Lost Dad: Dan Smith

Twenty Five: F.A.N.B.O.Y

Ashley POV:

I would carefully place the cuts where they wouldn't be seen. Last time, when he saw them, I was punished severely. He doesn't pay attention to my ankles, so I chose there. Each one represents a regret, and the depth varies by intensity of the memory. The broken glass from a bottle sliced my inner ankle. The first cut was the deepest, for it's my biggest regret. That was leaving Dan. He was the only person that actually understood me. I don't think I took it too far with him. It sounds cliche, but I really loved him. Laura is living proof. I don't know where she is, and that's another regret. It was my job to take care and protect this girl. I failed. I only cared about myself. If I could go back and see her again, even if I still had to leave, I would've held her tighter than I've held anything. I would've told her that she wasn't a disappointment. I would've told her she's so beautiful, so talented. That she looks like her dad. Her dark hair and bright twinkling blue eyes resemble him so much. The tears fall in slow motion, but I keep cutting. Tears and blood mix on the concrete floor. I'm alone. There's no other girls being traded or sold in this basement. I've been here for longer than I've ever been somewhere. At least a week. I've usually been moved in a matter of hours after they've done what they wish to me. Keys click against each other from outside the door. It's probably my meal. It's usually not much, just some toast with butter and water. A small panel in the door was unlocked. The bag was shoved through the slot and drops to the floor. I weakly slink over to the bag and notice a note. "Prepare to leave soon. You will be given a shower." Great. Now I won't smell like shit. My ankle bleeds onto the concrete floor as I eat my simple 'meal'.

Laura POV:

Dan's in the bathroom, and I'm seated on the couch. Drew is doing a spam of old pictures of Dan. I decide to text him about how weird that is.

Me: You're a complete creep

Drew: You're time of the month?

Me: NO.

Me: *your

Drew: Stop.

Drew: And why am I a creep?

Me: You're spamming my dash with pictures of my father.

Drew: Not my problem. I have like, a bunch of other followers that actually want to see that.

Me: You have 14.

Drew: Shut up

Drew: How's merry olde England?

Me: Just lovely.

Drew: What are you doing rn?

Me: Sitting on a couch being annoyed by an obnoxious 12 year old boy who has a horrible haircut and probably a crush on my father.

Drew: Screw you.

Me: Classy

Drew: Can you do me a favour?

Me: YOU'RE NOT BRITISH. SPELL IT THE AMERICAN WAY.

Drew: Can you do me a favor?

Me: Depends on the favour

Drew: YOU JUST SPELLED IT THE BRITISH WAY.

Me: I'm in London...I have exclusive rights.

Drew: Just tell me what he's wearing.

Me: Black pants

Drew: Wow.

Drew: Just

Drew: Wow.

Drew: You're no help.