(T/W for rape, non/con!)

James' P.O.V

"Who could that be now?" Mum mutters, standing up to open the door.

I shrug. It's like my voice has died. I can't remember how to speak.

Everything's just been so traumatic these past few months. I've been going through more than I could've imagined. I've seen things I should never have.

It's been terrifying. The world's been a blur; a loud, spinning shape that causes chaos in my mind. My eyes have been opened to things most people's never will be.

I've seen a different side of the world. And I'll never be able to forget it.

Let me explain.

Hello. My name is James Madison. I'm fifteen years old and I'm homeless.

I lost my home about a year ago.

The place wasn't anything special. It was small. Me and Mum had to share a room. There was mould on some of the walls. The shower didn't work. The toilet barely flushed. We had no spare money, and family members were having to help buy us food.

But it was a roof above my head. It was a bed to sleep in. It was somewhere to survive.

And then we lost it.

We'd been struggling for years. The company Mum worked for had gone bankrupt and shut down. She couldn't find anywhere else that would take her. She'd been bringing in a bit of money from her factory job cleaning hire chairs.

I'd tried getting a job to help. But I was 14 at the time. And hardly any places would take anyone that age.

It was inevitable.

I remember the way I would curl up on my mattress and wonder, "How long? How long left in this place? How long before we're living on the streets?"

I'd ask Mum but she always assured me it would never come to that. She told me to stay positive. But I could tell she didn't believe it herself. Her eyes showed she was asking the same questions. But she also had the pressure of looking after a child on her shoulders.

She was scared. She wanted me to be safe.

Eventually, the landlord came to our flat.

"You two have been living here how long?" The landlord asks. He has dark skin and no hair. But I'm drawn to the grim smile on his face.

"3 years." Mum says.

The man looks thoughtful, "That's the longest my guests have ever stayed." He smirks, "And how much have you been paying me per year?"

"As much as we can afford." Mum whispers.

The man steps closer to us, "I see." He purrs.

I back against the damp wall, trembling, "What are you going to do to us?"

I can feel my heart beating in my chest. The sound seems to echo through the whole room. My hands are pale and shaking. I watch the man's expression turn sour.

"What you have been paying isn't enough." He growls, straightening his tie.

I can see Mum fighting back tears.

This is the day we've both been expecting and dreading for so long.

"It's all we have." She says quietly, "Please, you can't kick us out. We need this place to survive."

"And I need your money to survive!" He shouts, leaning into her face, "In case you haven't noticed Mrs Madison, I'm not exactly living the dream here! I need the money from this flat to pay for my own style of living!"

Mum doesn't back down, "And what's your style of living? Passing out drunk every night! Gambling all your cash away! Why should we pay you money we don't even have, for you to just go and throw it out the window!?"

The landlord glares at her, his beady eyes glowing with fury.

"You know the rules! You pay, you stay! Run out of dosh, you're gone!" He spits.

"But I don't have the money! Look around you, we're living in terrible conditions. You think we'd be living in this dump if we had the money?" Mum retorts, gesturing around at the peeling wallpaper and the nest of ants living in the corner of the room.

"I think you'll recall the papers you signed when I let you live here." His voice drops, a smile creeping across his face.

Mum nods silently.

"So, you remember that you agreed to pay me every month?" He asks in a sickly-sweet tone.

She nods again. I notice a tear squeeze its way from the corner of her eye.

"And you remember that you swore that if you couldn't pay, you'd leave?" He grins.

"Yes..." She whispers, staring right past him.

He laughs softly, "I'll give you fifteen minutes to pack."

And he leaves us. I watch as his shoes disappear down the stairs to the flat he lives in beneath us. I hear his breathing gradually fade, and the click of his heels on the stone.

I look around the room. It may not be much, but it's the only thing stopping us from scavenging on the street.

I love it.

I love the smell of mould. I love the sharp springs digging in my back when I sleep. I love the stains on the ceiling that smile at me when I lie down. I love the little bugs that share the flat with us. I love the TV that doesn't work. I love the rusty bowl we wash in and the water that hardly ever works. I love the way we have no heating or electricity.

I love this place.

I know that's an awful thing for a child to say; that they're so used to this that they enjoy it. But it's true.

I know you feel sorry for me now.

But I don't care.

The flat is my home.

I don't want to leave.

What will we do? Where will we go? What will happen to us?

I don't know.

But I know Mum will be beside me the whole time, supporting me and keeping us going. I know I won't be alone.

And I also know that this won't last forever. We'll find somewhere to stay. Somewhere better.

We'll find a home again.

And everything will be good.

I'll smile again. Mum will laugh. We'll be warm. We'll have proper food. We'll be able to sleep in our own separate rooms. There won't be other creatures living with us.

It'll all be great.

Perfect...

I just have to wait.

We were evicted.

The next few months were the worst of my life.

We lived on the streets. We slept on benches, wrapped in newspaper. We sheltered from rain under bridges and in doorways.

Finding food was hard. Sometimes we would sit outside shops and just wait in case kind people would buy us something. Sometimes we had to get it out of bins and off the floor. I would fight with the pigeons over pieces of cake people dropped.

Mostly I slept. I would curl up at the side of a busy road and Mum would protect me. We would find an empty park and I would doze off on the grass. I would stare up at the stars and wonder, "When would this be over? Would we ever find somewhere to live? Would we die out here in the cold?"

I guess we were lucky. It was summer when we were thrown out. At least we weren't having to survive the coldest months out there.

But I was always worried.

Mum wasn't sleeping. She didn't eat enough. All her time was spent guarding me while I slept. She always gave most of the food to me.

She was wasting away before my eyes.

And I had to do something about it.

I remember the day I did. I remember it far too well.

Because something awful happened that day. Something that physically hurts me to think about. But it's etched into my brain.

It's the kind of thing you can never, ever forget...

"Mum you need to eat."

She shakes her head, offering me a small smile, "I'm fine James. You should be more worried about yourself getting enough food."

I glare at her, "I've had plenty. I've been taking all the food. You need some."

"James I'm fine." She insists.

"Please Mum..." I whisper, "Eat something. I don't want to lose you too."

She looks at me and I see the flurry of emotions swirling through her eyes; the need to look after me, the fear she has of being out here forever, and the conflicting thought telling her that she is hungry and she should listen to me.

She gives in.

"Okay. But you stay right here okay? I won't go far, and I'll be back in a few minutes." She says firmly.

I nod.

"I love you honey. I'll be back soon." She kisses my cheek lightly and stands up, walking away from me.

It's weird.

I want to reach out and scream for her to come back. I want to hug her and tell her how much she means to me.

I don't want to be left alone on the street.

But I know she has to find something. I know she'll die otherwise. And her life comes before my selfish needs.

And who's going to come for me anyway?

I'm in the most hidden spot I've found yet. No one comes into these parts of the town. I'm alone and safe and nothing can hurt me.

I'm alone and safe and nothing can hurt me.

I'm alone and safe and...

"Hello there."

I feel my blood freeze in my veins and my heart stop beating. Everything around me slows down. I'm not breathing. I can't move. I'm rooted to the spot.

I want to run. I need to run. But my legs won't respond.

"What's a pretty little boy like you doing all alone?"

Time seems to stop. I can feel the pulse in my throat, throbbing like a drum. My whole body is alive with feeling. I can feel all my nerves tingling, my skin coming to life and crawling away from me.

I can taste blood in my mouth. I've bitten into the inside of my cheek to stop from shouting out. My body is pressed against a wall, as small as I can possibly make it.

I don't know if it's curiosity or just pure terror, but I slowly bring my eyes up to meet the person.

It's a woman. She can't be any older than thirty. Her skin is so white it could be paper. Her hair is gold and lightly curled, pulled back into a ponytail. She wears a pink blouse, the top few buttons undone, revealing far too much. Her eyes are a cold crystal blue, her lips bright red.

She smiles at me, flashing pearly teeth.

"What's your name?" She asks sweetly, batting thick eyelashes at me.

I don't answer. My lips are glued shut. My body is hypersensitive. Every movement she makes startles me, every word puts me on edge.

Why did I ever ask Mum to leave?

I want to scream. That's bound to attract attention. Someone would come and help me. Mum might hear. Then this woman will leave me alone.

But I can't. I've heard stories. Stories of people getting attacked on the street. They call for help, they die.

I don't want to die.

"I asked what your name is." Her eyes glint in the dim light. Suddenly, she doesn't seem so cute and innocent. Her lips pull up into a sinister grin.

And that's when I realise I should've shouted.

She's reached me now. My chance for running is over.

"Tell me your name boy." She hisses, a fingernail pressed into the flesh of my upper lip. I feel tears prick my eyes as a bead of blood drips down my chin.

"James..." I force out, "I'm James."

She smiles again, bouncing on the balls of her feet and giggling, "Such a pretty name for such a pretty boy!"

It hits me now, what she wants from me.

"I'm Libby!" She says, "We're going to have so much fun together James."

My stomach drops at that, feeling like a dead weight inside me. It's a wonder I don't collapse now. I can feel blood rushing to my brain. My face is burning. I'm terrified.

I'm in immediate danger. And what can I do?

"Before we can begin, I just need some measurements." She pushes a stand of hair out her face, and her eyes look right into mine.

I shiver. They're so wrong. So, so wrong. Not human. Not at all. They're too clear, too perfect. The way they don't seem to move properly, naturally. The way they unnerve me so deeply.

Contact lenses. I almost laugh. They're just lenses. Creepy contact lenses.

But laughing would be foolish, considering the situation I'm in.

"Okay James. Hold still." Libby smiles at me again.

And her hand reaches out. And I feel her nails sink into my butt as she grabs onto me. I yelp in shock and disgust. But she presses down harder, squeezing roughly.

She finishes there and reaches upwards, pulling off my shirt. I try and fight back, attempting to pull it back down. But she's stronger.

She traces a finger over my chest, bending over and running her tongue across it.

It's so hard not to scream. I feel so uncomfortable. It's like a nightmare. My brain is working like crazy; spinning, not able to string together a coherent set of thoughts or emotions.

The rest of the world disappears. All I feel is fear and horror.

Libby latches her teeth around my nipple, sucking. I writhe beneath her, my mouth covered by one of her hands. She's trapped me. I can't talk. I can't tell her to stop.

I can't do anything.

She gets off and starts tying a cloth around my mouth. I bite at one of her fingers, hearing a satisfying crunch. But she doesn't seem fazed.

She finishes tying the gag, and I watch as her eyes trail down to my trousers.

I swallow hard, my mind screaming at me to hit her or just do something to make it stop.

My eyes widen as I feel my trousers start to slip down my legs. Libby's crouched on the floor, smirking at me as she slowly removes them.

She looks like a monster. No longer pretty. Now she's a scaly, evil dragon. Each word she whispers is a burst of flame. Under her makeup I can picture her rough skin, pink just like her shirt. Her saliva is poison, strands of it covering my body as she licks me.

An ice dragon. Those freaky blue eyes showing me the blizzard inside her.

And my trousers are gone, into the dragon's lair.

It's cold. I'm exposed. I feel so vulnerable, on show for the whole world to mock.

Libby licks her lips and I'm almost surprised that she doesn't have a forked tongue.

I refuse to believe that this thing is the same species as me. It's better to think of her as a monster.

She reaches out a hand to my boxers, but I slap it away. I can literally hear the force behind the hit.

She backs off, looking at me with fury glowing in those horrible eyes. And a smile creeps across her face. Not a nice one. One that seems to say, "You're going to regret that."

"Not very co-operative, are you James?" She growls.

And why should I be? This woman is raping me. Why would I like that? Why should I go ahead with it? I don't want sex with some random pervert on the street. I want to be with Mum, away from this craziness. I want to be back in my flat, with our mardy landlord moaning about money.

I just want to be away from here...

"Maybe this will make you more willing." She laughs harshly.

And in her hand, there's a knife.

I don't know where it came from. But I don't care. All I care about right now is making sure she doesn't touch me with that thing.

I try to run, but stumble on a rock and fall to the floor. I don't dare look up. I know what I'll see.

I'd rather just lie here forever, totally oblivious to the world around me.

But I look up, seeing Libby looming over me.

She picks me up surprisingly easily, holding the knife in front of me.

I whimper and try to wriggle out of her grasp, but it's no use.

There's a horrible burning sensation in my back. I can feel nerve clusters crying out in agony. My back feels like it's on fire. It's so warm. There's something sticky spreading all over it, seeming to come from the source of the pain.

There's blood on the floor. My blood.

Libby laughs, pulling the knife out and driving it down again, deeper this time.

I scream. The gag mutes it.

My entire body hurts. I thrash around, tears falling from my eyes, blood spraying everywhere.

Libby's arm is still moving. Up and down. Up and down. Steady and rhythmic. She stabs me, pulls it out, stabs me, pulls it out.

The cycle is endless.

With every thrust of her arm, I feel less alive. My eyelids start to droop, and I feel so tired. Like I could just curl up and sleep, never waking again.

My whole back is stained red. I can feel the blood all over me. And not enough inside me.

I'm dying. I'm really dying.

I feel weak. I could just fall limp any moment. There's no strength left in me. I'm falling, falling through a deep hole, never coming out the other side. There is no relief. Just this. This pain and terror for as long as I can imagine.

But the knife doesn't go in again.

I hear it clatter to the floor.

"So, James. You feel ready to carry on now?" Libby asks.

I see her hands, totally covered with my blood. It's smeared across her face and her clothes too.

I can only guess what a mess I look.

I don't have the energy to move my head. There's no way I can resist her now. But at the same time, I know what she plans to do, and I don't want it.

I don't want it.

"I don't want it..." I whisper.

She leans into my face, "I hope that was a yes." She snarls, picking up the knife again.

I muster any power I have left and nod my head.

I don't want it. But I don't want to die either.

"Good boy."

She closes the space between us and kisses me fiercely. I can feel her disgusting, slimy tongue in my mouth. It tastes awful, almost like metal. One hand is pressed against my chest, tugging at my nipples, the other gripping my butt like a vice.

I just want her off me. I want to bite her face and make her scream. I want to see her hurt like I am.

But I can't.

With every second, I lose more blood. With every minute, my sight dims and the world becomes more of a hazy, distant blur.

My life fades...

I'm aware of a chill at my legs and realise my boxers are now on the ground.

"You're so tiny James." Libby flicks my penis with one finger, causing me to wince, "I've done toddlers bigger than you."

She doesn't hesitate.

She grabs onto my penis, pumping it quickly. Tears stream down my face. I've never felt as afraid as I do right now.

The pain is like nothing I've felt before. My back stings and burns, and my mind is about to explode. My will to live is slowly disappearing.

She bends again and puts her mouth around my penis, slurping loudly. She's like a leech, her teeth latched onto me.

I scream again, desperately trying to be heard past the cloth. My numb, tingling hands push against her head. But I'm failing.

The tears keep coming. Why do I deserve this? What did I do wrong? I can't stop crying.

I'm completely overwhelmed. My head's pounding. My heart's hammering.

All I can see is a dragon. A great, hideous beast snarling from atop a mountain. It takes to its wings and flies, its jaw wide open, claws outstretched, eyes filled with hunger.

And it's eating me.

I cry and cry. Mum's not coming back. She's left me here. Left me with a dragon.

I'm defenceless. I need Mum to rescue me. Like in the stories. The knight in shining armour saves the princess from the evil dragon.

Libby's mouth is off my penis. It feels so bruised. She laughs and holds my balls, clutching them tightly.

I whimper and try to back away. She just edges forward, crawling on top of me so that her crotch is touching mine.

"Are you ready to go all the way?" She asks, winking.

She starts taking off her own clothes and I feel so sick I could throw up. I can hardly see a thing, my head aches. Not to mention the pain covering every inch of my body.

"James where are you!"

I know the voice.

"James!"

It's bordering on frantic.

And then Mum sees me. I can hear the sob in her shout this time, "James!"

My knight in shining armour is here.

"Stay away woman." Libby hisses, picking up the knife.

Mum's body trembles as she yells, "No! You get out of here! I'm calling the police!"

I know Mum doesn't have a phone. But Libby doesn't. She mutters under her breath, glaring at me as she runs away.

"James..." Mum whispers.

I know she only let Libby go so she could focus on me.

She touches my face gently. I see that she's crying.

"Hang in there James."

And my head lolls back as I pass out in her arms.

I was lucky to survive. That's what Mum says.

She ran around until she found someone to call an ambulance for her.

Apparently, a few more minutes and I wouldn't have made it.

Of course, the incident has scarred me for life. Since we were homeless until only yesterday, I wasn't able to have therapy or anything. The best I got was Mum sitting me down and talking through my worries.

It's seriously affected my mind.

I can't be left alone. Ever. If I'm alone, I'll see Libby's dragon eyes watching me. Every blonde woman will be her.

I'm jumpy. I can't meet new people. After that, I don't know who I can trust. I don't want to go through anything like that again.

If I told most people I lost my virginity at 14, they'd think I was a prostitute. No one considers rape.

I'm such a mess.

A hopeless, anxious, pathetic little mess. A tiny mess that cries too easily. A weak mess that gets flashbacks when they so much as see a woman walking past. A child who's been through far too much.

And come out the other side as a freak.

No one could ever love this.

And do I care? Not really.

I'm safe now. I'm in this warm place where I can have food and water. There are smiling people bustling around to care for me. And other people living here who have been through similar things to me. It's impossible to feel alone here.

I'm in a new world, surrounded by people who understand me and Mum. Here there are other teenagers who lost their homes. There are little kids whose parents passed away or abandoned them. There are adults who can't get a job and aren't wanted anywhere.

This is my new world.

And in this new world, I don't feel so odd anymore.