We Prick You

"Duke’s what you’d call an older man. I’m what you’d call under-age, only he doesn’t know. He thinks I’m 17."

A cautionary tale about a young runaway and the evils of older men.

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7. Facebook

He says I should stay off Facebook. They’ll be looking for me. I try to tell him that my mum doesn’t know my real log-in details, just my old account, but he won’t have it. 

    “I’m warning you,” he says.

    “Fuck off,” I tell him, but I stay off Facebook for a few days anyway. Just to keep the peace. 

    Only thing is, it’s really boring here while he’s out all day. Never thought I’d say it, but there’s only so much MTV and Jeremy Kyle you can watch before it all becomes a blur. A carnival of fuck-ups.

    So, I go on Facebook, just to see what people are saying. Not to post anything. 

    There are loads of messages from mates, from people I never even spoke to at school. It’s like I’m Madeleine McCann! Some of the messages are so sweet. Someone must have blabbed the details to mum, because there are even messages from her. 

    “Please, please, please come home. You won’t be in trouble. Just come home, my beautiful girl.”

    She must have been drunk when she wrote that at half two in the morning.

    Then I read the message from Charlie.

    “2 words. Nonce. Fucker.”

    And then there are the comments below. Pages of them. Some of them from the same people who left nice messages before. That fucking bitch!

    I so want to type something, but Duke said not to, so I just slam his laptop shut and get myself a drink. Turns out vodka tastes as good in the afternoon as it does at night.

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