She probably wouldn't be able to recognize her own face. She doubted anyone else would either. She had been beaten terribly, bones broken and never set, starting to heal in ways that were grotesque and disfiguring. She had only three whole teeth left in her mouth, the rest were either completely gone or broken, her lips shredded against the ruined, fractured stubs. Punishment and abuse were the constants in her life. That and terror.Her body had been viciously torn by objects used to rape her in ways too horrible to remember. She had been sodomized so violently that she had been sick for days afterwards. Any defiance or will had long since been taken from her by means too foul to think of without completely losing what little was left of her mind.She still knew her name. He called her by it in saccharine tones, expecting her to do as she was told, even when it was physically impossible. The other didn't use her name. He only called her bitch, or whore, or other words that hurt as much. I looked ill. It made my freckles stand out more than normal. Did it make me look cute? Was that a good thing? I showered fast, changed into fresh clothes from my backpack. Harold knocked while I was brushing my hair. ‘Yeah,’ I said. He came in, grabbed my chin, turned my head. ‘No makeup. The younger you look, the better.’ ‘Yeah?’ I didn’t like him touching me. ‘Yeah.’ ‘Who am I meeting?’ ‘They’re being vague, you understand? Got location and details. You better handle this, flower.’ ‘I will.’ He handed me a flip knife. ‘Just in case, yeah?’ I slipped it into my pocket and didn’t reply. There was barely time for me eat, but I couldn’t stomach it anyways. I managed two mouthfuls of toast before that same driver from the previous day turned up to take me somewhere. He had such a bored face, and looked at his phone too much. Harold gave him strict directions and instructions. My number was given to whoever I was meeting. It was a bright, sunny day, and I was dumped out onto the street.
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