𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 |𝟏𝟖+(HOLD)

I

    My cold feet padded against the concrete, each step sending a sharp sting up my legs. I clutched the oversized shirt tightly around my slim body, the only shield I had against the brittle night. The wind blew against my face, sending a chill down my spine.

    I was alone in the cold night, with nothing but the clothes on my back and the wad of cash resting in my freezing hands. I glanced down at my feet, noticing they were turning blue from the cold. Countless shivers ran through my body, and I desperately wished for a coat, but I couldn't afford one. I clutched the cash tighter, hoping to find a place to stay for the night.

    Never in my 20 years did I think I would be free—free from the grasp of men. I feared them because all they wanted was my body, but that was my job: selling my body like a product waiting to be bought. I was used.

    I noticed a group of drunk men approaching me, and my body trembled in fear. I clutched the cash tighter against my chest, praying they wouldn't notice me. But they did. Their wicked smirks rested on their lips, and the evil intent lingered in their eyes. My body trembled. I prayed to anyone who would listen to save me, but after all these years of captivity, my prayers had never been answered.

    "What's a p-pretty girl like y-you doing out here so late?" one of the men slurred, stumbling with every step he took. The streetlights cast shadows on his face, and my blood ran cold—he looked like the devil himself. The man smiled, taking slow, deliberate steps toward me. I backed up until my spine hit the cold brick wall. This was it, I thought. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for whatever punishment he desired.

    What felt like hours was only seconds when I opened my eyes to see the man spot the wad of cash I had clutched to my chest. A part of me almost wished he would just use me and leave the little money I had.

    "P-please," I whispered, the first words I'd spoken all night. My voice was dry, barely audible after years of silence. He grabbed the cash aggressively, making me fall to the ground. He examined the money before his evil eyes fell back on mine. He kicked me in the side, and I cried out in pain, though I was used to it.

    After a few moments, I looked up at the man through my bruised eye. His chest was heaving as he took deep breaths, and sweat trickled down his forehead as if he had run miles. He walked away but not before punching me in the ribs one last time, a satisfied smile lingering on his face as he left.

    I lay on the cold ground, curled up in my own warmth. I clutched my bruised sides, hoping to ease the pain, but it didn't help. I dug my nails into the hard ground, bracing myself as I stood up on wobbly legs. I exhaled, watching my breath in the cold night, thinking if this day could get any worse.

    I wiped the blood from my nose, taking slow, shaking breaths because of my bruised ribs. I must've looked terrible. I stood on my shaking legs and walked to the closest motel, hoping I could find somewhere to stay.