by Katrina Liss
PRINCESS LOST
FRIENDS AND LOVERS - PART 1
K M LISS
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © K.M. Liss 2017.
PRINCESS LOST
Friends & Lovers Series (Part 1)
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Publisher - Katrina M. Liss Novels
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All Rights Reserved.
This book is sold subject to conditions that it cannot by way of trade be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent, in any form or cover, other than which it is published.
Disclaimer : This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it, while at times based on real figures, are purely the work of the author’s imagination.
Created with Vellum
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Love and thanks to my family and friends, for believing in me and encouraging me to write my little heart out.
CONTENTS
Free Gift For You
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Dr Sex Series - by K.M. Liss
Thanks & Free Gift
About the Author
Katrina Liss Web Links
FREE GIFT FOR YOU
As a special THANK YOU for being my reader I’m offering you a free e-novella. Visit my website, katliss.com add your email address on the subscriber form and I’ll send you the download link.
CHAPTER 1
“Stupid damn thing ... Shit.”
Shaking with cold and hunger, I was desperate to get the chocolate milk inside me. But I struggled fruitlessly to open the carton. I really needed some scissors to cut the top off. And scissors were something I didn’t have. In my present situation, I couldn't afford to make mistakes like this. Not even fifty pence ones.
Disappointment mingled with anger and my eyes stung as tears gathered. It was such a stupid reason to be getting upset, I knew that. But now and then the silliest things got to me.
“C’mon, keep it together Kate,” I muttered to myself.
Being homeless was a never-ending series of struggles. Some struggles were major issues like trying to keep warm, the constant hunger, pain and fear. And some were fairly minor like this trial of food packaging.
Sometimes I couldn't help feeling low. And who wouldn't? I didn’t want to live like this. The situation had been forced upon me through unbearable personal circumstances and I'd reached rock bottom. At the time, running way to London seemed to be my only choice.
But making myself homeless hadn't been a life adventure. Not in any sense.
How wearying on the soul a life on the street was.
It was a shocking realisation that unless I continually begged or scrounged for money, I wasn’t going to eat. Food and drink didn’t magically appear just because I was thirsty or starving.
Despite being surrounded by humans, there was little humanity to be seen in practice. I could pass out through hunger and most would just walk on by with hardly a glance in my direction. People were suspicious of the homeless. People thought the worst. And they didn't want to know. That was a cold hard fact.
I'd challenge anyone out there to spend just one week living on the streets of London in the winter and not bale out before the time was up. Somehow I'd been doing it for seven months. In truth, there had been more than a few times when I’d thought that if my life was to be like this, a groundhog day of survival with no end in sight, what was the god-damn point of it all? Maybe I should just give up and exit the world with a private pill and booze party. Floating away peacefully like that had to be a lot less painful than starving or freezing to death.
But there were certain things that kept me from taking that step – hope – my dead mother's memory – and my street buddy Finlay. If I was really truthful, although I absolutely adored my mother, it was mainly the first and last of those things. Finlay kept my hope and dreams alive. I was propelled along in his positive slipstream. No matter how hard things got, I didn't think Finlay would ever give up the fight to live and that attitude had rubbed off on me, to an extent.
Being with him, I could cope. But being alone was when I weakened and lost my purpose. Being alone was when I despaired. I had good cause to be fearful of isolation. Bad things had happened to me in the past when I was on my own. Dreadful, terrible things.
As I stood there, shivering, in my dead-end anti-paradise, I was painfully aware of my shortcomings. I was seventeen years old, female and easy prey. I knew I needed to toughen up – to become a lot more self reliant and streetwise. I couldn’t expect Finlay to protect me 24/7.
And I was working on it.
My mind wandering returned to my empty stomach and what I held in my hand. I sighed heavily, glaring at the bad-mannered carton which was giving me a hard time. If Finlay was around, he’d open it for me with his pen-knife. But he wasn’t – nobody was – so I had to open it myself somehow. I adopted a different mindset. I wasn't going to be so pathetic as to let a bit of plastic coated cardboard get the better of me. I sat down cross-legged, and persistently tugged at it, using my teeth and fingers. Finally I succeeded in creating a small opening in the centre of the seal. Wiggling my finger in the hole I prised one end open, teasing it outwards forming a spout to drink from.
I smiled to myself, and my heart swelled with overinflated and frankly ridiculous pride at my small achievement as I raised the spout to my lips.
Kate, 1 ... Carton, a big fat 0.
I still retained a sense of humour, deep inside me, although it didn't surface that often. Not since my troubles began.
My eyes closed for a second as the flavour hit my taste buds in a blast of oral bliss. Slowly I devoured the milk, savouring the creamy-sweet sensation. I'd never loved chocolate quite so much as I did now. How acute hunger renewed the appreciation of things.
As I drank, I kept my eyes trained on the entrance of the alleyway. I'd seen Davi on the street earlier and I didn't trust the Romanian pimp an inch. Finlay had told me to watch out for the scumbag at all times. He'd heard a lot of really bad things about him. So far Davi didn't know where I hung out and I planned to keep it that way and stay well below his radar.
I consumed every last drop of the milk and popped the empty carton in the plastic bag beside me which served as a rubbish bin. Then I settled down, trying to make myself a little more comfortable on the hard ground, walking the cheeks of my backside in reverse until I was propped up against the wall behind me. I sat upon a layer of rags covering sheets of cardboard which formed a barrier between me and the harsh cold concrete underneath. The situation of my patch was quite secluded. The alley formed an L shape and we were tucked around the corner of three story building, so you couldn’t see us from the street entrance. That fact alone made it safer than a lot of places where the homeless holed up. Although it wasn't much to speak of, and I could hardly call it my home, this little spot in the world was all I had.
As I'd done far too often, I stared blankly at the concrete wall opposite. It wasn't exactly an inspiring view. I knew every crack in the render and every piece of green moss growing upon it. I'd gained an A level in expert knowledge of that wall.
Sad … but whatever.
It began to drizzle with rain, tiny spots dotting the concrete. Where I sat I was protected from the rain to a degree, due to the overhang of the building above me, but I was sick of sight of rain. The weather had been dire for weeks; thick clouds covering London in a damp grey cloak. But on the positive side, although it was still pretty cold and miserable, at least it was a lot warmer than it had been. Only a week before the freezing wind and sleet had been an assault on my senses that was almos
t too hard to bear. I wasn't sure I'd defrosted from the Arctic onslaught yet.
I'd become obsessed by the weather now that the great outdoors had become my home. Hot or cold, wet or dry, windy or calm - every element of the weather affected my body and psyche at a deep level. When the sun touched my skin and lessened the ache in my bones, my spirits rose one hundred percent.
I blew on my hands in an attempt to warm them then wrapped them up in my black crochet scarf. My stomach churned, grumbling loudly. Despite having a stomach full of liquid I was still so ravenously hungry. I needed something solid inside me - the chocolate drink had been my only food all day. It wasn't unusual for me to feel hungry. It was more unusual if I didn't. It was the kind of hunger I could never have imagined before living on the streets - a gnawing, acidic emptiness. It felt like my body was eating itself inside. I'd always been fairly slim for my five foot six but I dreaded to think how much weight I’d lost. The fact I could clearly see my ribs through my skin scared me. I didn't like my body much anymore - it didn’t look or feel like me.
In an attempt to warm and comfort myself, I covered my legs with the old blankets I'd picked up for a few pence in the charity shops nearby. Bending my legs, I looped my arms round them, under the blanket and rested my weary head on my knees. I hummed an Ed Sheeran song to myself, repeating the chorus over and over, basically because I couldn't remember how the rest of it went.
My eyes closed and tiredness quickly overwhelmed me. My conscience screamed at me… no, don’t fall asleep. I was far too vulnerable with no one else around.
I should have stayed in the library longer, but I really thought Finlay would be back here by now. He was never usually this late returning after an all-nighter. Finlay had warned me many times to be alert whenever I was alone and I tried to take heed and shake myself awake. But my body didn't seem to care what Finlay had said or how vulnerable I was. Physical and mental exhaustion overshadowed my ability to keep my eyes open. When you are cold, tired and hungry, there’s only one way to escape the misery. Sleep. Curling up in a ball on my side I gave in to it.
CHAPTER 2
It seemed only minutes later someone was shaking me awake.
“Princess... wake up.” I opened one eye and Finlay's face swam into focus. “I got ya some chicken 'n chips.”
Even though I was still half asleep, my sense of smell was suddenly alert. The air around me was filled with the aroma of grease, salt and vinegar. My mouth watered like crazy.
“Mmm, that smells good,” I said, yawning. Quickly I dragged myself upright, fighting the pain in my shoulders and back which were stiff with the cold. Normally I slept with Finlay in his sleeping bag. That kept us quite cosy. But when he'd left me at the homeless shelter last night, he’d taken it with him. I don't think he trusted me to keep it safe, even at the shelter. To be fair, he was right not to, as based on my track record it seemed I wasn't too good at keeping things in my possession. In fact I was completely useless.
Unwrapping my hands, I repositioned my scarf around my shoulders and the little blanket over my legs. I badly missed the warmth and weight of my coat. Someone had stolen my Parka coat that morning and my jeans and sweatshirt were all I had left to wear. I still couldn't believe anyone could get so low as to rob me of my coat. Whoever it was, I hoped they felt the evil vibes from me whenever they wore it.
I circled my arms trying to loosen up the stiffness and get the blood flowing. It was noticeably colder now and starting to get dark. Night would be here soon.
“Where's your coat gone?” Finlay asked, looking around me.
“Umm ... it's just gone.”
He shook his head. “Really? I cannot believe some little bitch actually ripped ya coat off ya back!” he said, staring at me incredulously.
I shook my head. “No one ripped it from me. I took it off and hung it over the door handle while I was having a wash. I didn’t want to get it wet.”
“You stupid fucking eejit! What have I told ya? Eyes on ya goods, all the time. You shoulda put it between ya legs. ”
“I know that, but I wasn’t all that with it at the time. I never sleep very well when you’re not around, Fin. I didn’t think what I was doing. And you might as well know, I didn't stay at the shelter last night.”
“Shit! Why the hell not?”
“Because there was a long queue, an even longer one than usual. It really wasn't worth hanging around, just in case. And there was a bunch of guys in front of me. I think they were Polish or something. They kept turning round, talking to me and saying things I didn't like. You know... kind of suggestive things. Calling me pretty girlie and all that kind of stuff. They had a bottle of vodka they kept flashing at me, like they planned a private party or something. They made me feel nervous, Fin. I wasn't that keen anyway, because you remember the last time I stayed there I got nits? Well that really put me off staying there again. It took a whole week to get rid of them...”
“You’d have been alright. You know you would. And it’s just a few nits for fuck's sake!”
“A few nits become a lot of nits very quickly. They drive me crazy. I can't stand the itching. Just thinking about all those little bug things crawling in my hair makes me wanna throw up.”
He puffed out a long stream of frustrated breath and dragged his fingers through his hair. I was always fascinated how good his hair looked, no matter how dirty it was. Not that it looked dirty now. It looked clean and shiny. My glance shifted down to his face. I could tell he was a little pissed with me for sleeping here on my own. His mouth was drawn in a hard line and his eyes were narrowed.
Yep ... definitely very pissed.
“I'm sorry Fin, I know you want me to be safe when you're on an all-nighter,” I said apologetically.
His face softened and he sniffed. “No harm done, thankfully. But you've gotta promise me you'll stay at the shelter whenever you're on your own. It don’t matter if it’s chock full of European geezers or infested with nits. No argument. Right?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Right?” he persisted.
I threw my hands up in defeat. “Okay … okay. I promise.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Cool. We'll get ya a new coat tomorrow – take a gander down Long Street, in them charity shops.”
“Thanks, Fin. And I'll make sure I pay you back when I get a job,” I replied quickly. I hated sponging off him. I really did. But in this case I couldn't help it. It was winter after all and I needed a god-damn coat. Finlay smiled at my reply. He knew the state of play far better than I did. My hopes of finding of a job were wearing thin. I looked for work every single day, asking around everywhere I went. But unsurprisingly, no one wanted to hire a scruffy street girl with no experience and no permanent address.
Although I knew I was an exception, the homeless weren't renown for being the most reliable and honest of employees. Davi, had been my only possibility of work so far. If you could call it work. Thanks to Ribelle, one of Davi's working girls, I knew I could earn a decent amount of cash working for him. But I wasn't going down that route. I'd actually prefer to be homeless than live in his walk-up brothel, being watched like a hawk night and day and abused sexually by both him and completely strangers.
I'd had enough abuse already. I really didn't know how Ribelle and the other girls coped with it. I'd have to be absolutely desperate and at my wits end to ever consider becoming a tom. And I wasn't there yet.
The street-light slowly flickered to life above us and bathed Finlay's mop of tousled fair hair in streaks of fluorescent yellow. I'd thought it many times before, but he was way too beautiful for a guy – tall and athletic in build – blessed with the most perfect skin – a smile to die for – and bright baby blues, a mixture of innocence and knowing rolled into one. Finlay was a little bit Bieber – without the attitude and ego. If I had to sum him up in one word, it would be … edible. Just looking at him stirred my feelings in so many ways. He definitely held a magnetic attraction for me. A little too magnet
ic maybe.
Tonight he looked different and it took a while to realise why. It was what he was wearing under his jacket. “Is that a new hoodie?” I asked curiously. It was a mottled light blue, not the washed out old black one.
“Yeah,” he replied, not elaborating any further. “I got the chips from Tuckers. I know you like their chips the best.” Finlay handed me the white paper wrapped package and sat down at my side. I teased the top layer of paper aside to find he'd stabbed a wooden fork in the top of the chips and had squeezed a generous helping of tomato sauce at the side of the polystyrene plate. At times like this I was touched by his thoughtfulness and kindness. I leaned towards him and kissed the soft fuzz of his cheek. I really didn't know what I'd do without him in my life, but on the other hand, I didn't want to be a burden to him either. I knew I had become far too attached and reliant on his generosity. I was sure he didn’t need it. Finlay was only a year or two older than me. Although he was my mentor and my protector when he was around, he often disappeared for a while, and never told me where he'd been. Not that I would dream of asking. I didn't own him and his secrets were his to keep. When he returned he quite often had a few pounds spare in his pocket. In the beginning I thought he was dealing drugs of some kind. But he'd since told me he was very anti-drugs. He had never, and would never, touch the hard stuff, in any sense. And I believed him, as he had no reason to lie to me. He knew I wouldn't have judged him whatever he did. Homeless people had to get money somehow. Drink and drug addictions were common on the street. It was often the reason people were on the streets in the first place.
