by Amanda Rose
"You didn't specify. What food do you like?"
"Sushi," he grins, knowing that I won't be able to resist questioning that.
"But sushi doesn't have chocolate in it. Or is there chocolate sushi?"
"I think you're going to get hyper from all that sugar. Has nobody told you it's not healthy to eat so much sweet stuff?"
"I told you, I also like carrots."
"Which are sweet," he retorts.
"Spinach isn't."
"Okay, spinach is healthy. But you shouldn't eat too much of it, it's got a lot of iron in it."
He looks at me so seriously that I break out in laughter.
"You're not my dietician, so you can piss off."
"Language," he chides and I gape at him.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously," he confirms. "Alistair won't tolerate swearing in his house."
"Well, guess it's good then that I'm not living in his house."
"I was going to-" He breaks off as his phone vibrates in his breast pocket. He checks the caller info and sighs. "I need to take this, wait here."
He goes outside, leaving his jacket behind. It's cold, he'll be freezing. Hopefully it's not a long call. He's walking back and forth, talking agitatedly. I wait a few minutes, sipping the last of my hot chocolate. Then I remember that I still don't know what he wants from me and that it's not safe, so I take my stuff, slip into my coat and sprint out of the cafe while he has his back turned. I hope Mary didn't think I'd stolen anything. Running away probably made me suspicious.
Ben turns when he hears the little bells hanging behind the door, but it's too late, I'm already halfway up the close. I didn't tell him, but I used to be in the running team at school. I'm fast, and right now, I'm running as fast as I can.
CHAPTER TWO
It's a cold night, but luckily, it's one I get to spend inside a warm dorm room at a hostel - courtesy of Ben. After I left him at the café, I found a twenty pound note in my coat pocket - the sneaky bastard must have put it there while I was on the toilet. By now, I'm no longer too proud to reject help. Instead, I'm staying in the cheapest hostel I can find, surrounded by tourists giving me curious stares. I'm the only one who doesn't have a large backpack or suitcase with me, and my clothes have suffered over the past few weeks. I wash them in the shared bathroom before taking a long, delicious shower, washing away the grime and worries of the day. There's even some coconut shampoo a traveller must have left behind. I delight in the smell and new softness of my hair. For once, it's got a bit of its old shine back.
The dorm room is noisy, but I'm used to much worse and it doesn't bother me. Not in the slightest. I sleep better than I have in weeks, almost without nightmares.
I stay until 11am when I have to check out, taking advantage of the free tea and toast. A few slices of bread find their way into my backpack, for later. It's not stealing, I paid for it. Well, Ben did.
I wonder what he's doing now. He's probably forgotten about me already; I certainly hope so. I've got a weird feeling about him. He was too nice. People aren't nice without wanting something in return. And usually, it's pretty clear what they want. Company. Favours. Sex. But with him... I just can't understand his motives. And I ran away before I could find out - which was probably the safest option.
I step out into the cold winter air. I managed to stay until almost noon before I was asked to leave. Now it's time to earn my living. I make my way back to the Royal Mile, drawn in by the tourists flocking here. There will be more once the fake German Christmas market starts, but it's already quite a lot. To be honest, there are always tourists in Edinburgh, no matter the time of year. Most of them ignore beggars, but as a young woman I've got more chances of getting some coins than the older men usually lingering on street corners. People seem to have pity on me. I hate it.
My usual spot is taken, so I walk down towards the parliament, looking for a place that's got some protection from the cold wind that's starting to pick up. There's a shop not far that has a grate in front of it which exudes hot exhausts - and bingo, there's nobody there. Gratefully, I sink down on the warm metal, getting my hat out of my backpack. Somehow, people expect there to be a hat. I tried a bowl, but a hat seems to work better.
Just when I've found a comfortable position, someone clears their throat from behind me. "Move, please, we don't want your kind around here."
The shopkeeper, a large man with thick hands that are clutching a souvenir tea towel featuring Nessie. I stare at it, mesmerised by the contrast of something so trivial and the painful words the man just said.
"Go on, you're putting off my customers."
Swallowing a heated response, I get up and walk down the street, not looking back. I don't want him to see the shame on my flushed face.
I find a sheltered spot below a stone gate leading to an alleyway off the main street. It's not as visible, but right now, I want to be invisible anyway. It's days like these where I am most aware of what I have lost, of what I have become.
It's another week until my next Council appointment to find out if I get emergency accommodation. Another week on the streets. It's getting colder every day, and who knows how long it'll take for them to find me somewhere temporary to stay. If they offer me something at all. I curse my ex for getting me into this situation, but in the end, the only person I have to be angry at is me. I was the one making her angry. I didn't manage to get a full-time job because I chose the wrong thing to study. I'm the one who insisted on having a social life rather than try and earn more money during university, which is why I now have debts. I'm the one who missed my Council appointment. I should have taken an earlier bus. I should have tried harder to persuade Jess to let me stay, no matter the cost. It couldn't have got much worse, and I was used to it. Better than staying on the streets, surely.
The sound of pound coins landing in my hat rips me out of my thoughts. I look up to smile at the generous person - and frown instead as I see Ben. Damn, I should have chosen somewhere else to beg today. Edinburgh is a big city, there would have been enough other opportunities. But I had to be greedy and go back to the Mile.
"Fancy seeing you here, Emily," he says sarcastically.
"It's Em. Now piss off."
He clucks his tongue. "That's no way to thank someone for their donation?"
"Fine, thanks for the money. You can take it and leave."
He sighs and turns to leave, but then falters. "Would you like another hot chocolate?"
"No. I don't trust you. Please leave me alone." I hope this spelled it out enough for him.
"Okay," he says softly, "I'll go."
This time, he doesn't turn back, leaving me with five one-pound coins and the taste of guilt in my mouth.
His money buys me a sandwich in the reduced section at Tesco's and a hot tea. The rest I keep for my dinner. It should be enough for a soup somewhere to dispel the cold from my bones.
Once I've devoured the sandwich, I head to Haymarket station. I'm sure I won't cross path with Ben here, it's quite a bit away from the Royal Mile. And maybe the commuters will give me enough to buy me another night in a hostel. Otherwise I'll try one of the churches that open for winter. I shudder at the thought of listening to the priest's sermon again. The last church I stayed at, we had to take part in a service before we were given some food. Once you've lived on the streets for a bit, any belief you ever had in a God or in humanity disappears. I've seen people do things that I would never have thought I'd see while I was still living my ordinary life. Stuff that you usually only see on the telly or in the news. And the stories you hear... every single one of them could be made into a book or a film. Loss, abuse, misfortune, bankruptcy. Sometimes stupidity, but that is probably very arrogant coming from me.
Haymarket is busy as usual. It will be even busier in a few hours when the commuters leave the city, and others return. There's a kiosk in front of the station which sells hot drinks and I'm tempted to get myself a tea to warm my frozen hands, but I need to save my m
oney for tonight. Better cold now than sleeping on an empty stomach. I walk around the corner, away from any police or station security, and look for a spot on the ground that doesn't look like a few dozen dogs have already marked it today. I used to like dogs. Not anymore. I sit down and go to work.
Four hours later, darkness has fallen and the last commuters are leaving the station. It's time to go. There's a church not far from here, and I know that even if it is closed, there'll be a poster with the schedule of which church is open to the homeless tonight. I hope it's one in the city centre, I don't feel like walking through the cold and the dark for too long.
The church is closed and there's no poster in the display box by the gate. Fuck. Some idiot must have taken it. I rack my brain about where the next church is. I've lived in this city for a long time, but it's not as if I know every damn church in this area. I was never really interested in them until I became homeless. Now, they're my only hope of a warm and safe bed for the night. I guess I could try one of the hostels, but usually they're full by now. I count my money. Seven pounds, forty-two pence. Enough for dinner and breakfast, and maybe lunch, at a stretch. Not enough to pay for somewhere to stay.
I walk back to Haymarket and head straight to the tram stop. There's a map at the shelter, showing the nearest tram and bus stops - and other churches. Most of them look too small or are not the right denomination, but there's one maybe fifteen minutes away. In one of the parts of town that I don't like to walk through at night. Oh well, it can't be helped. I can see my breath in the frosty air; it's going to be freezing tonight. I don't even have a sleeping bag anymore, that was stolen after one of my first few nights on the streets. I was gullible back then, naive, thinking that everybody who smiles was nice. Well, lesson learned.
Bracing myself against the cold wind, drawing my hood deep over my face, I walk through the night.
"Lass, got a few quid for me?" a rasping voice suddenly comes from my left. I can't make out much in the darkness, but the man looks to be in his fifties, and even wrapped in his coat I can see how thin he is. He steps forward and in the pale light of a street lamp his face is skeletal, his eyes sunken and dull. A junkie, most likely. Someone to stay far away from.
"Got nothing for ya, mate," I drawl in my best street voice. My slightly posh English accent made me a target at the beginning, so now I've learned to hide it. I'm not sure I'm doing a good job of it.
"Sleeping rough, lass?" he asks, coming closer at the same time as I'm stepping back.
"Aye, need to be on my way. See ya around," I reply politely and turn. A second later, I'm on the floor, my ankle hurting like hell from where it slipped off the curb. "Fuck!" I shout, not caring about who hears me.
I drag myself off the street before I'm run over by a car, wincing at every movement of my ankle. If it's not broken, it's definitely sprained. Just what I needed.
"Fuck," I curse again, before coming aware of the thin guy approaching me. He's suddenly got a swagger to him that makes me afraid.
"Did you say you had some money for me?" he rasps, bending down until his face is level with mine. His teeth are yellow and his breath stinks of something that reminds me of stale garlic.
"I don't have anything, I'm in the same boat as you."
"I don't believe you."
I'm starting to panic. His pupils are dilated; he's high. Reasoning with him isn't an option.
"A guy gave me something earlier, but I've only got six quid left." I rummage in my pockets, shoving away the desperate voice in me shouting that this is my last money. Finally I find the coins and show them to him, still somehow hoping that he'll believe me and leave.
"You think you can screw me over? Nah, lass, let me have a look, I'm sure you've got some more hidden away under your pretty coat."
He grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me onto my back. My ankle burns in agony as I try to fight him. The martial arts skills I have that I usually rely on require functioning limbs. I can't even knee him between the legs because my ankle can't carry the weight of the rest of my body. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
As he rips open my coat, I scream out for help. We're not far from the station, there might be people around to hear me.
He mumbles something and suddenly there's something in my mouth, something scratchy and smelly. The bastard has gagged me. I struggle more, trying to get out of his grip. He's thin, but he is stronger than he looks.
I thrash, trying to wiggle out from under him somehow. He's kneeling on me, his knees pinning down my legs, his hands grabbing my own. I'm trying to spit out the gag; calling for help is now my only chance of getting away from him. The hard asphalt is pressing against my spine, letting the cold seep into my body. I groan as he lifts my arms over my head, securing them with one hand, while fumbling with the buttons of my coat with the other. Despite my struggles, he manages to open the top two, and slides a hand inside, over the thin shirt I wear underneath. He's not looking for money now; he never even checked my coat pockets. He's after something else.
Where are all the people? It can't be later than seven, and while we are on a street with mostly businesses and warehouses, it's not like pedestrians never come here. We're close to the train station, people must walk along this road from time to time.
I twist my head, trying to see around me. That's when he puts his hand on my breast. I scream against the gag as he touches me, squeezing, scratching. His fingernails rake over my skin. It hurts so much that I think he must have drawn blood. With him busy leering at my upper body, I manage to get one hand free. I make a fist and slam it against his face - weak because of the angle, but enough for him to scream in surprise and let my other arm go. With both arms free, I can finally do more than just lie on the ground like a helpless victim. I hit his cheek again at the same time as he grabs my hair and pulls. I squeal but my fist met its target and he lets go again, instinctively covering his face. I rip the gag out of my mouth and shout for help. My voice is hoarse, but loud enough to be heard. Please, please let there be someone walking nearby. Please.
My attacker is still sitting on top of my legs, and I know that even if I managed to get them free, I'd not be able to run with my ankle. Which means I need to knock him out before he gets the upper hand again. I make a flat hand and swing back for a blow to his windpipe, but he's faster and suddenly, his hands are around my throat, squeezing the life out of me. I can't breathe, and panic sits in as I see the crazed look in his eyes.
"You don't need to be conscious for this, lass," he whispers as he presses his fingernails into the soft skin on my neck. “Or alive.” I gasp for air, but there is none to be had. I've got my hands free, but his arms are longer and his face is just out of reach. I claw at his arms, but his coat is thick and I'm not sure he even notices it. Black spots are appearing in front of me. I thrash, no longer able to control my motions. How the fuck did I get here, dying on a lonely street at night?
"What are you doing?" a voice shouts from a distance, and I can hear someone running towards us. "Police!"
Finally, I think, as a fog takes hold of my mind. Maybe they're too late, but at least they'll catch the guy who killed me.
More people arrive and the pressure on my throat finally lessens.
"Get an ambulance!" the same voice calls out, but suddenly I can feel hands on my neck again and I try to move to fight them off, but there is no strength left in me.
"Shhush, I'm just feeling your pulse, relax," someone says, and a moment later, one of my eyelids is pulled open, but I don't see anything. I don't even remember closing my eyes. Now that I'm no longer being suffocated, I try to breathe deeply, but my lungs won't do as they're told. I'm not getting enough air, no matter how much I gasp.
"Try and breathe slowly. The ambulance will be here any second now."
I wish I could just go to sleep. Unconsciousness, sleep, death, whatever. Everything hurts. I can't breathe. The sounds around me are painfully vibrating in my skull. They are becoming louder. More voices, cars, sirens. Thin
gs are happening around me, but I'm so tired.
"Stay with me, sweetheart, help is coming."
I don't want to. I want to sleep.
"What happened?"
"Strangulation. Pulse is 120 and weak. GCS eight. We've taken the suspect into custody".
They're continuing to talk, but I couldn't care less. When they start doing things to my body, I crawl further into myself, hiding from the pain and fear. I shiver inside, trembling as I make myself as small as I can. Please let the pain end.
CHAPTER THREE
"What is your name?"
"Emily Malone." My voice is hoarse and broken. Speaking hurts like hell. They've given me water to soothe my throat, but it's not helping much.
"Are there any next of kin you'd like us to call?"
"No," I whisper.
"Do you want to make your statement now or shall we come back later?"
I'm so grateful for that question that I want to hug the gentle police woman sitting by my bedside.
"Later," I croak, and with a soft squeeze of my shoulder, she leaves together with her colleague.
I try to sleep again, but the collar around my throat is itching and my ankle is pulsating painfully. When the nurse comes the next time, I'll need to ask her for more painkillers. Maybe they will help dull my thoughts as well.
When I woke up a few hours ago, I was in a cloudy world, half dream, half reality. Nothing hurt, not even the memories. It was so peaceful. But the longer I was awake, the faster the clouds disappeared. Now I'm fully conscious, and I'm hating it. I don't want to feel.
I try reaching for the glass of water standing on the little bedside table, but my arms feel like lead, too weak to even lift off the mattress. There's nothing for me to do but stare at the ceiling.
A knock on the door rips me from my doze. I turn my head, and inwardly curse the collar around my neck that is now painfully reminding me of its existence.
