Jack awoke with a start in the middle of the night from the loud crash of glass as it smashed against the hardwood floor that his entire house was furnished in. He knew it had been quiet for too long. Things were going well for once in his life, his foster parents were getting along and he was happy, doing well in school, his self-esteem was even starting to repair itself. He looked at his door, waiting for the noise that would come shortly after signaling that it was more than an accident.

When the second loud crash sounded throughout the house Jack jumped off of his bed and went to his hiding place. He threw the closet door open, turning the light on and leaving the door open a crack, then crept underneath the bed. He had been doing this for years, sometimes it worked in fooling the drunk monster that was his foster father into believing that he had been in the closet, but had since then left the room, sometimes it didn't and he found him moments later.

Jack shook beneath his bed, a frail, undernourished empty shell of a thirteen year old boy. He hated the night when he was more susceptible to the torture that was inflicted upon him. During the day, his foster father could see Jack's face and left him alone for the most part, with only a few discouraging remarks here and there, but at night, the lights were off, only the stars shone and even they were dimmed by the smog of the city.

The footsteps neared his room and his shaking becoming a violent, uncontrollable thing. He dug his finger nails into his flannel clad thigh, hoping that the pain might help the shaking to cease. The door was thrown open and Jack quickly scurried further towards the back. His foster father stumbled towards the lit closet, mumbled something angrily and incoherently. He swung the closet door open and when Jack wasn't there it didn't take more than a moment for him to realize where he was.

Angrily, he pulled on the long chain that controlled the light in the closet, turning the only source of light off and then fell to the floor with a loud thud. He peered underneath the bed and Jack stopped breathing, trying to remain as still as he could. With his eyes closed and no movement at all he had a miniscule chance. However, it didn't work that night.

Jack's foster father called out to him, promising not to hurt him. He reached out for the boy's ankle and harshly yanked on it. Jack was helpless as he slid across the hardwood floor, desperately clawing at it, hoping that his nails would catch onto a loose floorboard, anything to stop him from being dragging by the monster. However, no such relief was granted to him.

Without a word, or even a second to think, his foster father pulled him up from the floor and tossed him across the room as he if was a limp rag doll. Jack hit the wall with a loud thud, his fall to the floor, his face smack into the corner of his bedside table on the way down. He brought his knees up to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible as the man neared him. He could hear the unclasping of a metal belt buckle and waited in dread of the noise the leather made as it whipped harshly against his skin. He counted each loud crack it made as he felt the sting of the belt on his skin. He tried his best not to cry out in pain, it only gave the bastard a sick sort of pleasure when he did, and closed his eyes tightly, attempting to project himself out of the hell that he was going through.

Before he could go anywhere in his mind, he heard the belt drop to the floor and felt two large, meaty hands grab at his already aching flesh and pull him up from the floor. He was limp from pain and could barely move as his foster father threw him onto the bed. Jack fell onto it, nearly bouncing off of it. He coughed softly, tasting blood in his mouth, he spit it out onto his bed and gasped for air. His foster father yelled at him and he laid there motionless, as the man grabbed him again and turned him over so that Jack lay on his stomach, his face buried in the thickness of his mattress, so close to his own blood that he had just coughed up that he could smell it.

Jack couldn't do anything to defend himself. He knew that in just moments the man that he had been told was there to protect him would violate him just like he had so many times before. He laid there, felt his skin slowly being exposed to the cold air, and then he felt his insides being torn apart. As he waited for it to end the pressure reached his stomach, the bile from it being pushed out and rising his throat. He bit back the tears as the pounding increased.

Luckily, the monster finished fast, the asshole was always consistent in that. What he wasn't consistent in, however, was what happened afterwards. Sometimes, he would just leave Jack alone on the bed and walk out of the room, smugly satisfied, but this night, he wasn't done. He picked up the boy and launched him at the wall. Jack threw his arms up to cover his face and the skin on his arm caught on a nail where a picture once hung. As he fell to the floor in a heap, the nail tore through his thin flesh and he screamed out in pain.

That was what did it, the scream that Jack let out. His foster father laughed smugly then left the room, leaving Jack in pain on the floor. As soon as the door slammed shut Jack didn't hold back anymore. The tears he had been holding back the entire time flew freely from his eyes and he sobbed uncontrollably.

Once he regained composure of himself, he slowly stood up, leaning onto the wall for help. He walked over to his closet and grabbed the bag that he had come there with. He filled it with anything he could find that he knew he would need, deciding that it was time to leave. He dropped the bag onto the floor and quickly dressed. Without a thought as to where he was going or what he was going to do, Jack opened the window and climbed out. He carefully stepped down to the edge of the roof and jumped off, falling and landing badly on his side. He grasped his side in pain but made no noise in fear that he would be heard. Then, as quickly as he could, he got to his feet and disappeared into the darkness.

An hour later he found himself in the middle of a particularly bad part of Detroit. He walked down the streets, hiding his badly bruised face behind his hoodie. He grew tired only moments later and stopped walking just in front of a street where the trade was less than legal.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" a voice asked from a little bit away.

"What?"

"Are you okay?" she repeated.

Jack looked up from behind his hoodie and saw a girl a little bit older than him standing a little bit away. She looked at him worriedly and slowly walked over to him. Jack watched the way she moved as she made her way towards him. She had the walk of someone who knew how to entice the opposite sex. She smiled softly, almost as if she were laughing, and when she reached his side she placed a gentle hand on his arm. She took in the bruise with her eyes and her touch, a chill rushing through Jack's body as she did. He looked up at her and he noticed her eyes on him. They were a warm brown with depth and compassion directed towards him that he hadn't seen before.

"Yeah," Jack replied, pulling on his hoodie, trying to cover his face.

"I haven't seen you around here before," the girl said/

"That's because I haven't been here before," he answered.

"Are you cold?" she asked.

"I'm okay."

"No, you're not," she replied. She grabbed his hand and dragged him with her. "I have a place where you can get warm. It's not very clean or anything, but it's warmer and safe…For the time being."

"For the time being?"

"Nothing here is safe for long, that's the one thing you learn out here," she informed him, looking at him sadly. She continued walking through the brisk autumn night, pulling him along with her, carefully where she squeezed his arm. "Don't you have a family that's going to worry about you?"

"No. They don't care about me." He looked down at the ground as they walked, unable to keep her gaze. "No one does."

"I'm sure that's not true. You're a sweet boy, and even though it may not mean much, I care about you already. So you must have tons of people who care about you."

"No, you're the first."

"Lucky me."

The way she said those words, Jack could tell she wasn't being sarcastic. She was endearing, more so than anyone he had ever known or was supposed to call family, and he had only just met her. He watched her walk a little bit in front of him, the tails of her coat soaring in the wind that passed by her. She dragged him around the corner and walked over to a large, decrepit building that looked like it had long ago been a factory. She dropped his arm and took a hold of a large piece of plywood that had been a makeshift door. She looked back at Jack and nodded towards the building.

"It may not be much, but like I said, warmer and safe."

Jack took a few steps toward the building and looked into the whole that had become a doorway. He saw a strong light coming from a fire pit inside and slowly walked inside, noticing the people there. He stopped only a few feet from the entrance and waited for the girl to enter before he did anything else. He didn't know this place after all, he didn't want to offend anyone who might be there by intruding.

"It's okay," she said.

She gently rested her hand on his back, directly over his forming bruise hidden by his clothing. It was unintentional, but the weight of her hand on his injury caused him more pain and he winced softly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She removed her hand and started to walk towards the fire pit. "Come with me."

Jack obeyed, there was something in her voice that made him trust this person that he hadn't even learned the name of. She glanced back at him as they walked towards the pit. As they neared it, Jack noticed older metal folding chairs and pillows with ripped hems strewn hap-hazardously around it. She quickly bent down to gather up the pillows and threw them into a pile, she instructed Jack to sit there and then she disappeared into one of the dark corners of the room. Jack quickly sat down, the heat from the fire quickly starting to warm him. He held out his hands let the licks of the flame near his skin.

"Be careful," the girl said, running over to him. "I don't have anything for burns."

Looking up at her, Jack noticed a first aid kit hand from her long fingers. She plopped down onto the pillows beside him and unlocked the case, carefully unpacking it before them. He scanned the bottles in front of him, reading the labels in his head. He could tell from the things that she was unpacking that she knew there was more than just the obvious contusions wrong with him.

"Um, I need to look at your wounds," she said softly.

Jack looked at her eyes and knew instantly that she wasn't going to hurt him intentionally. Carefully, Jack reached for the zipper on his jacket and slowly undid it, letting it fall off of his shoulders and to the dusty cement ground. He reached for the edge of his sweatshirt and gently pulled it up over his head, revealing the t-shirt he was wearing underneath. He left the last shirt on, not wanting to expose himself entirely to the cold or reveal all his abrasions until he had to.

Just on his arms he had at least three huge gashes on each one. The girl observed them for a moment and then quickly went to work on cleaning them. She reached for the bottle of alcohol and doused the gauze she had with it. She looked up at him and smiled sympathetically.

"This might hurt a bit," she warned him.

Closing his eyes, Jack waited for the sting of the alcohol and cringed softly as soon as it started. The girl winced along with him, feeling his pain as she tried to gently apply that medicine. She kept her eyes on the abrasions, finding the look on his face to hard to bear. Once she was done, she gently dropped the used, reddened, gauze to the floor and reached out to embrace the side of his face. Jack's eyes shot open, not used to such kindness in a touch and she removed her hand.

"What are those from?" she asked. She looked at his arms as she wrapped fresh bandages around them. "Most of them look like they're from repeated hits to the arm from leather or something like it, but I could be wrong."

"A belt," Jack answered meekly.

"And this one?" she questioned, running her hand over a gash that was too deep and jagged to be caused from the whip of a belt.

"A nail."

"Sadistic bastard," she muttered under her breath. She looked up at Jack and noticed the split lip. She grabbed another piece of gauze, poured something from another bottle onto it and then pressed it against his lip. "I wish I could do something for your bruises, but my resources are limited at best."

"It's okay." Jack placed his hand over his and looked over at her. "Thank you."

"It's not a problem. A lot of injuries you have to deal with in my professional, you get used to it," she said.

"Profession? You don't seem the type."

"You don't even know my name, how can you possibly know what type I am?"

"Well, what's your name?" Jack asked.

"Bailey," she replied. "And you are?"

"Jack."

"I've always liked that name."

Bailey smiled and stood up, she walked to the other end of the room and brought back an old blanket. She handed it to Jack and sat back down next to him.

"It's not the warmest thing ever, but it's better than nothing," she said.

"Thank you. I don't know what I would have done if-"

"Don't worry about it," she replied, shaking her head. "You look kind of young to be out on the streets by yourself."

"I'm probably the same age as you."

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"A baby," she replied, smiling. "I'm fifteen."

"Two years, what a difference," Jack replied, sarcastically.

"It can be a huge difference," she said. Bailey reached around Jack and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. "Things about me that you're not going to want to know."

"I want to know everything."

"No, you don't," she said, shaking her head. "I'm not the girl you think I am."

"Yes, you are," he replied, a bit too eagerly. "I mean, you're nice…What caused you to be here was probably beyond your control like me."

"I'm a hooker, Jack, I'm whatever anyone wants me to be. And as for what brought me here, you have no idea, so don't assume that you do. You're still a child."

"A child?" he asked, incredulously. "I am not a child. No one is a child after they go through what I've gone through."

Bailey looked over at the fire and brought her knees up to her chest. She sighed gently and jut sat there, the two of them not speaking. After a few moments the scraping of the plywood makeshift door across the concrete startled the two of them. Bailey stood up and ran towards it, meeting someone just as they entered.

"There's a request for you," the girl said.

"Who?" Bailey asked. "It better not be that fuckin' asshole Jay or I swear-"

"Nah, it's that Mercer guy I think." Bailey nodded and turned back towards Jack. "I gotta go, stay here…I'll be back in a few hours."

The title of the story comes from the song "Nowhere Kids" by Smile Empty Soul (Check them out, they're really underrated).

Should I continue?

Also, anyone want to beta for me? I know I have some issues with careless errors so anyone want to help?