Call Me Daddy

I look around, trying to catch sight of an exit, but there isn’t one. He’s too close, too big, and even if I made a break for it, where would I go?

“Don’t…” I say. “Please…”

“Gonna warm you right up, make it feel real nice, if you’re a good girl.”

My chest feels tight, cold air hissing in my throat as I struggle to gulp it in. My heart is racing, but I feel disconnected, as though I’m not here, as though this is happening to someone else. I feel his breath on my neck, the warmth of his fingers as they slip inside my cardigan. I feel like I should be fighting, kicking and screaming and clawing at his face, but I’m so numb. So scared.

His thumb brushes my nipple and it shocks like electric.

“Knew you fucking wanted it,” he grunts.

A strange sense of detachment washes over me, a sense of being sucked into a pit, where there is nothing, where everything is easy, where I can hide in the quiet place in my mind and pretend this is not me. It’s his tongue against my ear that snaps me back to myself. It feels wet and hot.

“No,” I say, and my voice sounds stronger this time. I’m wriggling, trying to bring my legs up, squirming away from his mouth.

“Chill the fuck out,” he hisses, and my heart pounds in my ears.

The rumble of cars at the top of the street spurs me on, and I lash out, catch him hard across the face. He swears and stumbles, touching his cheek for just long enough for me to kick out and make a run for it.

“HEY!” he calls. “GET THE FUCK BACK HERE!”

I hear his footsteps in the puddles behind me, the air in my lungs burning as my numb feet pound the street. I can feel him behind me but I daren’t look back, just keep focused on the light at the top of the street, at the sound of a car heading closer. I see the headlights, blurry through the rain, and the danger behind me drives me straight into the road. I’m waving, jumping, throwing my arms above my head as I hear the screech of tyres. I close my eyes, a rabbit caught in the headlights.

I hear a car door slamming.

I jump a mile as a hand grips my elbow.NickThe girl jolts to life as I grip her arm, big blue eyes staring up at mine, lashes dripping. Her mouth is open, just a little. Her breath is misty.

She’s young.

She’s pretty.

And she’s scared. Really fucking scared.

Footsteps pound the ground to my right, and I see him, the piece of shit waster.

The girl flinches, tugs away, but I keep a grip of her, place myself between her fragile little body and the dickhead chasing her.

He’s wasted. Buzzing with some shit. Speed probably.

“Beat it,” I say. “Fuck off back to where you came from.”

He shrugs. “Just hanging with little Laine, bro. Ain’t no problem here. C’mon, little girl.”

Hell will freeze over before she goes anywhere with this piece of shit.

I smile at the loser. “I’m not your bro. Do yourself a favour and run the fuck along before there is a fucking problem here.”

He looks me up and down, and even through the rain he clocks the cut of my suit. His eyes flick to the Mercedes, to the keys still clearly in the ignition.

“I wouldn’t try it,” I say. I take a step towards him, shoulders back and easy. I could take him and I know it. He’s just another loser, another dreg from the cesspit of life, and I’ve seen plenty of those in my lifetime.

I glare at him, and beckon him forward, perfectly willing to put this piece of shit on the ground where he deserves, but he’s backing away before I utter another word, druggie feet tripping over each other.

“Didn’t mean nothing by it. Don’t even know her… never met her…”

I don’t bother watching him retreat. I’ve no need. Dickheads like him don’t bother men like me.

I pull the girl closer, and she seems to snap back to herself. Her cardigan is sodden, hanging from her shoulders, and she’s shivering.

“Laine?” I ask. “I’m Nick. Nick Lynch. You’re safe now. Where do you need to go?”

“Newhaven…” she says, and her voice is as pretty as she is. “My friend… she pulled some guy… she has my keys, my money…”

“And where is your friend now?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know…”

“I’ll take you home,” I say, and my words are simple, obvious. I’m surprised when she follows me to the passenger door of the Merc and slips into the seat without hesitation, but she seems dazed somehow. Naïve, maybe. Maybe that’s what got her into this mess in the first place. I suspect as much.

Young, naïve and vulnerable.