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Eight Years Ago
Ropes of cum land on my face and, of course, some of it goes into my eye.
"Hey!" I exclaim in irritation. I would look at him, but my eye is basically sealed shut. Probably for the best, anyway. I don't even remember this guy's name, but I do remember that he wasn't auditioning for any modeling gigs anytime soon.
He just grunts before I hear him zip up his pants. I bristle as I feel my way over to the motel bathroom, closing the door behind me. I want to cry as I wipe his disgusting cum off my face, except it's been a long time since I was able to feel anything other than guilt, really.
I look at myself in the mirror as my vision finally clears. My eyes are completely bloodshot, the dirt-stained clothing I'm wearing is falling off my malnourished frame, and my hair is so knotted it likely needs to be shaved off at this point.
It's been five years since I ran away from Teddy after he helped me cover up my parents' deaths and I've been running ever since.
Even still, I can't seem to escape them.
Every time I close my eyes, I see them.
It makes sense, though. I should be punished for what I did. I literally got away with murder, but the mark it's placed on my heart is something that never seems to fade.
A banging on the door startles me out of my thoughts.
"Hey!" the guy on the other side yells. "Time for you to leave!"
I throw the cloth into the sink and nearly rip the door off its hinges with how hard I yank on it.
"Leave?" I exclaim. "You told me that I could sleep here! That's the only reason that I'm even here!"
I really need this guy to not throw me out. I don't care what he does to me. I've already fucked him and let him blow his load on me. I just really, really need to not spend another night on the streets.
At least this way I choose who's violating me. I also know that this guy, as gross as he is, isn't going to murder me.
When you sleep on the streets, you really don't know who might come up behind you or what they might do to you. I'd willingly take another load to the face from this guy than spend another night on the streets; that's about how bad my situation is at the moment.
"I'm not sleeping next to you so you can rob me or worse in the night," he says. "Leave."
There's no argument in his voice.
"This is absolute bullshit!" I nearly scream. I make a big scene huffing around the motel room, acting like I'm gathering my things. In reality I'm hoping that he will turn his eyes away from me for just one minute so that I can steal his wallet.
"If you're looking for this," he says, holding up the exact thing I'm looking for, "better luck next time."
I make a gargled scream before grabbing an oversized hoodie, which is the only thing that I currently own other than the clothes on my back and walk out the door.
"Fucking bastard," I mutter, pulling the hoodie on.
I've got literally no money to my name and nowhere to go. Mother Nature doesn't seem to care that I'm down on my luck, either, because within ten minutes of me wandering down some random street, it starts to rain.
It starts out as a sprinkle and then within minutes it's a downpour. The streetlights flicker on as I desperately search for somewhere to take shelter.
I'm in some rundown, right-off-the-highway town in the middle of nowhere, California. The sidewalks where I'm walking are deserted, which makes sense because most people have actual homes or at least a place to take shelter from rainstorms.
The streetlight just ahead of me flickers on and illuminates what's behind it. It's a large, but rather rundown, looking church. I walk up to it and put my hand on one of the big wrought-iron handles. The doors look like they had a lot of graffiti on them at one time that someone's tried to scrub off.
My heart pounds as I pull on the handle. If this doesn't work, I really will be sleeping on the streets tonight.
The big door starts to budge and the faintest bit of something I haven't felt in years flits through my soul.
Hope.
I tug harder, and the door finally gives. I almost go tumbling inside at how fast it swings open, but I manage to catch myself. I push the door closed to keep the rain out and try and shake the water from my clothing.
