CHAPTER 21 #2
“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. He bought 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 the bottle.
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 screams down 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 feel every 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.
I looked at her again. Really looked. Not the sharp-tongued hurricane I’d first met.
Not the tightly wound firecracker I’d butted heads with for months.
This was a girl rebuilt from shards, wearing scars like warpaint, still standing somehow.
I wanted to grab her and pull her close, shield her from the wind and everything else that could ever touch her like that again.
But I didn’t because she’d told me why she didn’t like to be touched.
I understood what that meant now. And Misfit?
She wouldn’t take kindly to me going soft.
She didn’t do comfort. Didn’t trust it. If I reached for her now, if I showed even a fraction of what was swelling in my chest. It’d break whatever fragile understanding we had.
So, I buried it. Shoved that tidal wave of protectiveness into the same pit where I’d buried my own nightmares.
Locked it down, tight. That was the thing about anger: I knew what to do with that.
Rage made sense. But this? This warmth curling under my ribs like a live wire, this want to be near, to understand, to be her fucking shield. It scared the shit out of me.
“Misfit…” I said her name quietly, unsure why I was speaking at all. She didn’t move. Just blinked slow, steady. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she turned from me, heading for the metal steps.
“Where are you going?” Watching as she glanced back over her shoulder at me.
“Your place. I’m wet.” My lips pressed together as I tilted my head to the side. I let out a sigh as I followed her, still clutching the half-drunk bottle in my hand.