Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
The woman who demanded I call her Ma isn’t good enough to be a mother’s arse. She has no idea how ta raise a family, let alone be a good example to a feckin’ child.
I’m tired of bein’ her punchin’ bag when she’s had too much ta drink.
But it’s more than just her violent outbursts.
I close my eyes and allow the pain of what I’ve been through over the last few months ta wash over me. I recall all the times those men have groped me, dragged me into their laps, and tried ta kiss me.
The anger that comes from those memories fuels me ta get through each day. But after last night, I can’t take it any more.
I’m done with their shite.
“You’re such a pretty wee thing.”
“I think ye need a man ta make ye feel good. What do ye say, darlin’?”
“I wonder if ye’re as good in the bedroom as your ma. Will that pretty wee mouth work me over good?”
Remembering all their comments forces the bile to churn in my gut. The acidic taste burns in my throat when I think about what could have happened. Eventually Mrs Duffy managed to calm the arseholes down, but next time, I may not be so lucky. And I know fer a fact there will be a next time.
Makin’ my way into the kitchen, I stop dead in my tracks when I see Mrs Duffy’s boyfriend, along with his three mates, still asleep on the sofa. There are empty liquor bottles strewn across the lounge floor, and the smell of stale smoke hangs in the air.
It’s as if the smoke’s seeped into the bricks and paintwork of the house. And soon, it will sink right into my skin. It won’t matter how many cans of deodorant I spray on myself, I’ll never get rid of the stench.
If I run away, I’ll be free of it all finally.
The thought scrambles into my mind, its hands and feet clawing its way into the forefront of the plans I’ve been mullin’ over, and it stays there. Maybe that’s the answer. I can leave here and find my freedom. There’s no reason fer me ta stay with Mrs Duffy. I’m old enough ta take care of myself. I know she won’t come lookin’ fer me, because she doesn’t give a shite about me. I can easily be replaced with another orphan.
Even though she’s gettin’ her monthly payments from the government, she’s dodgy as feck. But I’m not sure where I’d go. I guess it doesn’t matter, though, as long as it’s faraway from here.
I quietly make my way back into the bedroom and grab my rucksack; it’s the one I use fer school. I empty out the second-hand textbooks from inside. I won’t be needin’ them where I’m goin’.
Sixteen-year old girls who run away from home don’t get to pick and choose where they end up. I have nobody I can turn ta fer help. The people at the homeless shelter will offer me a bed, but I know they’ll ask too many questions. Maybe I can find a job. There are some pub landlords who don’t give a shite about yer age, as long as yer willin’ ta work.
Once I’ve packed the meagre belongings I own, I make my way back into the kitchen. Takin’ a look around, I notice a wallet sittin’ on the liquor cabinet, and I wonder if I should take a chance and steal it. If I had more money in my purse, I’d be able ta travel farther.
I pick up the heavy, leather wallet and open it. Inside I find six pinkish notes with fifty on them. That’s more money than I’ve ever seen before in my life. It’s enough to get me far away from here.
I steal them all and stuff them into my torn wallet with a skull sewn on one side. It’s a relief ta have the start of some savin’s. I don’t get paid fer lookin’ after the house and doing the cleanin’, so I don’t have much money of my own.
From the kitchen table, I grab the bread buns that are lyin’ out, and I open the fridge, makin’ sure not ta make any noise. There’s never much in here, but thankfully, I find a can of Coke and a couple of slices of processed cheese that’s close ta it’s sell-by date, but it’ll have ta do. Beggars can’t be choosers.
I stuff everything into the backpack. Then leavin’ the kitchen, I slowly make my way to the front door with my heart hammerin’ in my chest. The door creaks as I open it, and I hold my breath when someone coughs. It’s as if time has frozen, and I can’t move. When no one grabs me by the scruff of my neck, I sigh and rush out of the house, shuttin’ the door quietly behind me.