Well, hi again! This is a new story, and I have no idea where it's going. So… umm… yeah. Hope you enjoy it, all the same!
She felt so fucking hopeless.
Lying there on the ground, tending to her wounds as best she could, stemming the flow of blood, telling herself that it couldn't happen again, not to her, never to her.
But she knew that it could. No matter what she did, anything could happen here. For here on the streets, nothing was sacred. Nothing at all, especially her innocence.
So she just lay there, and bled, and cried, not knowing what the fuck to do.
Cried, for her and everybody else stuck on the streets with nowhere else to go.
For her sheer helplessness.
Footsteps echoed in the alleyway. Struggling to her knees, coughing up blood.
The footsteps stopped. Right next to her.
Fuck.
Tensing, shutting her eyes, waiting for the rough hands to come, throw her on the ground.
But it never happened.
Opening her eyes to see a young teenager kneeling beside her. Obviously notfrom the streets. He had actual clothes, as opposed to the telltale rags that the street children wore.
"Are you alright?"
One cough, another, before she could choke out an answer.
"I'm fucking bleeding here. Do I look fucking fine to you?"
"Come back to my house. I can help you get cleaned up."
The words made her freeze. "No fucking way. I fell for that last time. I'm not falling for it again. Don't even think about it."
His eyes widened ever so slightly. "I don't understand what you are talking about."
"Don't act coy! You rich snobs are all the same. Take the kids home, tell them you'll look after them, then take them back and fuck them. I've heard it happen, and it's not going to happen to me, you stupid mother-fucker!"
Sudden sadness swept the boy's face. "I didn't know. If that is the case, then I fully understand if you do not wish to come with me. If you wait here, I will bring some things back to tend your wounds. If you do not wish to wait for me, I will leave them here for you."
He's being too kind. It can't be genuine.
"What do you want?" she blurted out, wiping the trail of blood snaking down her cheek.
He shook his head, lowering his eyes to stare at the ground. "Nothing. But I could not simply walk past you when you were hurt."
"You're a stupid fuck if you walk through here regularly. Gangs like to hang around the alleyways and bash the shit out of people who go through. Or worse. They'll do it to anybody, you know. Just because you're a guy doesn't mean you're safe here."
Silence. She was about to open her mouth to ask him what he thought of that, before he pushed a crisp white handkerchief into her hands.
"Use that to bandage your wounds. I will be back in a moment, if you will wait for me."
Before she could say anything else, he was gone. One minute he was there, the next minute he simply… wasn't.
As if he will come back. He just needed an excuse to get away.
Slowly, she tended to her wounds, bandaging the biggest cut with the handkerchief that he had given her, before unsteadily getting to a standing position and dragging herself unceremoniously out of the alleyway without looking back.
The bitter wind was cutting through her pathetic blanket as she curled up beside a few metal trash cans, rain soaking her through. Next to no chance of sleeping there tonight.
Pulling the blanket around her shoulders, she decided to go and check the alleyway. Just to see if that strange boy actually had kept his word and left something there for her. But she would be more careful this time. Nobody could hurt her, this time…
Nobody there. The alleyway was deserted. Nothing there…
Except for a small basket, now wet with the rain. She grabbed it and ran out of the alleyway as fast as she could, before finding a small sheltered corner and settling herself there, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders more tightly and rifling through the contents of the basket.
Some gauze, neatly wrapped in foil. Some packages of food. A bottle of water. And nestled down the bottom, underneath everything else, was a woollen jumper.
She could hardly believe her luck. A woollen jumper. Now she wouldn't freeze over the winter.
As she pulled out the jumper, a piece of paper fell out of the folds of material. Holding it up to the streetlight, she managed to make out some writing.
54 East Lane
What did that mean? Was it that boy's house? Or was it left there from a previous use? Or was it a trap, to ambush her?
She wanted to trust the boy, but she couldn't. Even though he had helped her, he could just as easily hurt her. And she would rather die then have that happen again…
Now quite warm in her new woollen jumper, despite the biting wind, she curled up under her blanket and fell into a restless slumber.