Ruby & The Rose (lesbian stories)

Chapter 9

9

One wrong move. That was all it took. And she had learnt that. Too terrified to go back to the home, she’d been living out of dustbins for days, weeks, months- she had no idea how long. She had no sense of time. But, however long it had been, she hadn’t stolen a bean. She found an old anorak in a skip at one point, and wrapped it around her at night, when she tried desperately to get to sleep, tucked into alleyways. She begged, held a hand out to kindly looking passers-by. She received nothing. Starving, and sure that she had contracted food poisoning of some sort from that half-eaten Chinese she found in the park, Imogen- for that was her name, back then, Imogen Diana James- decided to go against every single moral her mother had ever blessed her with.

There was a small shop on the corner of the road. It sold magazines and cheap sunglasses and snack type things. One night, she pulled up her hood, and walked into the shop with as calm a manner as she could muster. She gave a short smile to the cashier- a young man, only a few years older than her, with a messy sweep of hair and ample acne. There were rows of chocolate bars at the till, and fat sandwiches in the fridges that made her mouth water. Her stomach groaning in hunger, she opted for a bag of crisps. As Imogen’s fingers brushed the packet she could almost taste them in her mouth. The cashier was tapping at his handheld games console, and she had his back to him. She could sense the freedom already. She closed her hand around the packet, and tucked it into her coat, the large pocket swallowing it easily.

She was almost out of the shop, she had the door open and could feel the damp air prickle her face, when her hips knocked the doorway. Not hard, but enough to disrupt the crisps. When the faint rustle reached her ears, Imogen froze. A chill tinged her spine. She risked a glance to the cashier. He looked up at her. A slow moment passed. A pleading look reached her eyes. He looked nice enough. Maybe he’d understand? Money wasn’t easy for anyone right now. But he reached for the phone on the wall.

Damn.

Imogen bolted, out of the door and down the road. The cashier dropped the phone and was hot on her heels.

“Stop her!” he yelled.

Imogen ran faster, round corners, into alleyways. It was only a darn bag of crisps!

But soon they caught her. There was a siren blaring, bright blue lights. People stared. She ducked her head. The two burly men in their black uniforms handcuffed her and took her away. The young cashier stood at the back of the crowd, looking purposely away.

Imogen thought that she might have got away with it. People had for more. But the law had become tighter in the last year or so. In some parts of the country they’d even started to bring the death penalty back. And so the next week, Imogen found herself in court. She had no defence, and it was well known that the government wanted the street kids cleaned up. She didn’t stand a chance.

The van that took her to the detention centre stank of bleach. And it was baking hot. But she didn’t take off her big anorak.

The centre was large. A grey slab of concrete, peppered with tiny black windows, and surrounded by tall fences of barbed wire. She was greeted by a tall, thin lady. The lady gave her a small pile of clothes, a pair of trainers and a mug with a red toothbrush in it.

“Hello Imogen,” she said, in a cut glass voice. “How do you do?”

Imogen didn’t reply. She stared up at the woman in a defiant way, and followed the heavy set guards down a long white passage.

Imogen was by no means the youngest at the centre- there were children as young as eleven or twelve- but she felt younger, somehow. She was short, for a start, and her innocence had barely been tainted.