by G. Bailey
It seems like some kind of abandoned storage facility, with debris and evidence of more vagabonds scattered around the floor. There’s no electricity, so I use my phone flashlight to look around as I make my way to the back corner. It occurs to me that if the place is condemned, the roof might fall on me at any minute… but I’m past thinking about that now. Hell, maybe that would even be a blessing, I think dryly. When I reach the corner, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the dirty, boarded-up window on the far wall. Blonde hair, wet, dirty, and tangled. Dark eyes, so dark they could almost be black. I look like I’ve aged ten years in the past few hours. If this is what one evening on the streets does to me, how am I supposed to survive after tonight?
Whatever, I tell myself. We’ll worry about that later. For now, just try to get some sleep.
There’s a flat piece of cardboard on the floor in the back of the room, and I decide it will do as a makeshift bed. Using my backpack as a pillow, I curl up on the hard concrete and listen to the rain fall outside. As I do, I find myself thinking about my parents once again, but I’m not sure why they keep coming to my mind tonight. Why did they leave me in the hospital all those years ago? What made them leave me to a life of bouncing from foster home to foster home, listening to drunk old men yell and having to run away to get away from it all? And what’s going to happen to me now?
At some point the sound of the rain lulls me into an uneasy sleep, and for a few blissful hours, I forget all about where I am or how I got here. Eventually, though, the sound of voices breaks the fitful sleep, and I begin to drift awake. For a moment I’m disoriented, missing the pull out couch, but then everything comes flooding back to me and I jerk awake.
There are two men standing over me.
Scrambling to get back into a sitting position, I stare up at them in shock. They’re dressed in baggy clothes, their shoes ragged, and in a heartbeat I realise why this place was empty.
“What do we have here?” the first one asks, staring down at me with bloodshot eyes.
My mind is racing - I should have locked the door, or barred it or... something. Shit. Another mistake in a long string of mistakes. “I- I’m sorry,” I stammer, still trying to get a handle on the situation. “I didn’t realise this place was occupied.”
“Damn right, it’s occupied,” replies the second man, peering down at me. “What the hell is a little girl like you doing here?”
“I…” I fumble for a response. “I just needed somewhere to get out of the rain.” Still disoriented and foggy from sleep, I sit up straighter. “I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your hair.” I get to my feet, backpack clutched to my chest, and begin to retreat.
“What have you got there, huh?” asks the second man, his interest piqued now that he’s seen my backpack. “Did you bring us a present?”
“Huh?” I ask, shaking a little.
The first man points to my backpack. “Think of it as an apology gift. For wasting our time.”
“I…” I glance down at the backpack, containing my only possessions, and shake my head. “I’m sorry. This is all I have. If I could just go, I would…”
“Fine,” the second man says. “Just your wallet, then.”
I take another step back, my heart beginning to beat more quickly. The door is on the other side of the room. Do I make a break for it?
The first man must have seen me steal a glance at the door, since his eyes narrow and he advances on me another step. “Thinking of running, little girl?” he asks. “Don’t bother. You’re outnumbered.” He licks his lips, his eyes sweeping me, and I can see the wheels in his head turning. Whatever he’s thinking, it’s not good, of that I can be sure. The second man is taking another step forward when the first man stops him with a hand on his arm and says, “You know what? Wait a minute. Maybe we can figure something out.”
I can feel my stomach drop at his words. “I… I’m sorry?”
“Pretty thing like you...” the first man says, his voice trailing off as he appraises me with his eyes.
Now the second man is catching on, a knowing smirk creeping onto his face. “I like the way you think,” he comments to his friend, before turning back to me and saying, “Maybe we could trade. We let you keep your stuff, and in exchange, you-”
The fear is too much at this point, and the scream is leaving my mouth before I can stop myself. “Help!” I yell, but not a moment later I realise how pointless it is. We’re inside, and even if we weren’t, the sounds of the storm are still raging outside.
The second man seems to be thinking the same thing, darting forward and seizing me by the arm. “Not happening,” he hisses, and I can smell the stench of his breath. “No one can hear you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the other guy approaching, and for the second time today, I realise I only have seconds to react. I have my backpack in a death grip, and something tells me that even if I handed it over, that wouldn’t stop them. Not now that the idea’s in their head.
It’s as the panic is surging through me that a familiar feeling, that same feeling that began to well up when I realised Mark wanted to hurt me, begins to surge through me again. Like a rush of strange, cool energy that is also nice to feel take control of me. The fear bleeds away, like a wave in an ocean brushing everything in its path to the side.
And that’s when I begin to transform.
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