Page 4 of Risk

At the café near the station, I order the biggest breakfast I can afford, and then board my train to Manchester and my new life.

Two

Camryn

Six months later

“Camryn, get your nasty arse outta that pit you call a bed, or you’re gonna be late.” Jamie calls from the hall. I groan as I roll over, stretching my sore body out and cracking my eyelids open.

You would never guess that Jamie’s parents are loaded based on the way she speaks, but that’s one of the things I love about her. She hasn’t let the fact she has money change the fabric of her being.

“Why are you shouting? It’s too early, and my head hurts, like really fucking hurts.” I knew I shouldn’t have had that last cocktail, jeez. What the hell was I thinking! Before I can think any more about it, the bedroom door flies open, and there stands Jamie with her hands on her hips and a smirk on her lips. Bitch! How can she look that good at this time in the morning after last night? Like I said, bitch! But I love her, sometimes.

Right now, I want to slap that silly look off her face, and then bury myself in the warm, comfortable quilt and sleep for eternity. A girl can dream, right?

“Come on, up. I didn’t set this up so you could crash and burn before you even get there,” she says, raising a brow at me.

Jamie’s dad owns a newspaper, and she managed to get me an interview working in the human resources department. It’s not the glamorous journalism job I dreamed of when I did my degree, but it sure as fuck beats serving overpriced cocktails to jumped-up suits and barely legal girls looking for a sugar daddy. Besides, it’s not like I can follow my dream now anyway. There is no way I can risk putting my name out there, even if I’m not Kasey Smith anymore.

“Okay, okay, I’m getting up,” I say, as I roll, yes, literally roll out of bed. My body is most definitely still asleep. “What sort of friend are you, anyway? Who lets their friend get wasted the night before an interview?” I stumble as I get to my feet and look at Jamie. “More to the point who conducts interviews on a Saturday. I mean really, come on,” I whine, while pointing my finger at her. Jamie just shakes her head at me and laughs before walking out the door.

As she moves down the hall, she calls out that I have exactly 40 minutes to shower and be ready to leave. Ugh! Fuck my life!

Despite my snarky mood this morning, courtesy of a hangover to end all hangovers, I don’t know where I’d be without Jamie. Actually, that’s a lie. I’d still be begging on the street and sleeping anywhere that was dry.

When I stepped off the train in Manchester six months ago with nothing more than the clothes on my back and the one small bag I managed to escape with, I had no choice but to sleep rough. Those first few weeks were hard, but I’d been through worse. I refused to have made it that far, only to give up. So, I sucked it up and got on with it, all the while hoping that my luck would change, and it did. Jamie literally saved my life that day, and every day since.

I’d been sleepingin the same doorway for the last three weeks, claimed it as my own, the way of the street, apparently. I’d had a good day begging and had enough money to eat and buy a bottle of whiskey. Having drowned my sorrows, I’d crashed in my doorway around 2am, with not much chance of sleep before that on a weekend. The drink helped me on the way, but not as much as in those first few days.

I woke to a crushing weight on my chest, at first, I thought I was dreaming about one of my panic attacks, but then I heard someone grunting. When I opened my eyes, I found a guy kneeling on my chest. I immediately started shouting at him to get the fuck off, but he didn’t listen. Then I lashed out with my fists, hoping to land one on the arsehole’s nose. I almost did too, until he pulled out a blade and held it to my throat.

He leaned in real close, I could smell his rancid breath, and as he spoke spittle landed on my cheek, “Shut the fuck up, bitch, or I’ll cut you from ear to fucking ear, then I’m gonna take whatever I want anyway. Maybe have a little taste of you before you take your last breath too.”

At the time, my stomach almost turned inside out with disgust, I gripped the edge of my sleeping bag, knuckles turned white. Surprisingly, I wasn’t afraid, I guess it not being the first time having a knife held to my throat or the threat of rape, meant the effect wasn’t quite as potent.

Still kneeling partially on my chest and restricting my movements regardless of the knife, he started searching for the zip on my sleeping bag.

As his attention was elsewhere, I scanned the area, as much as I could, looking for anyone that might help, but the sun hadn’t even risen in the sky yet. I remember my mind was racing with how I was going to get out this without my head hanging off my shoulders and my life flowing into the filthy gutters.

Death hadn’t really scared me in a long time, but when I made the decision to run, to escape, I chose to live. To fight back and not allow the deaths of those I loved the most to be in vain. Surviving their loss hadn’t killed me, although it came close, and that meant that I could survive anything this shitty life threw my way. I refused to lethimhurt me, tear me apart anymore, to win.

His hand brought me back to reality as it brushed past my breast before coming back to cop a feel completely, squeezing tightly. Immediately my whole body tensed up, muscles locked tight and a grimace crossed my face at the pain, but I refused to make a sound and give him even an ounce of satisfaction. A soft groan filled the air as he eased his grip only to squeeze again.

“These tits would look fucking delicious with my cum all over them,” he groaned, and I could almost picture him licking his lips. My stomach roiled and acid burned in the back of my throat at his words, but I swallowed it back down.

A car turned the corner allowing the headlights to shine on his face, and I saw the delightful smile spread across his face, just as he moved to the other breast.

“Let’s see about getting these titties out so I can admire them before I pierce through this smooth skin…” he moved his face closer again, his mouth right next to my ear then whispered the next words, “and slice those pretty pink nipples off, while I fuck that juicy little cunt of yours.” His eyes lit up and his lip turned up in a smirk. I could see as the images he described flashed through his mind.

He moved his hand away from my breast, grabbing his crotch, and then he started to pull at my clothes. He realised he’d need both hands as I started to struggle against him. He pushed the knife further into my neck, and a small droplet of blood trickled down my neck.

“Stay the fuck still, bitch, and I promise I won’t hurt you, too much.” He threw his head back and released a psychotic laugh that sent a shiver through my entire body. It was cut off just as soon as it had started, and his eyes glazed over before he fell forwards on top of me.

When I finally got the sick fuck off me and took a second to breathe, there stood a petite redhead in gym clothes, and a bag hanging from one hand.

“Did you…Oh my god, thank you so much. How?” I asked, shocked and a little in awe. She wasn’t more than 5’5’’ and though it was clear from her outfit she worked out, she wasn’t exactly packing it. She lifted the bag as though that answered all my questions. “What the hell have you got in there, Bricks?” I asked on a chuckle.

“Nah, although, there might be a dumbbell or two in here,” she replied, shrugging and winking at me. “I’m Jamie, by the way.”

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