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“I’ll prove it,” I rasped. “Do whatever you want, you’ll never get me to leave.”
“That a fucking promise, is it?” he seethed. “Wanna make it up to me now? Too fucking late.”
“Do it, Callum. Make me yours.”
“SHUT UP!” he boomed.
Casey whined again from the shadows and he hissed her to be quiet. My clammy fingers fumbled with the buttons on my blouse, “You want this?”
He stopped pacing for a moment, dark eyes roving my skin. “Don’t.”
I slipped out of the blouse, let it drop to the floor. “What do I have to do, Callum? Tell me?”
“Fuck off,” he said. “For your own good.”
“No.” I stood proud, with my shoulders back and head high. “Show me your worst.”
I backed away as he lunged, but only for a moment. His grip was savage at the nape of my neck, twisting my head and driving me down onto all fours. He dragged me along by my hair as my knees grazed along the floor.
“Thisis who I am,” he spat. “Thisis where I come from.”
He pushed my face into the stack of rubbish bins, burying my nose amongst the stink until I retched. Only then did he let go, turning attention to the mounds of trash instead. He tore up the bags like a lunatic, spilling armfuls of filth and crap onto the tarmac. I heard the smashing of glass, the rattle of tin cans, and all around me the slop of residue filled my nostrils like an acrid soup.
Callum dropped to his knees at my side. His hands were rough as they hitched up my skirt, and rougher still as he tore into the flimsy lace of my panties. He bunched them up in his hand, then stuffed them into my mouth, shoving them in all the way to the back. I gagged on the fabric, my own taste ripe on my tongue.
“Keep fucking quiet.”
The slime on the floor was cold around my knees. I groaned into my gag as the rancid sea reached my hands.
“Smell that. The scent of fucking survival.” He sniffed it all in, revelling in the stench. “Never had to look through other people’s leftovers for your dinner, have ya? Wouldn’t have the first fucking clue. Don’t pay to be picky when you got a belly screaming for food.” He slapped his hand in the mess, then stroked my face, running liquid filth down my cheek. “You can be Queen of my world, if you like. Queen of the fucking streets. Better to be my dirty Queen than Daddy’s little princess, don’t ya think?”
I closed my eyes, desperate to block out the stench. “Let’s paint you pretty, my new piece of art.Livingart.” He wrenched up my bra up until my tits hung freely, then daubed them in filth, rubbing it all around my nipples. “Fuck yeah, dirty bitch. Hurts to be degraded, don’t it? Hurts to be fucking nothing.”
He rooted around some cartons at his side, emptying the shit out until he found something to his liking. I daren’t look. “You’ll like this, Sophie, it’ll really fucking suit you.”
I screamed into the gag as he dumped a bottle of liquid on my head. Milk. It was milk. I forced back the vomit as milk dripped from my hair, sour and festering and fucking disgusting.
His laugh was bitter. “Run home to your nice world, leave us here where we belong, rich girl.”
Tears welled over as my eyes met his, but still I didn’t move. I didn’t run from him.
“Not enough for ya yet?” he seethed. “Oh, I get it. You want more. You want me to decorate your pretty little cunt.”
My stomach lurched.
“Let’s see what we’ve fucking got here.” He held up a scrappy box of cereal. “I’d have saved this for later as a kid, keeps longer, you see.” He scooped up something that looked like baked beans, all clumpy on his fingers. “This, though, I’d have had to eat this straight away.”
I shuffled away this time as he came for me, squealing as my knees crunched on something sharp. He pulled the panties from my mouth and I choked in relief but only for a second before his fingers were wrestling with my tongue, the putrid taste of stale food pounding my senses. I hacked up onto the tarmac, retching with everything I had. “Ain’t no dessert if you don’t eat your main,” he sneered. “Ain’t no place to be fucking picky.”
I sobbed onto the floor, sobbed for me but mainly for him, the reality of life on the streets hitting harder than any of his filthy demonstrations. “I’m sorry,” I wheezed. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why be sorry?” he hissed. “Made me the man I am today, the man whose cock you want so much.”
“I love you,” I cried. “I made a mistake, that’s all.”
“You made a mistake coming here.”
“No.”
