch more.
Soon, I’m done and slide to the floor, the tiles cool on my overheated skin.
I start to cry again, confusion flooding my thoughts.
Why now? Why here? What’s next? Where will I go?
How do I find Dean? Will he look for me?
As the sobs subside, I sit up. Robin wasn’t wrong when he said it’s small.
It’s a good job I am too. The shower beckons me, reminding me just how filthy I am.
I probably smell bad too. Something neither the policewoman nor Robin mentioned.
Kindness for the broken kid when he doesn’t deserve any.
I undress slowly, avoiding looking in the mirror. I can’t deal with that sight.
The shower is heaven, the hot water almost scalding my skin, but I want to feel every drop that rains down on me.
I grab the shampoo and squirt a hefty dollop into my palm, then into my hair.
I hadn’t realised how dirty it is until I see the evidence in the foam on the shower floor.
It’s got long too; I’ll need a ponytail elastic to hold it up.
The grime on my body is the next to hit the floor, and there’s blood mixed in with it too.
I’m not sure which part of my body it came from.
It must be dried blood, because nothing is showing on my hands.
Eventually, I have to stop and turn the water off.
Only because I know it’s still going to be here tomorrow.
I can have one before I leave to find Dean.
True to his word, the clothes are where he said they would, and I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed the feeling of clean clothes more than I do right now.
As I ponder getting into bed and sleeping, my stomach growls hungrily. Robin had promised food.
The new socks allow me to pad silently down the stairs in search of Robin and food.
The light at the end of the hallway is on, and I can hear voices.
Are they talking about me? If so, do I want to hear it?
I decide against listening and walk into the room.
It’s a large kitchen with a huge pine table and eight chairs.
“Um, hi,” I say quietly to them.
They both turn to me and smile warmly. It doesn’t look as if I’ve interrupted anything about me. There’s no look of shame or guilt on their faces. “Oh good, do you feel better? Can I get you some painkillers? I’m sure those bruises hurt.”
Do I? I’ve never had them before, and I’ve been beaten too many times over the years and have survived, but the choice between having or not is an easy one to make. “Um, please. Some paracetamol, if you have them.”
“Sit down, Knox. I’ve made some soup, and there’s a grilled cheese sandwich just about ready.”
I take the chair Robin gestured to and sit down. The other guy, I can’t remember his name, sits a few chairs away. “I’m Kip,” he holds his hand out for me to shake. “I’m Knox.”
With that done, Robin puts a steaming bowl of tomato soup and a plate with four large triangles of thick bread with cheese oozing out them. “It’s homemade; I hope you like it.”
I take a spoonful of the soup and moan. It’s the tastiest thing I’ve ever had.
I bite into the bread, and the cheese is all gooey and stretchy, like on a pizza.
I shovel it all in with no care that they’re probably watching me.
I can’t get it in my belly quick enough.
As I use the last crust of bread to scrape around the bowl, I wish it was full again.