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pros·ti·tute: a person, typically a woman, who engages in sexual activity for payment.

'You work late, you was with a perv making dirty fake love in his Mercedes.'

-Little Lady

I sat behind the large dumpster, my body shaking in fear and my breathing loud and heavy. I clamped my hand over my mouth when I heard his rough voice, profanities filling the dark alley. A loud crash that came from next to me made me sob quietly, hoping the man wouldn't find me anywheres.

"Stupid cunt, god damnit." He muttered, his feet scruffing against the ground as he walked away, a car door slamming. I stayed put in my spot, scared that someone would be out here to get me. I brought my knees up to my chin, shivering from the cold wind that whipped against my naked legs, the thin shirt not keeping me warm in any way.

After a while of sitting on the damp ground, I was slowly becoming numb from the cold weather and I needed a place to shelter for the night. Shakily, I stood to my feet, frantically looking back and forth. I looked to my right once more before stepping out from behind the trash can, suddenly bumping into something hard. I was about to let out a scream until a hand clamped over my mouth, my eyes watering once more.

"Well, what do we have a here?" A low voice murmured in my hair, I thrashed in the mans hold, knowing that it wasn't him. My small hands clung onto his leather covered arms, standing on my tippy toes. I didn't speak, I couldn't. He smelt of cigarettes and cologne, but that's not what I was worried about. "If I release my hand," the man whispered in my ear. "Are you going to scream?" He breathed against my ear, his hot breath hitting against my cold skin. I shook my head. "Speak." He demanded, I stayed still and didn't speak.

Eventually he turned me around, his hand slowly removing from my mouth. His eyes looked all around my face, and I knew I looked like a mess, I didn't even look human probably. My teeth chattered together lightly, my eyes scanning the stranger. Beneath the street lights his blue eyes shined brightly, his blonde hair tossled on top of his head.

"What are you doing out here?" He questioned harshly, my body flinching from his tone. He eyed me suspiciously, knowing what my intentions were. I turned around ready to run, only for strong arms to wrap around my waist, throwing me over his shoulder. I cried quietly, his rough hands gripping the back of my bare thighs. "Wrong move, sweetheart." He muttered, reaching into his jean pockets, pulling out a ring of keys. I heard a car beep before a door opened, soon landing on a leather seat. The man buckled me up, slamming the door shut afterwards making me flinch. The car had a scent of something minty and strong, my nose scrunching up.

The mystery man got into the car, starting the car up immediately before pulling onto the streets. I watched as buildings went by us that I've never really seen before. Being locked up inside for your whole life isn't something you'd witness for only an eighteen year old.

Had to drop out of school during freshman year.

Wasn't allowed to make friends.

Wasn't allowed outside, unless it was work.

I didn't dare to lean my head against the window, as much as I wanted too. My hair was filthy, and I didn't think this man would appreciate it, knowing that he wasn't happy with me. I could tell him to stop this car and tell him I have a home, but I'd be lying to myself.

We pulled into a long driveway, a few trees surrounding the large white house. It was beautiful, nothing like the last place I've been to. God knows how long I'd be here for, or if I'd even make it. I stayed seated when the car was parked, the man coming to my side and getting me out. He held a tight grip on my wrist, the bruises throbbing that had appeared from the past few events at home.

He pushed me inside first, my mouth gaped open. It was beautiful, it was perfect. A large kitchen table, marble island and I don't even know how to describe it. This man had everything he wanted, from my point of view.

"Follow me." He demanded, voice full of anger. I followed with my head down, his hand suddenly gripping my wrist once more. "Sit." I looked down at the couch, sitting down slowly, feeling the fabric beneath my legs. I laced my fingers together on my lap, bouncing my leg up and down. The blonde haired man sat in front of me, blue eyes boring into my brown ones. I swallowed hard. "Can you tell me why you were sitting in an alley, crying?" He questioned, eyeing me. His eyes raked my body, "wearing this in fourty degree weather?" He raised an eyebrow, I shrugged my shoulders. He sighed. "Are you fucking mute or something?" I looked up at him, biting down on my tongue.

I've barley talked my whole life, I say one word, not even a full sentence. It was hard for me, if I'd say a single word I'd be beaten or even knocked out. I had covered most of the bruises on my neck and face with the cover up I had stolen from my aunt when she wasn't home. My chin was grabbed in the mans rough hands, a small whimper escaping my mouth.

"Fucking answer my questions," he hissed. I swallowed hard, my eyes filling with tears that begged to fall. I managed to keep them in, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, his eyes drifting down towards my mouth quickly. He scooted closer until I could smell his minty breath, eyes a dark shade of blue.

"Tell me, tell me what your name is." He spoke, "tell me and we can get further with talking, since you're so fucking mute." He muttered, waiting for my response. I frowned when he said 'mute', I wasn't mute. I was just.. quiet, and traumitized. He didn't know anything about me, he didn't know anything about me. My stomach twisted when he asked for my name, to be honest, I don't know. I've never been called by my name, if I even had one.

The man stared at me, eyebrow arched obviously irritated with my silence, I swallowed the saliva in my mouth, letting out a deep breath through my nose, opening my mouth to speak two simple words.

"Little lady."

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Anndddd here is another story!

It is based on the song 'Little lady' by Ed Sheeran.

Tell me what you guys think.

Little Lady.//n.hWhere stories live. Discover now