A/N: This was written quite a while ago and I'm not actually too sure on whether I'll be keeping it up. But for now, I hope you enjoy. It's only a short one-shot and I must warn that there does contain some physical violence so if you're easily offended, it's probably best that you don't read.

The Whore's Heart Breaks

She tried to concentrate on the stomping of her stilettos as she walked timidly towards her working territory; her place of shame. The place where she would transform from the young and beautiful Carla Donovan to just another statistic, just another dirty good-for-nothing hooker clogging up the Streets of Manchester.

She stood, back leaned against the dark grubby wall, knee bent as she lifted her leg to rest underneath her bum. Her heart hammered violently in her chest as she anticipated what tonight's events may bring. She stood seductively despite feeling sick with nerves. Her black leather mini skirt had risen slightly and was now revealing the silky red underwear she was wearing. Her skin goosebumped and a cool shiver shot up her spine as the vicious wind beat against her naked skin.

Her overall feeling of helplessness forced her to contemplate how different her life would be had she not ran away from home. She came to the conclusion that it probably wouldn't be that different at all, her father would have made damn sure of that.

She tries to remember exactly how young she had been when she had discovered her father for the man he truly was; the sick, sadistic bully who took great pleasure in other people's pain. In Carla's pain, in particular. A lonely tear trickled down her cheek as a flashback of her and her father's last encounter forced its way into her mind...

"I'm sixteen years old, you can't keep controlling my life!" Carla spat as she stormed through to the family living room, her father following close behind.

"You are NOT going out dressed like that, my girl. No daughter of mine goes out dressed like the local slut." he spat viciously.

Carla stared at him with a fierce scowl. "What I wear 'as nothin' to do with you! I don't tell you what you can an' can't wear, do I? Now if you don't mind, I'm off out wi' Michelle. Don't wait up, 'ey?" She went to storm past him and out the door, but she was abruptly stopped as his hand curled into her hair and dragged her back.

"Don't try an' get smart with me, you little bitch. How many times 'ave I gotta teach you, 'ey?" he hissed aggressively in to her ear. His one hand was still tangled in her hair and his other arm had snaked around her abdomen holding her against him. Carla's hand was trying to weave her hair out of his grip as her face winced in pain. She struggled against him to try and free herself but her strength was no match for his.

"Let me go!" she pleaded through gritted teeth.

"Ah ah ah, you're still not getting it are ya love?" her father teased. "Let me go... what?"

Carla rolled her eyes and sighed, "Please." she again said through gritted teeth.

"Please what?" he continued to tease.

"You fucking know what, you stupid prick. Ah-" Carla was cut-off as her father yanked her head back before smashing it into the wall. As he yanked her hair back he loosened his grip and she fell to the floor. He stood staring at her for a few seconds, watching as she clutched her head; blood seeping through her fingers as she quietly whimpered in pain. Then his face contorted in to an angry snarl and he lifted his leg back before forcing it against her stomach. Carla doubled over in pain, winded by the sheer force of his kick, tears lined her eyes as her father continued his assault. He continued kicking into her stomach, her ribs, her face. Carla's hands flew up in front of her as she tried to protect herself and continued to shout in fear, pleading with her father to stop his vicious attack on her.

"PLEASE, DAD. STOP!" she cried hysterically. "DAD, PLEASE. I WON'T GO OUT, ALRIGHT? PLEASE STOP!" her voice cracked as her body was overcome with despairing sobs.

"Too late." was all her dad had replied with, and once he had finished releasing all his anger on his daughter he stepped back and walked away, as if nothing had happened.

Carla was left sprawled on the floor, no other movement other than the tremble of her battered body. Both her face and her stomach were littered in cuts and bruises and judging by the wheezing sound she was emitting with each painful breath, she was convinced she had broken a rib or two. She led there for a good ten minutes before she struggled to get up. There had been only one thought invading her mind at that moment at that was to get out. She couldn't do this anymore; she'd well and truly had enough of tip-toeing around her own home in fear of when her father would next lose his temper. Admittedly, this was one of the worst beatings he had ever given her, but she promised herself that it would also be the last. She took one last look around the room, picked up the photograph of her little brother that was resting on the mantlepiece and shoved it in her bag before rushing out of the house. She felt a sharp pain shoot through her body with each step she took but thankfully the hospital wasn't too far from where she lived. She got herself checked over by the doctor and before anyone had a chance to raise any suspicions of the young girl's injuries she scarpered from the building and took shelter in an old abandoned house in the middle of the woods for the night...

She was pulled back to the present as the sound of a car slowly turning its way in her direction startled her. Her breath hitched in her throat as the headlights beamed straight at her. This was is, she thought. This was what she had left home for, to be stood in the darkness of the night and to await any old man to come along and be her saviour, just for one night. Her heart hammered violently in her chest as the car pulled up beside her, the window wound down and an unfaced man hiding in the shadows whispered huskily, "How much?"