Arina

Chapter One

A/N: :

My first story on this site! Read it, comment and 'like' please :D And btw 'Baba' is just a nickname she has for him- it kind of means uncle to her, so don't ask me where the word is from, I just thought to use it, haha xD Also, no sex scenes will be described although the story is about prositution.The main character is REALLY, REALLY innocent and naive, and that's just the way she is. So please don't leave a comment saying she's too innocent because there are still some 13 year olds in the world that don't know about sex and prostitution. I'm writing this only for fun, so I apologize in advance for any literary mistakes or whatever. :)

 Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

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Her peculiarly small, fragile frame was obstructed by the towering shadow of her step-father. She knew not of what was going on, she was too young to conceive the events that were occurring around her- the events that would shape the rest of her life. 

The room was still with the inaudible whispering escaping the lips of the cruel men that surrounded her. The framed photos stood lopsided on the peeling walls. The stains on the carpet were covered up by a furry rug in an attempt to hide any signs of poverty. However, this attempt was in vain. It was obvious to anybody who entered the apartment that the Molotovs lived in a state far from luxury. 

                "Baba, I want to go back to sleep," she announced much to the surprise of everyone. It was the first words she had spoken since she had been awakened and guided downstairs. Many of the men had been led to believe the young girl wouldn't utter a word unless vitally necessary- this trait, they thought, would prove to be useful in the future. 

Arina's step-father, Isaak, placed a forced delicate arm on his step-daughter's shoulder and crouched down to her level.

                "Darling, you can go to sleep soon. We've just got sort something out here first, okay?" He said whilst getting back up.

                "But Baba, why do I even have to be here?"

Her words echoed around the almost empty sitting room. The tension could be cut with a butter knife. Isaak became more aggressive now. He bent down instantaneously and placed his arms on the young girl's shoulders once again. 

                "Be quiet. Your father has some important business to proceed with, just keep your mouth shut and stand here." His words were bitter. Arina still hadn't grown accustomed to the fact he referred to himself as her 'father' when she clearly knew that wasn't the case. Her real father was gone. 

                "You're not my father," she muttered but luckily for her, none of the men heard her. They had ignored the girl and continued with their ''business''. 

Arina stood awkwardly in the centre of the room while the men pointed and discussed her. She failed to understand the foreign language spoken by everybody in the room- her, herself, had only learnt English. She had only ever lived in England.

Eventually, heads were nodded, hands were shaken and decisions were made. Some men stood up and left the room with their heads held low until the room was once again empty, except for the presence of a man and her step-father.

The man was rather large; his shirt clung to his chunks of flab. He had a moustache which almost mimicked that of Hitler's, and his hair was parted through the middle with an askew hair line. As he approached Arina, more of his specific facial features became apparent to her.