The Unwanted

[HermesVoice]

Every city has them … and always has. The Unwanted ones. The Delinquents. The Urchins. Some are castaways, others rebels, others simply broken, like dolls in war. They are the Lost Boys and Girls that are the inevitable price we pay for “civilization” and the creatures from which we most quickly avert our gaze.

“Surely not in Athens!” we exclaim. Or Rome. Or Medina.
“Never in Our Imperial Dynasty!” we declare. Or in Her Majesty’s Empire. Or in the People’s Republic.

And we turn our eyes away, upward to the palaces of kings, the tombs of princes, and the great cathedrals of religion and commerce.

Some of them are fallen angels, hopeful of a Paradise … somewhere.
Some are merely fallen: vicious, predatory, and snarling survivors, hopeful of nothing.
And some are trash, as invisible and disposed of as a McDonald’s wrapper drifting along the sidewalk.

They are in London. They are in Moscow. They are in Buenos Aires.
They are in Tokyo. They are in Melbourne. They are in Beijing.
They are in New York, and they are in Washington DC … but don’t tell anyone. They won’t believe you anyway.

“Not in our Glorious Democracy!”

And they are in the city of Port St. Jude. This is them.

**************************************************************

Tyler McMillan


“Ty, please, let’s go!”

Tyler could hear the desperation in his sister’s voice, in the urgency of her whisper. He knew, without looking over his shoulder at her, that she was shifting from foot to foot. Waiting for him to move. To decide.

“Ty …”

“Cat, wait! Stop! I gotta think!”

“Ty, PLEA – “

“Cat, STOP!” he hissed quietly, despising himself in the instant the words escaped him. He knew she was scared, knew that something had happened in her foster home. But she hadn’t explained … hadn’t time, she insisted. She’d had to get out, to come here, pulling him from sleep at one A.M.

She needed him. And that was enough.

Tyler turned to his sister in the darkness, she marking the room with only her silhouette and the quiet of her breathing. Without seeing the dark of her eyes - the charcoal eyes of their father, the eyes that matched his own – Tyler knew the intensity of her gaze and guessed tears there. He moved to her, taking her shoulders and lightly brushing his fingers through her hair before pulling her to him tightly.

“I’m sorry, Cat. I just …” he groped for words that would erase those he’d just spoken. “I just need to think.”

He could feel her heart against his, could smell her hair, and with these, the pain of missing her rolled over him again. Through eighteen years they’d been parted only infrequently, the separations growing strangely worse as they grew older. Tyler had wondered many times why this should be, why he seemed more bound to his sister when everyone around him seem to be separating themselves from home and family.

He’d spent the first few weeks of his term with the Collins family buried in the room they’d set aside for him, emerging only to attend school and take dinner with Mart, Peggy, and their ten-year-old son, Johnny. He knew they worried, understood that they cared as far as they could manage for this strange boy under their roof … and yet he felt desperately, wildly alone. He’d grieved as though Cat – halfway across Port St. Jude – was gone forever.

But now she was here, and they were together.

“Wait here,” he muttered before kissing her on the forehead. As he pulled away, his hand slipped into hers and, for the space of a breath, Tyler thought she wouldn’t let go. She did though and he thought he saw the flicker of a smile spread over her features in the half-light of the moon pouring through the living room window.

Quickly, he slipped through the house to the kitchen, where he knew Mart Collins kept his keys – and his wallet – in a box by the garage door. Quickly, he thumbed through the wallet, cursing softly at the meager eighteen dollars he found there.

It would have to be enough, as would the evergreen hoodie hanging on a hook by the back door. He wanted to find more but dared not. Johnny slept lightly. So despite the chill nights of early March, Tyler searched for nothing more, instead merely jamming the money into a pocket of his jeans, and grabbing the cherry Gibson acoustic – always left by the back door to accompany him out.

“C’mon,” he murmured to his sister as he slipped back into the living room. Snatching a quilt from the sofa, he wrapped it around her before taking her hand. “We’re gone.”

Walking away from the Collins’ home, his breath smoking orange in the glow of tungsten street lights, he took stock of their situation. Eighteen bucks. His Gibson. Catherine. It would have to be enough, and although he was beginning to shiver under the hoodie, Tyler thought it just might be.

**************************************************************

“The Unwanted” remains open to interested writers. PM bio sketches. OOC and interest thread here: http://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?t=757095

 

[fuckmeat]

Anya Petrovska lounged on a street corner, hugging her thin chest. She wore a denim miniskirt, black halter top and nothing else save for some battered stiletto heeled boots. The night air was cold but her body shivered with worse privation. She hadn't had a hit since last night and wouldn't unless she got some trade. A more enlightened pimp would have given his girls enough of a shot to let them focus on hustling customers but Pyotr was not such a man.

"Vstanʹte pryamo vam bespolezno suka."*

His growl was accompanied by a shove that sent Anya reeling away from the concrete wall of underpass. He sniggered as she tottered on her heels and damn near fell, her skinny legs splaying like a newborn foal.

A black sedan cruised by, slowing to a crawl. Anya was now the closest to the kerb so she attempted to pull herself together and approached the car. She knew her looks were fading. She had come from comparatively luxurious brothels and was now at the ass end of the food chain. Her heroin addiction was ruining what vestiges remained of her beauty and malnutrition was doing the rest. Food was deliberately scarce to keep the girls lean and hungry. She needed this job. Fucking this guy meant eating and scoring a shot later.

Nobody came to the underpass looking for beauty. Anya's heart sank as the blacked out window rolled down to reveal a towering nightclub bouncer. A jagged scar ran down the side of his face, white against his tanned skin. He'd been set upon once by a gang of drunk girls who he'd refused entry to. They'd taken him by surprise and then overpowered him by sheer weight of numbers. During the attack he took a stiletto through his left cheek, ripping his face open from eye socket to jaw. It had taken three attempts to reconstruct that side of his face so it functioned normally and he therefore had sutures in one place or another for so long that he got the nickname stitch. He had yet to live down the ignominy of being beaten up by a handful of girls. His experience had made him quite the misogynist.

Anya merely knew him as a nasty piece of work who took his job's frustrations out on Pyotr's whores. He was heavy handed but he paid well, so Pyotr turned a blind eye.

It would have been so easy to let her face fall with disappointment and dislike. Stitch would choose someone else and Pyotr would still be happy. Anya's bones were splintering however, her body shaking with far more than cold. Another couple hours of this and she'd be useless. So she smiled at Stitch, leaning against his car to display her hard nipples through the flimsy top. Stitch had a thing for emaciated girls with tiny tits. He groped her while he agreed terms with Pyotr and handed over his money. Anya got into the passenger seat and he drove her to a disused carpark. Stitch came around to open the passenger door and offer Anya his hand as she exited the car. Surprised but prepared to take kindness where she could get it, Anya stepped out. Her deep brown eyes were apprehensive and rightly so.

His free hand balled into a fist and popped her concave gut. Anya doubled over and crashed to her knees, exactly where Stitch wanted her to be. She was still gasping for air when he crammed his cock into her mouth, semi erect but still big enough to choke her. Her eyes watered and she coughed, accidentally grazing his skin. Stitch hauled her off of him and delivered an open-handed punch to her face. Anya cried out and tried to shrink away from him. Her obvious terror and reluctance inflated Stitch's cock to full hardness. He stuck a thumb in her mouthcorner to open her wide and then moved behind her, yanking Anya's head back and slamming his way into her throat. When her nose was occluded by his heavy balls, Stitch tore the halter from Anya's upper body and started abusing her tits with one hand, revelling in the screams that opened her throat wider to him, the pitiful twitches she made as oxygen deprivation rocked her tiny little body.

Anya fought her panic and focused all her will on stilling her body and going limp. Stitch was an asshole but he wouldn't want to go back to Pyotr with a corpse. She managed to fall still and after a moment that seemed to last forever, Stitch pulled out of her ravaged throat. Anya let her body fall sideways, resisting the urge to gasp air, taking measured breaths through the vile concoction of precum and thick saliva swilling around her mouth. She allowed herself a cough, trying to feign waking gradually.

A boot connected with her ribcage, lifting her bodily from the tarmacked ground and pitching her a short distance.

"Wakey wakey!" Stitch snarled, his voice deep and gravelly. "I'm not nearly done with you yet."

There was a pause as a condom packet was ripped open, then his knees hit the floor either side of her and Anya was pulled up by her hair. Stitch hiked up her skirt and spat on his cock, probing with the slick latex covered head until he found her asshole. He slammed his hips forwards but Anya failed to push back against him, her hips moving forwards. Stitch grabbed her skinny hips and hauled her back onto his huge cock, splitting her ring open and making her emit a broken scream. He pulled her up by the hair once more and brought his lips to her earlobe. Her skin was so pale, almost translucent. He could see the blue tinge of her jugular vein beneath it. It added a raw edge to the kick he got from her vulnerability. Anya was five feet tall and less than 90lb dripping wet.

"Shut it. Keep quiet or I WILL give you something to fucking scream about."

A flick-knife appeared in her field of vision, pointed at her eyeball.

"You WILL push back when I fuck you."

Anya struggled to comply without tipping her upper body towards the knife. Stitch proceeded to pound her torn asshole. He lowered the knife and held it still so that it punctured the skin on her chest and tits as his hard thrusts shoved her helplessly forwards. He enjoyed how her pain tightened the bloody vice around his dick. Red droplets beaded on her pale skin, cresting jutting ribs and pitifully small titflesh, stoking a feral lust in him that he had long ago stopped trying to understand.

Stitch tossed the knife aside and pushed her down onto all fours. He planted his feet either side of her ribcage and pulled her ass up until he found her gaping hole again. He hammered into her with the full strength of his powerful body, abetted by gravity, his feet in front of her knees, his hands yanking on Anya's long dark hair hair and closing around her slender neck.

She was in such terrible pain but Anya couldn't scream. Stitch choked her hard, annihilating her asshole with his huge cock, calling her every whore name he could think of, telling her to take it like the bitch she was. Nausea washed over her in waves, bile rising from her empty stomach to the meaty hand wrapped around her scrawny throat. Eventually he stiffened and stilled, cramming every last millimetre of himself into her as his vile seed pulsed into the condom. Anya waited for him to release her, to let her breathe and toss her into the trunk of his car for the ride home to keep her from getting blood on his upholstery.

But he just kept choking her... Anya was rendered a silent scream... a scream made flesh... he squeezed her throat until everything went black.



Anya woke suddenly, drenched in a cold sweat, her body tangled up in the bedclothes. Her room was simply but beautifully furnished, decorated in calming shades of cream and blue. The skeletons in her closet wore many masks but Stitch was a particularly unpleasant one. Her heartrate gradually slowed. Anya moved to free herself from the damp sheet and discovered with a flush of deep shame that it wasn't just clammy from her sweat. It was wet around her inner thighs and aftershocks skittered across her nerve endings, telling her she had climaxed during her nightmare, rubbing herself against the sheets where they bunched between her legs. Revulsion and self loathing roiled in her gut as the aroma of her recent orgasm wafted from beneath the covers.

Mercifully, these days she always slept alone... well, almost. Her black cat regarded her through half closed green eyes. She had named him Adrik and after many months he had consented to respond to the moniker... more often than not anyway. 'Adrik' meant darkness and of spirit rather than a physical absence of light. She had found him raiding the trash cans outside her ground floor apartment, ridden with fleas and lice, half starved and cold. Now he was well fed and cared for, though he would still abscond for days at a time and make her worry. He was dainty for an adult cat, just as she was petite for a grown woman. They were both strays, so they suited one another well. She never tried to fetter him and for his own part, Adrik never demanded much from her in terms of attention. He would sleep on her bed but always curled in a tight, defensive ball at the foot or on the opposite side, enjoying the warmth and security of Anya's home and presence but not in a clingy or devoted way. Though he was well fed he still spent the warmer months murdering everything he could get his paws on for nothing more than the sheer savage joy of it. Sometimes he brought her trophies but more often than not, his gifts were semi eaten. He had never learned to play nice with Anya either. Even after more than two years of 'owning' Adrik, if she tickled his tummy she would get her fingers torn off. Neither of them gave trust any more. Anya didn't blame him any more than she blamed herself.

Anya rose and changed her nightdress and sheet, much to Adrik's utter disgust. He took himself off through her open sash window in high dudgeon. Anya then took a sleeping pill and settled back down, letting the night time noise of Port St. Jude lull her back to sleep. She didn't like using the pills but they ensured a dreamless slumber.





*Stand straight you useless bitch.

 

[MaskofSand]

Catherine was antsy. Rushed. Scared.

Tyler had a nice family, it seemed. She felt bad in one regard for doing this to him, but in another, she didn't care. She needed him. She felt safest with him. Nice family or not, they weren't his real family. SHE was. And no state bastards were going to tell her that she couldn't see him, be with him. They were old enough now, weren't they? They didn't need this shit. They were old enough to take care of themselves, finally. They were old enough to be together as they wanted.

Her head still hurt. That fuck Tom had punched her in the back of the skull earlier that night. How did a man like that become a foster parent? The bait and switch approach again. She'd seen it a number of times now. Sweet, caring, loving around those it mattered to. The moment they got home- the asshole side came out. Tom knew his craft, too. Scary bastard, that's what he was. She could still feel his hand clutching at her throat, the heat of his words against her ear as he told her to shut up, be good, she could just be living on the streets or dead if he wasn't there to keep her safe.

Safe.
SAFE?
Fucking bastard.

She whined again as Tyler seemed to be taking forever. He snapped at her.
She withdrew a bit more, frowning as she stepped out of his way. He was back to her in seconds, holding her, apologizing.
Can't be mad at him. Can't.
"...I know. I'm sorry...."
Her eyes closed as he kissed her forehead, squeezing his hand as he pulled away.
Just don't leave me again.


Another glance to the pictures on the walls while he finished. A mom. A dad. A brother.
A new sibling.

She frowned again, studying the three pictures as Tyler moved quietly to other rooms. A fourth picture, the four of them. One big happy family. She stared at it, taking a moment to peek back over her shoulder for her brother, for anyone else... Then reached up, delicately removing the image from the wall and tucking it into her coat.

He returned then, a sweatshirt with him now, a blanket under his arm that was wrapped around her with his long-missed arms. "We ready then?," she asked softly, following him to the door. Cat had found a few things of her own from Tom and his girlfriend before coming to find Tyler. That bitch really should have invested in a jewelry box or something, not just leaving everything on the kitchen counter. Cat was simply teaching her a lesson, that's all.


They were on their way. She clung to that hand as they walked, her heart racing in her chest. "We'll be okay. I'm sure of it. We'll be okay."
She had to convince herself that, too.

 

[Avellan13]

Alan Dean

Alan leaned back against the seat as he hear the announcement over the speakers, "We`ll be arriving at St. Jude city within a few minutes." He didn`t bother listening to the rest. Alan buckled himself in and sighed as he waited for the plane to land.

After several minutes, when the plane had finally landed and arrived at the airport, Alan got up and followed the rest of the passengers down the hall and out of the plane. It took a few minutes before Alan had a chance to make it out of the plane.

Going through security and checking out had been a nightmare. He didn`t speak the local language and had to present his passport, ID, and other essential paper work that had to be filled out. Now he was finally out of the airport and looking around at the city.

"Of all the places that I could have gone to. Why here?"

He wasn`t speaking to anyone in particular, and he didn`t really know why he had chosen this place out of the hundreds of thousands of other places that he could have gone to. However, what was done was done and he couldn`t go back, at least not for awhile anyways.

Checking his watch, he saw that it was about 10:55 AM or in other words, early afternoon

Sighing, Alan walked down a nearby street. He didn`t know where he was going or what he was going to do, but he would eventually arrive to it.

 

[poohlive]

Fuck.

Virus felt the waves of sleep lifting off of him as pain began to strike down somewhere deep inside his head. It turned from a dull ache in a dream to a throb that he could not ignore. He opened one eye and the glare of yellowed fluorescent light from outside caused him to wince.

He felt exhausted and didn’t know why.

Fuck.

Virus reached out to the nightstand for a beer. He drank it. Stale and piss warm told him enough of what he needed to know. Virus, with his eyes purposely shut to the outside world began a mental check of himself.

Anything hurt?

Just his head, the headache seemed like one from either really good pot or
really bad alcohol. Either way he was coming down hard.

Location?

Motel 6, east side of Port St. Jude. He drove his car back from a bar sometime last night, or this morning. Or maybe yesterday morning. His eternal clock had been fucked to shit lately.

Feeling?

Good. Why did he feel so good?

The money. Yes, that’s why he felt soo good. That’s why he went out to celebrate. He had finally gotten rid of that Venazualian hash, and had a duffel bag filled with 240,000 dollars. The idea of all those zero’s lining up for him made his headache far more bearable.

Virus slowly opened his eyes, tentatively letting in the outside world. He saw the hotel room in more or less the same condition he’d left it, the duffel bag on a circular table with two dining room chairs, a tv mounted on the far wall where two whores were yelling in front of a live studio audience about some guy who was probably fucking both of their sisters, and a large bay window with the curtains drawn open enough to let in the outside light.

Virus got out of bed and shut the curtains. Immediately the room grew dark, shadows clutching at all the walls. This made his headache happy, the large beast seeming to toss and turn inside of his brain and then resting as a dormant dull thud against the base of his skull.

He reached for a cigarette, taking in a nice long drag.

The blue haze of television gave him enough of a nightlight to walk to the bathroom. He turned on a faucet and cupped some water to splash into his face. He drank some water as well. This seemed to help him a lot. His body reacted to water, opening and growing like a fucking flower. All of a sudden his senses turned to sharp focus, as if someone had adjusted the tint inside his head. He saw colors and distinct lines, smelled the shit chlorine of a motel bathroom and his cigarette’s ash, felt the cool beads of water drip down his back.

Bloodshot eyes stared back at him in the mirror.

Fuck.

He had some coke. He'd partied two weeks back with a couple of whores and they'd left him almost an entire fucking gram of the shit. He'd been riding the white rails more or less since then.

It was hard to find good coke in this town.

Underneath the sink he pulled out a baggie, measured a line and snorted it up.

There.

Hello.

Fuel ran through his body now. He woke up. Alive. Breathe in that air. Damn, how fucking stale was this air? All of a sudden the air bothered him. He was bothered. He didn’t know why.

Virus went to the bay windows. Opened them. They’re open. Fresh air. Fucking fresh. Yes. That’s what he needed. Hot damn, if his headache didn’t go away because of this delicious fresh air.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Cigarette at the corner of his mouth, Virus sat down and opened the duffel bag. Wouldn’t it be great to count 240,000 dollars? He felt like he could count it three times over right now. Just count until his fingers bled against the cold hard cash. Who in the fuck wouldn’t count cash until they bled?

“Communist fucking bastards,” The dead voice of his father popped up from inside Virus’ head. Virus had to agree. Damn fucking right. Commie’s don’t count money until they bleed, only American’s do that.

“Land of the free,” Virus giggled, pulling out large stacks of cash.

They were twenties wrapped up in standard bank bundles. Virus ripped one of the bundles, tearing it apart and fanning the bills out.

Martha Stewart looked back at him.

What?

Martha?

The top bill was a twenty, but the rest of the bills beneath were just slips of regular paper. Some looked cut from newspaper or a magazine. One of them clearly showed Martha Stewart showing him some sort of centerpiece.
A centerpiece in the middle of his money.

"FUCKING MARTHA!!"

Virus felt blood boil. His ears radiated the heat of the sun. His eyes turned into microwaves.

MARTHA


Virus ripped at the other stacks. They were all the same. Two or three bills on the top and bottom and the rest random pieces of paper.

Random. Pieces. Paper. Martha. Fuck.

Virus couldn’t control his own rage. He didn’t want to. It felt good to let the battery acid pour into his heart.

He tore apart the duffel bag, screaming as the hard fabric ripped to shreds. He picked up the table and flung it against the bay window. The crinkle of glass made him feel like fairies were watching him, watching and making fun of him.
He wore no shoes so his feet began to bleed as he walked to the dresser, throwing it open. The bed flipped over. The tv mounted to the wall stared at him in laughing defiance.

“Look at me,” The tv said, its azure glow of radiation burning the hair on his eyebrows, “Look at me, I’m mounted to the wall. Do your worst, you can’t ever hurt me, mother fucker.”

“I’ll show you,” He screamed. He cried. He cut his hands tearing at the metal bolts and plates of the television, fingers turning to ground beef before the television itself flew to the opposite wall.

“FUCK MARTHA!!!” The world had to know his pain.

And then Virus collapsed on the ground exhausted by his own rage.

Life came back in a surreal slowness. He finally was aware of his heart pound-thumping on his chest. He was sweating in excess, large beads dripping from his chin and onto his shirt. His feet hurt, his fingers were numb, and the outside breeze made him feel cold. Virus tried to recollect the last few minutes, but his memory only brought up shades of red and blue.

The money.

“Gotta find Bart,” He said, and that seemed to get him moving. Bart fucked him over on the Venezualian deal. There was 240,000 dollars somewhere in Port St. Jude and it belonged to Virus. Bart had all his money, and he was laughing at the joke. Laughing.

All laughing.

Bart had friends who were laughing. Dealers laughing. Right now there were crack whores who only weighed 80 pounds, strung out on some random basement floor drooling in their own shit who were laughing at the Virus.

“They played you for a fool, boy,” His dead father piped now, that tormenting voice in his head happy with the words he spoke. Virus could imagine his dead father dancing a little jig as he spoke.

“Played you for a fool. Here’s some paper money, here’s Martha Stewart. Thanks for all the drugs, Virus. By the way, nice fucking name.”

Virus ground his teeth together until they hurt.

They would pay.

They would all pay.

He felt like he wanted to leave a bloody fiery streak of vengeance across this entire town until he had his money back. No one would be laughing then.

The sound of sirens came from downstairs. Virus didn’t even think, his body just jumped up and began to move. He collected a gun and the last of his coke from the bathroom, grabbed a coat and threw on a pair of sandals. He didn’t have time to find his pants. Didn’t need them.

Revenge doesn’t require pants.

By the time the cops were knocking on Virus’ motel room door he was long gone, his beat up Camaro roaring into the night.

Had to find Black Bart.

Had to get his money.

Had to stop them all from laughing.

 

[wideeyedone]

Anna Mitchell

She left home years ago and moved to the city with her boyfriend. The home she grew up in was filled with anger, addiction and tumult. Rodney was older and seemed secure and wanted to rescue her from her father's anger and her mother's stupor. But the shine had worn off. They had trouble making ends meet with their collection of minimum wage jobs. And then one day, she came home from work and he was gone.

There was a note on the table and an envelope with a little cash in it. He had gone home. In desperation, she called home but her father had told her not to come home. For a while she had couch surfed, moving in with girls she knew at work, offering part of her meager salary in exchange for a bad night's sleep.

But now, she was squatting. Her job had disappeared and none of her friendships were strong enough to withstand free loading. She had all she owned in a well worn duffle. Her boots were worn in and if someone didn't look too closely, she might have passed for a college student dressed in vintage jeans and an oversized sweater. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, her face was still striking, Anna had always been a pretty girl. But she was hungry and tired and alone.

Anna was lurking near a sidewalk cafe. She had her duffle on her shoulder. There was a distracted business man on his cell phone, arguing with someone. He had an untouched half of a sandwich left on his plate. He picked up his attache case and stormed to his car. She stealthily walked past and grabbed the sandwich remnant and kept moving. She found a park bench and ate her sandwich. It helped take the edge off of her hunger. The evening air was cold and she nestled more deeply into her sweater. She had a few bucks in her back pocket but she was trying to hang on to it, even though the thought of ordering some thing warm to drink was tempting. Instead, she refilled her water bottle at the water fountain and began her wanderings to find a place to sleep.

She moved away from the blocks of trendy boutiques and cafes and wandered into the darker, dirtier part of town. Anna did her best to avoid making eye contact or speaking with the cast of characters that were out now that it was getting dark. There were hands clasping bottles in brown bags and glowing cigarettes. Anna just kept walking. There was an abandoned building at the end of the block that she had taken to sleeping in. Her friend Hobart, a homeless Vietnam vet, had tipped her off that it was a reasonablly safe place to sleep. He had showed her the broken door. He kept his stuff in a second floor room and she knew she was welcome to crash there. She hadn't seen him in a few days but his pack was still there when she arrived. She hoped he had scored a few nights in a hotel or a shelter. She put her back to the corner, furthest from the door and curled up. It felt safest that way and she knew she might sleep. She got out her flashlight and her book. She promised herself only a few chapters, she needed to save her batteries.

 

[choklatekoneko]

“ Cállate la boca perra.”*(1)
Aellea hated when her brother was like this… it scared her half to death, and the whole dark side of him was lethal enough to kill somebody. He had killed before-he may had never admitted it to her(or even himself) but she knew better. He may have not headed the gang, but he was pretty damn close. He was like, the right hand man in this case. They had found a snitch- and nobody, especially X, liked snitches. He despised them; it was why she never told on him herself, and besides-she never ratted out family.

She watched the scene in front of her- a guy, probably around her age, in front of her, nose broken, ribs cracked, barely breathing. It was considered a major offense what he had done, and The Boss hadn’t considered him to have enough time, and let her brother handle it, which she hated-he was gonna kill ‘em.

“Please! I’m sorry…I’m sorry…,” he breathed between the words, struggling. She couldn’t take-she closed her eyes. She shook her head violently hearing a bone crack. Her brother was violent as hell.

“Stop it, X! Lo estás haciendo daño!”*(2) She screamed…to no avail. Xavier stared at her, eyes rolling.
“Lea, you see this kid?” he kicked him, hard, making her cringe. “He’s a puta. Nothing. I shoulda never let him into the depósito. Pathetic.” He kicked him once more, making him cough up blood. She couldn’t help it-she ran and went to him side, which resulted in a empathic sigh from her brother. One of his flockeys ran to her, grabbing a handful of her curly brown hair.

She heard the gun click a mile away.

“Get the fuck away from my sister, bruh. Now.”
She fell down to the ground with a thud, tears came to her eyes, shaking her head. She was stronger than that, and although it hurt like hell, she didn’t let them fall.

“I’m fine.”

X looked into her eyes, his jaw muscle twitching. He may have been fucked up, but he cared about her to death-even when their mom was about to sell them to the damn drug dealer, he wasn’t having that. The fact she had to run away was simply she had to get away.

He kicked the unknown guy once more, sending as string of cuss words flowing from his mouth. She simply sat on the crate, for a just a moment, before walking out, away from the madness.

*(1)-Shut the fuck up bitch.

*(2)-You're hurting him!

 

[bigwriterchick]

Stephanie sighed heavily, as her shift ended. She really hoped today wasn't the day. She didn't feel like it. Her fingers fidgeted with the buttons on her white blouse. First 4 buttons undone, so your tits were almost spilling out. That's the way Gary liked his girls. It made them really easy to grope if he took it into his head. Thankfully, they were allowed to wear skirts that hit mid thigh.

She walked to the back, trying not to glare at the fat fuck behind the desk. His face lit up in a smile. Often she thought about strangling him. Thinking about it now, brought a sweet smile to her face. "My shift's over. I was just leaving." She did her best to keep her tone neutral. The thick, slick joy on his face wiped all of it off hers. "I wasn't just leaving, was I?" The corners of her mouth pulled down, her eyelids slipped halfway down. No use pretending now.

"Not if you want to keep this job, Sugar." The thick Southern accent made her want to gag. It was fake. It was what he used to 'sweet talk' his girls. Taking a deep breath, she sank to her knees. He turned his chair so his crotch was almost a Stephanie's eye level. He had given her a choice on her first day. Suck his cock once a week, or deliver 'packages'. The choice was easy. There was no way she was getting killed on a drug run. Not for this asshole at the very least. He was probably paying both of the major gangs in Port St. Jude anyway.

She was grateful that his cock was already hard as she lowered her mouth over it. She had no idea what he slathered his cock in, but it always tasted nasty. She was pretty sure, that seeing the revulsion on her face made him harder. "That's it Stephie." He cooed, unable to hold on to the accent. His fingers twisted in her hair, almost pulling. Soon, he was pounding his cock down her throat. When she gagged the first time, he had laughed. She didn't gag a second time. "Oh baby, you love his big fat cock in your throat." He growled, thrusting faster. She knew he was close. He always told her how much she loved his cock when he was close. Sure enough, no more than a minute later, his cock was out of her mouth. "Tell me where you want my load." He grinned, jerking himself.

"In your own ass." She said quietly, as he grunted, sending his cum over her face and tits. He chuckled, wiping a bit of cum off her cheek with his fingers. "That's why I like you, Stephanie. Sassy, harder to break." He held his fingers in front of her face for her to lick them. Her jaw clenched. Never. She would never do that. He nodded, and wiped it in her hair. Her vision started to blur as the rage filled her.

"Can I go?" She whispered, tempted to kill him right then. He gripped her chin, staring her in the eyes. He pressed his mouth against hers, forcing his tongue between her teeth. "You'll be mine, one day Stephanie. I promise you that." His voice dropped, his tone threatening, dark. He kissed her softly, just brushing her lips with his. "One day." He said a smile returning to his face. "You can go." Stephanie was immediately on her feet, walking to the bathroom. She hated him. Hated him more than she probably had a right too.

An evil look overtook her face as she wet a paper towel, starting to clean herself up. Her favorite fantasy played in her head. It started much like her 'visit' tonight. The difference make when he was just about to pull out. She would clamp down, taking a chuck of his cock with her. He would let out a high pitched scream, probably smack her. All the while more and more blood would flood out of his mutilated cock.

She was so caught up in her vision that she almost did hear the noise behind. She turned toward it, more out of reflex than anything. Hailey was standing there. Her mouth curved into a smile. She had no idea what Hailey was even doing in Port St. Jude. Tossing the towel in the trash, she lightly touched the other girl's cheek. "Your shift over too? You should be getting home honey." Her voice was soft as she spoke, a tone people rarely got to here.

"I...I wanted to see how you were." Hailey blushed, her eyes flicking to the door. Her smiled widened as her arms pulled the girl into a hug. "I'm fine. I swear." She looked down at herself, scowling and redoing three buttons. "Now I'm ok. You should be getting home." She prompted again. At 11 PM it was pretty dangerous to be wandering around the city, but it would only get worse. "I'll walk with you." She clasped her hand and tugged her outside.

She could almost see Hailey tremble. "What's wrong, baby?" Stephanie rubbed her arm, starting to worry. As they passed under a street light she could see the tears on her pale cheeks. "You're staying with me Hailey. At least for tonight." It was a command, not a question. She nodded, stepping closer to her protector. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. How in hell did she get roped into this? Hailey just wasn't supposed to be here. She pulled the shivering girl into a tight embrace. "You'll be ok. Whatever happened, you'll be ok."

 

[HermesVoice]

Tyler McMillan

He looked carefully at his sister in the garish fluorescents of the Dunkin Donuts. They’d found the place after walking an hour on Broad Street, its neon sign shouting “Always Open!” with a kind of mocking laugh … as if it knew they were headed deeper into the grimy chill of the city.

Cat was thinner than when he’d seen her last (both of them cutting school to meet at Jenkins Park, Port St. Jude’s largest), and when she carried the store’s waxed paper cup to her lips, Tyler couldn’t fail to notice that her fingernails were quick-bitten. Almost bloody. Her hair, usually a lustrous chocolate, hung dull and straight past cheeks that seemed - like the rest of her - more gaunt to his eye; and she’d barely picked at the muffin he’d bought them both. She was exhausted. And she looked like hell. And Tyler didn’t need a mirror to know he looked no better.

Several times as they’d walked, he’d watched hungrily as a bus growled past, watched with unspoken desperation to get out of the cold, to get Cat off her feet. But she “couldn’t be seen. Not yet.” Not this close to one of their foster homes. And while he knew she was right in her insistence, the truth of it gnawed at Tyler: Port St. Jude was big, but it wasn’t New York big. The neighborhoods were tightly knit, and the transit lines that ran within and between them were known by all and traveled by most. He and Cat could be recognized, and, who knew? Maybe sent back into foster care until they finished school and were no longer subject to truancy law … or until they turned twenty-one. And Tyler, a junior at eighteen years of age thanks to seven months lost in Juvie Hall, was an eternity from graduating.

So he’d slouched deeper into the stolen hoodie and squeezed Cat’s hand more tightly every time they’d passed a PSJ Transit stop. And he’d hoped the squeezes she gave him in return weren’t getting weaker each time, because he honest-to-God didn’t know what to do about it all. He needed to sit and think. To weigh options … assuming they had any left.

“Always Open!” the sign had lured, so they’d fled into the light of the place, dropping themselves into a corner booth while trying hard to ignore the awful saccharine music that limped from the speakers over their heads. Tyler tried hard, too, to ignore the bright tinkle of the shop bell every time someone came in, the easy jingle of it as irritating to him as the shitty pink-and-orange décor of the place. As grating as the couple he heard come through the door, giggling and dancing about. Tyler swiveled in the booth to gaze at the two – dressed for clubbing in jewelry and high-end jeans - flouncing and poking each other before kissing happily and turning to the Indian kid behind the counter. They were his age. Cat’s age.

He turned back to his sister, reaching into the inside pocket of the hoodie to fish out his pack of cigarettes, counting by feel how many remained in the crumpled pack before slipping one out and lighting it. He slid the remains of the pack across to her before reaching across to gently sweep a lock of hair away from her eyes.

“Wanna talk about it?” he said softly. He said nothing else, knowing there was nothing else to say.

 

[wideeyedone]

Anna Mitchell

Her batteries gave out. She groaned. It was too early to go to sleep and it was too dark to read. The wind howled into the cracked windows and the old building creaked. She knew she couldn't sleep. She rifled through her duffle for something warm. She found a scarf and a slim fitting sweatshirt. She slithered into the sweatshirt and wrapped the purple scarf around her throat. She had four dollars and that would be enough for something hot at the cafe.

As she slipped out of the broken door, snow began to drift down. She stopped for a moment and watched the flakes sparkle in the light of the streetlight. She lingered for just a moment but then she started walking.

"Hey, Baby... you got a daddy?" A gruff voice asked her. She looked at him right in the eyes.

"I am not a working girl." She walked as quick as she could. She needed to get away from this guy and out of the snow and she was still hungry. The snow was getting thicker, dusting her hair with sparkles of white.

Anna made her way to the cafe. She stepped inside and brushed the snow from her hair. An obnoxious clubbing couple was seated. Then the hostess offered her a booth. She fished her cash out of her pocket.

"I just want something hot. soup or something?" The waitress nodded and scrawled something down on her notepad. Anna curld into the corner of the booth and enjoyed the warmth. The cafe had plenty of light and so Anna pulled her book out of her backpocket. She might get a few more chapters in.

 

[MaskofSand]

Catherine tried to ignore the world around them. There was a chance, a giant chance- Tyler was near his home. No, not his home. The house they deemed his home, that's what it was.

He was staring at her. She'd noticed it. It was even more obvious now, here in the bright lights of the store. God these things were bright. She'd have thought a place like this wouldn't want people to see exactly what they were eating.

Oh hell. Look at these assholes.

Her eyes narrowed over the cup's brim, her teeth clamping onto it for a moment. She wanted to hit them. Bite them. Bitch them out.

They were too damned happy.
It pissed her off.

Her hand tightened around the cup as she set it down, a gentle pop as too tight a grip caused the sides to buckle in slightly. She just stared at it. She should say something. Anything.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Oh, Tyler. Thank God for you.

She looked at the cup for a moment longer, reaching into her coat without a downward glance. The picture. She tossed it onto the table.

"You were the lucky one this time...," She stated softly, eyes peering at him through the veil of fallen hairstrands. "They seemed to like you. Love you, even." She made a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I guess you could say mine loved me too. Different definition. How long's it been since you got a "Good Morning, Sunshine" with a punch to the jaw? Tom said I love you a lot, that way." She shivered, even with the shop's heat vent directly above them. "Other ways, too."

She closed her eyes, leaning her head against the ugly pink and orange stripe beside her. She could still hear them, these people who were supposed to keep her safe. Keep her out of trouble.

"Dumb little bitch!"
"She took my money! She took my damn money!"
"You aren't my daughter... So this isn't anything bad at all... Now hold still, stop fighting me so damn much!"

"I'm just tired, Tyler. Really... really tired. But we can't stop. We gotta go. We gotta just- We gotta go somewhere they can't see us anymore. I can keep us safe. Both of us safe. I... I have some stuff. Stuff to help."

She pushed her hands into her pockets, pulling out the wad of cash, the diamond rings, the gold bracelets, dumping them onto the table.

"Money. Or at least can get us money. And... And to be safe..."

She leaned forward a bit, lowering her head as she took one of the cigarettes from his pack, nodding quickly to her other pocket. Her hand pulled away enough to show the back of the 9mm buried in her jacket, quickly stuffing it back inside. "I can keep us safe. Don't worry. I can."

Cat was shaking. The muffin Tyler had bought was tempting. Very tempting. But she was afraid to even try... Just a few nibbles here and there, keep him happy. Calm his worries. Eat too much, might lose it all. Can't do that.

"We should... We should go again."

She hadn't even lit the cigarette. It simply rested between her lips.

 

[bigwriterchick]

Silently walking the few blocks to her apartment, she kept a tight grip on Hailey's hand. The dark haired girl never wanted to talk about what was going on at home. Instead, she would occasionally approach Stephanie. It was pretty easy since they worked the same shift. She had immediately warmed to Hailey. She was small, pale, with these big dark eyes...she always seemed to be looking for something.

"Here we are LeyLey," She said, tugging her inside the sparsely furnished apartment. It wasn't Hailey's first time here. "Do you want to change hon?" Stephanie asked, quickly stripping down to her bra and underwear, kicking the 'uniform' into a corner. Hailey shook her head, wringing her hands. Slipping a large T shirt over her head, she buttoned the girl's blouse all the way to her neck.

She sat on her bed, the only thing big enough for them to sit on together. "Come here baby." She beckoned, holding a hand out to her. The trembling girl took her hand, Stephanie pulled her forward, then down on to her lap. "You're always so cold." She frowned, trying to rub warmth back into Hailey's limbs.

"S-Sorry." She whispered, keeping her eyes lowered. She grasped the girl's chin, forcing her eyes up.

"Why do you always seem terrified of me? Even now when we're the only people in the room." She let go of her chin, laying that hand on her cheek. "I've only tried to be kind to you." She said softly, hugging her closer. Hailey whimpered, those dark eyes filling with tears, she buried her face against Stephanie's neck. "Shhh, Shhh, Shhh." She rubbed her back with long, slow strokes. Her thin body was racked with shuddering sobs. She let Hailey fall apart, holding her, rocking her, even shedding a few tears herself. Neither of them knew how much time had passed when she pulled away.

"What's wrong?" She whispered, stroking the swollen flesh just below her eye. She swallowed, her eyes flicking from Stephanie to the left and back to her. "You don't have to tell me, I'm just worried about you." She was surprised at just how much she was worried about the girl on her lap.

"I do. I do have to tell you." She whispered, leaning forward to kiss the older girl's cheek. She paused, letting out a long breath. "I...you..." She shook her head, determination in her eyes. "We're sisters."

 

[Avellan13]

Walking down the street, Alan felt alone and isolated. He was in a strange place that he knew nothing about and he had no one he trusted to talk to.

He arrived at a park and was surprised. How had he gotten there without meaning to?

Sitting down at a bench, Alan sighed and thought to himself. How had he gotten here? Why this place? When would he be able to return home? And why him?

Shaking his head he looked on at his surroundings, taking in every detail that met his gaze.

 

[poohlive]

The rusted Camaro cruised slowly down 82nd street. It was a bad street, lit up by the ambiance of convenience stores and 24 hour fast food joints. The flourescent glow was almost a second daylight, making this place feel like a strange homage to Vegas.

Even at three in the morning there were still people out and about. Virus saw them all. He watched through the dark windows of his car, eying each one carefully, judging them from behind the wheel. There were tweakers outside of the convenience stores looking for their nightly uppers or downers. They were all too skinny and jumped from one foot to the other for no real reason.

He didn't need a tweaker.

The homeless wandered this late, shopping carts filled with random treasures rescued through various trashcans. They were bundled up searching for an empty stoop or abandoned alley to bunker down for the night. Virus didn't need one of them either.

And the girls.

That's what Virus needed.

Old girls. Young girls. Fat girls. Girls who looked like they still had to finish their geometry after your blowjob. Girls with missing teeth that asked if you had a light. Girls who shivered when it was not cold. Girls who looked sullen, sunken and lost.

Virus slowed and watched each girl. He had passed down 82nd several times tonight, and the girls had noticed. He got looks now. He was a customer. They turned into sharks, each one eager to devour.

"You looking for some company tonight?" One said as she leaned over against his car, her tits practically dangling in his lap.

"I heard Candy worked here."

"Shit... you don't want her. You want a real woman. Only 30 dollars."

But Virus already saw what he wanted.

Candy had bright pink bubblegum hair. It was hard not to miss, even in the dead of night such as tonight.

He saw her in front of him, just outside a 7 Eleven. She got out of a car and pocketed a wad of cash, adjusting it in her bra. The car drove off and little Candy already began looking for another customer.

Virus slammed his foot down on the gas, tires screeching. The whore outside his car screamed and slammed her hand against the hood as he drove off, cursing into the night. Virus didn't care. He had found what he was looking for.

Candy saw him coming, the bright headlights catching her in some sort of trance. She stared at him, wide eyed, clutching her leather jacket.

Virus got out of the car. He left the door open, and the engine idling. This wasn't going to take long.

"Virus,"Fear in Candy's throat as she spoke. Virus only nodded. Yep. She had been just like the others in this city. She had been laughing at him. She helped the fake little drug deal take place and make him lose everything.

She would pay.

"Listen, Virus," She moved back from him, her hands up as she spoke, backpedaling so fast her high heels scraped against the concrete. Virus didn't listen, and he didn't care.

He grabbed her by her bubblegum hair.

She screamed.

He pulled her back to his car.

Candy lost her footing and fell down in the parking lot. She twisted around, but Virus' grip didn't alter. He had her and he was bringing her. He drug her towards her car.

She kicked. She screamed. She clawed at him with long whore fingernails, but it was no use. The cocaine fueling Virus' system had turned him into a machine. A terminator. He could run through a fucking wall right now if he had to, if it meant getting what he needed.

He lifted Candy up by one loose dangling arm and threw her into his Camaro.

"Hey," Someone called out from behind him. Virus turned around just in time to see one of those tweakers coming towards him, shock in his eyes as he glanced from Virus to the scared girl in his car.

"You can't..."

Virus took out the gun from his waistband.

The guy ducked at first, falling down to the floor. He let out some sort of a yell, his feet kicking out and trying to get himself up so that he could run.

"Yes, yes I can."

Virus got in his car.

He drove off.

"Candy... we need to talk."

Virus heard sobbing from the passenger side.