weeping on her knees before him? They’re sick. All of them.
“Lick it up, bitch. All of it. And if you bite me, I’ll pull my dick out of your sweet little mouth and shove it in your ass. I’ll fuck you raw until you’re bleeding and screaming for me to kill you.”
I gasp and cringe with fear. I shuffle back without thinking, the natural instinct to back away from danger does nothing but agitate him further. His rough hand squeezes my shoulder and yanks me forward. My body turns to stone under his touch.
“Do it now.” His tone is demanding—absolute. I have two choices. I can do as he says and hope to make it out alive. Or, I can bite him and he’ll kill me. Either way, I’ll be dead inside by the end of this night.
I close my eyes and breathe in deep. Bracing myself for what I’m about to do. If it saves me from dying and I get to see another day, I’ll do it. I’ll do it because the moment I’m free I’ll run and never look back.
On shaky knees, I lift myself up. The cocaine taunts me from just centimeters away. Gradually leaning forward, my bones shake. I squeeze my eyes as tight as I can. I can’t see this. I can’t think about it. My tongue darts out and connects with the powder. It’s rough on my tongue and I gag as my body revolts the drug. I quickly lick the last of it up and hurl myself away from prying eyes. I gasp. I choke. I vomit. But I don’t get away fast enough.
They’re enclosing on me. They’re all I can smell. All I can feel. The only thing I can see. All I can breathe. But none of it matters by the time they’re done with me.
Feeling becomes a nightmare.
Seeing brings only horror.
And breathing? Breathing doesn’t let me forget. Breathing forces me to live in hell.
Eleven Months Later
My feet pound the pavement of the familiar path. Adrenaline boosts to a high causing my heart to thunder in my chest with every step. Hiding in the shadow of my hoodie, covering my face as well as my head, I keep my head down as I jog onto the Brooklyn Bridge along the same route I run every night. Out here it’s quiet, even when it’s loud. Somehow being alone is the calm I never feel anywhere else.
But tonight the quiet is outweighed by sobs. Soft cries pull me from the calm and that’s when I notice her. Tears fall through gaps in her fingers covering her face. Ratty blonde hair sits on her shoulders as they shake with each sob. Her small frame leans against the structure of the bridge and I glance around for someone, anyone. But we’re all alone. Nothing but the bright lights and city sounds of New York at night fill the small distance between us. I shift on my feet and rub the back of my neck. I could continue my run—go back home, pretend I never saw her, do what most other people would do when they see a stranger upset. Because no one helps anyone anymore, no one cares about your problems when we’re already burdened with a fucking ton of our own. But she’s upset leaning on the side of the bridge, and that knowledge alone is enough to curdle my stomach with unease. I can’t fight my feet from moving toward her. I can’t fight the training ingrained in me to help. It’s my job, my life, the one thing that makes me proud and gives me a purpose in life.
The girl steps out of her shoes and braces her hands on the bridge.
“Ah, fuck.” I curse under my breath. There’s no time to think further, only time to act.
A few quick strides and I’m beside her. Still hiding my face from view, hands tucked into the front pocket of my hoodie, but ready to move.
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
My deep voice catches her attention and her hair swishes in the air as she turns her head in my direction. Stormy eyes, tear into me with shock. I watch her search my face, for what I don’t know. It’s dark, and I’m too far away for her to get a good look at me. But I see her. Her porcelain skin is illuminated by a streetlight. Her gaunt cheeks are stained with the pain behind her tears. She’s young, thin—way too