Four Years Later

"Kid!" I hear from behind me. I huff and roll my eyes, then turn. Donny... not that I'd needed to see him to know who it was. I'd know Donny's voice anywhere.

"Yes?" I say, forcing myself to sound semi-polite. I really don't want to see him right now. Actually, I never want to see him, but right now more than ever.

I'm sixteen years old. My plan was to survive doing what I had to until then, than get a real job. That didn't work out so well. Turns out, Donny wasn't quite ready to let me stop whoring just yet. My jaw still hurts from the big resounding "NO" he'd given me when I'd asked.

"You got the cash?" he asks, in his harsh demanding tone. I want nothing more than to correct his grammar, but I learned pretty quickly that words like "do" and "have" weren't necessary anymore. Sounding unintelligent meant you were tough, I suppose. Which, actually made a decent amount of sense when you considered the idea that most intellectuals tended to not be physically outstanding or good in a fight, so eventually people and cultures would develop ways to simulate the sound of what they assumed as strong.

"Yeah," I answer. "I have your money." I, on the other hand, can't stand to speak with bad grammar. I guess that comes my mother, the lit teacher.

I fish in the pockets of my too small, threadbare jeans and pulled out a roll of bills, and counted out what I owe Donny. When I'd first started hustling for Donny, I tried to argue that it was my body being hurt and doing all the work and that I was paying Donny rent already, so I shouldn't have to give him a cent of my hard earned cash. That didn't go over too well and I never made that mistake again.

I was in bed for at least a week.

He carefully counts the bills one by one and I feel inexplicably anxious, worried that something will be missing, even though I know it's all good. Apparently Donny does too, because he grunts in satisfaction, and tucks the money into his pocket.

"Come 'ere, boy," he tells me gruffly. I know that tone. I know what he wants, and I don't like it anymore than I did the first time. I was twelve.

I go anyways and wait until he puts a hand on my shoulder and pushes me down to kneel and open his jeans. I don't cry or gag like I used to, but it still disgusts me: the manly heady smell and whole act in general.

When he finally comes and I swallow, he says "Good boy," with a pat on my head, then walks away. I wait for him to be out of sight and hearing distance before sticking a finger down my throat and throwing up, the same thing I do every time I'm forced to give a blow-job.

I hate my life. I hate my life so much, but I can't give up yet. I have responsibilities, and I have to take care of my mother. It's not fair; I should be in college, with professors and students and dorm rooms, and instead I whore myself like so many people in Las Vegas to take care of my mother and afford a few off-campus courses at the local university. But life isn't fair.

"Hey, kid!" I hear. I look up and see Evan, one of Donny's other "boys" as we're so affectionately known on the streets. He's older than me and more mature and tries to act like a parent. I don't actually know what Evan is to me. Not a parent.

"Hi Evan," I greet, standing up and trying my best to look like I hadn't just leaned over and purposefully thrown up everything currently in my stomach. He never likes it when I do that. It didn't work. Evan just glanced at the bile and then up at me and the smell I was currently exuding.

"Spencer," he starts disapprovingly. "Kid, you can't do that. I know it sucks, trust me, but you can't just get rid of all your food. It's stupid."

"Fuck you, Evan. I don't need a damn lecture," I tell him. "You don't have a right to tell me what I can't do."

"Yeah, I do, kid," he says annoyingly. "You're killin' yourself. You won't survive if you refuse to keep anything on your stomach."

"If the only thing I can keep in my stomach is cum, I'll die first."

"And I'm sure six years ago you'd have said you would die before selling your body," Evan says harshly. "Besides, that's not what I mean. I agree, it's gross as fuck when you gotta swallow, but you've been eatin' other things too, and when you throw up their nasty cum, you're also throwing up your last meal that you ate and dehydrating yourself. You're tiny enough already. Don't want you gettin' any skinnier than you already are." He gives me a cursory look up and down, which makes me feel inexplicably self-conscious every time.

I glance up at Evan, trying to find flaw in his argument, but before I can, Evan continues, "Besides, weren't you the one telling me about Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs or whatever? You have to be safe and alive before you can worry about happiness and self-realization?"

"Self actualization, but yeah. Anyways, that's a theory, a psychological argument, but, like all psychological arguments, can't be proven."

Evan just glares at me.

"Look, Spencer," he says impatiently, "if you won't do it for yourself, do it for me. You're fuckin' tiny." He pokes me in the ribs at that, and I stumble backwards, barely able to keep my balance. "See that? That's what I'm talking about. You can't even fucking stand on your own feet and I can see those bony little ribs of yours."

I want to cry at his blunt description of me, for some reason, what Evan thinks of me has always been so much more important than what any one else does. Dependency, I suppose. I look up at his deep blue eyes for a moment to see if he'll back down from the argument and tell me that he's exaggerating, but he continues to just look at me.

"Fine," I (reluctantly) promise. "I'll be safer next time."

"Good," Evan tells me. "You're too young for this."

"I'm not that much younger than you!" I protest angrily. I hate when he treats me like a child.

"Yeah, kid, ya kinda are. Six years... That's pretty nice age difference."

"I'm not a kid!" I protest again.

"You're sixteen," Evan says helpfully, "you're a kid."

"Am not!" I demand. "I'm a teenager."

"See? Only kids say that."

I stick my tongue out at him, but he just laughs. I have to admit, though, he has a good point about not forcing myself to throw up. He's had a good point for a long time; ever since I started he's gotten on to me about it, but no matter how much I try, I can't. It's disgusting to me, being forced to keep the memory of your rape with you simply to survive. I hate it. I hate my life.

Evan walks home with me, and he comes in behind me. He stays in the apartment more often than not. To keep safe and all. I owe him more than I feel I can ever repay. He's kept me safe, taught me how to find food, helped me after difficult jobs, and shown me how to keep the johns happy.

Mom is asleep on the ratty old couch in the living room when we come in. The windows are closed and boarded up and I can tell from the state of the living room and kitchen that it's been a bad day.

I quietly walk down the hall and grab a blanket and pillow and carefully cover my mother with the blanket before placing her head gently on the pillow.

It's almost three in the morning and so I decide it's time to turn in. Evan and I head back to my room and we curl up on the bed together. The first time this happened, I was twelve and he was eighteen and I'd just had my first real trick. Looking back, I realize that Donny had actually set me up with a fairly gentle guy for my first time, but I was still twelve and hurt. He'd left me at the corner where Donny usually has us meet our tricks...

I curled up on the ground in fetal position, sobbing. I hurt so bad! Why would anyone want to do that to a person?

'Hey, kid,' I heard. I didn't acknowledge the voice.'Hey, you okay?' I felt a hand gently touch my shoulder. 'What's the matter?'

I looked up finally at a man, maybe eighteen, he seemed to be the age of the kids in my class. He had dark, almost black, hair and dark blue eyes. He was really handsome and looked more mature and grown up than the kids I'd known in my senior year.

'What's your name?' he asked when I didn't answer any of his other questions.

'Sp-spencer,' I quietly whisper, 'Spencer Reid.'

'What're you doin' out here, Spencer?' he asked.

'I was dropped off and I- I should go home, b-but I kinda hurt.'

'Dropped off?' he asked, sounding confused. 'By who?'

'Whom," I corrected automatically. 'By whom.'

He looked amused and annoyed at the same time. 'Okay, by whom?'

'I- I don't really know his name-'

'Why were you with him, kid? You shouldn't talk to strangers.'

'You're a stranger," I pointed out.

'True. You probably shouldn't talk to me except for that I'm tryin' to help you,' he answered. 'But you still haven't told me why you were with a stranger.'

'Well, Donny-'

That was apparently enough for him to understand. He cursed under his breath and ran his hand through his hair.

'How old are you kid?'

'Tw-twelve," I stuttered.

'And you're hooking?'

'I d-don't know what that means..." I admitted, embarrassed.

'You're so innocent,' he said in an almost adoring way, but I couldn't figure out why. 'I'm gonna take you home, alright? My name is Evan. Can you tell me where you live?' He was bent down next to me and pushed some of my curls out of my face, like my mom used to do for me when I was little and she was lucid, before I'd fall asleep.

I nodded and rattled off my address. 'I know the place,' Evan told me. 'It's the apartments that Donny owns, right?'

I nodded my head and was shocked when I felt Evan place one arm under my knees and one under my neck to pick me up bridal style.

'Hey!' I protested fairly weakly. 'Put me down! I can walk!'

'Geez, kid, you don't hardly weigh a thing!' he commented. 'When was the last time you ate?'

'Um... I don't remember,' I answered.

He sighed again. 'First thing tomorrow, you're getting a good meal in your stomach, alright?'

I nodded once more.

He, to my embarrassment, carried me all the way into my apartment and wouldn't put me down until we were in my room and he laid me on my bed. Once I was in bed and laid down, he pulled off his shoes and started to climb in next to me.

'What- what're you doing?' I asked, sensing that something was off.

'I'm stayin' here tonight,' he answered, 'to keep you safe or whatever.' I looked at him skeptically, but moved over to let him in. He rolled me over so we were face-to-face and cuddled me in his arms. I stiffened, but didn't pull back. I was hoping he would sense I didn't want to be held, but if he did, he didn't show it, only held me tighter and pulled me closer.

As we were laying there, I got more and more uncomfortable. I thought about pulling out of his arms, but he'd done so much for me... Still, I could tell something was off. Then, he leaned towards me and kissed me, right on the lips.

I gasped and jerked away. 'D-don't-' I stuttered. I didn't want that. The man earlier started with a kiss, and got further after that it hurt so very bad. I didn't want this from him

'Shh," he whispered in my ear. 'I've helped you a lot tonight and I'm going to help you more tomorrow. Remember? I'm getting you food when you wake up? You can give this one thing surely? I'm not asking for much. Just a kiss. It'd be selfish for me to do all this for you, and you give nothing in return.'

I felt bad immediately. He had done so much for me. I could give him one little kiss, couldn't I? He was right; It was selfish not to. So, I nodded my head once again, and shyly pressed my lips against his.

He grabbed the back of my head roughly and I whimpered as he sped up the kiss, to the point that it was almost violent. I started trying to pull back and tell him to slow down, then realized that that would be unappreciative and selfish.

We kissed for a lot longer until he pulled back, then flipped me around so my back was towards his chest and held me tightly against him.

I shake the memory off myself and focus on Evan behind me nibbling at my ear and draping his arms over me.

"Evan, hey, Ev," I try to shake him off of me, "Please, not tonight. I-I'll make it up to you later. Just, not right now."

He chuckles lightly and continues to kiss and touch me.

"Seriously, Evan!" I say rolling my shoulders to try and get him off me. "I'm really not in the mood."

He backs off and seems angry. "You're not in the mood?" he says dangerously. I turn over and look at him and realize that I've said something wrong.

"Evan, I'm sorry, I just-"

"Well, I really wasn't in the mood to help your little ass when you were twelve and crying out on the streets. Or when you couldn't eat. Or when your mom had an attack and you needed a place to stay. You'll put out for all those johns for a couple of bucks and Donny for nothin' but with all I do for you, you're not in the mood?!" he yells.

"That's not- Evan, please!" I start to beg, when he begins getting up and out of bed.

"You know what, Spencer Reid. Fuck you. You're on your own."

"No," I say brokenly. I can't lose Evan. Not to my own stupidity and ungratefulness. "Please, Evan. I'm sorry." I get out of bed and come to him. "I'm sorry. I'm stupid and selfish and unappreciative and..." I start crying and clutching desperately at him. "I'm sorry."

I start to kiss him and trail down his stomach leaving little kisses as I go, until I reach his pants. I undo them, and start trying to get him off with my mouth, but before he gets more than semi-hard, but pulls me off.

"Nuh-uh, Spencer. I don't want to come there tonight," he says harshly. But I still smile because even if he doesn't want a blow-job and is pissed at me, he's gonna give me another chance.

"Of course!" I say, probably way over the top happy, my god, I'm so clingy! How does he stand me? But I continue anyways. "How- how do you want me?"

"Hands and knees," he commands coldly. I obey and wait nervously for him. He doesn't take long, and it takes me a second to realize that he's already lining his cock up, without any preparation. Sure, I mean, I've taken guys like that before but it always hurts and I'm always left damaged afterwards. But, I decide I can give this to Evan. I owe it to him.

I bury my face in my pillow and wait for him to finish. It hurts, but I manage to distract myself, to go somewhere else.

"Love you, baby," he whispers in my ear, when he's finished. "You just gotta do what I say sometimes though, ya know? I only want to keep you safe. But, you know I love you, right?"

"I-I know," I stutter, and I do. "Love you, too."