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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4. Warning Shots

It’s official. I’m definitely a vodka girl. All mum had was Bells, but it just gave me a coughing fit. Loads of people brought vodka, though, so the room is spinning nicely now.

    I’ve lost Duke somewhere, there are so many people, so I’m sitting in the lounge with this girl called Dee. She looks a bit older than me. Pale. Lots of little scars all over her, like she’s a cutter. Plus, she’s off her face on something. Lying there, half asleep, she’s almost spilled her drink a couple of times.

    “Who did you say you were with?” she asks. Again. It’s so loud, I have to shout right in her ear.

    “Duke!”

    She wakes up all of a sudden, looks me right in the eyes.

    “Have you done it yet?” she asks. Cheeky bitch. 

    “Yeah,” I lie.

    She pulls away, looks me up and down. My neck, my arms, my tits. 

    “Bullshit,” she says. “Where?”

    “You know, in his room and that.”

    She grabs my arms and gets right in my face.

    “How old are you? Fourteen? Thirteen? Get out while you can. Don’t let him…”

    “Long time, no see, Dee,” Duke says behind her. Despite the noise, I can hear him perfectly. Like he’s in my head. “Which reminds me. Have you finished with Outside yet?”

    If she was pale before, she’s ultra-pale now. She lets go of my arms and looks at her empty glass.

    “How did that happen?” she mutters. 

    “Come on,” Duke says, putting his arm around her shoulders. “I’ll get you another one.”

    Dee looks at me, and I swear the stupid bitch starts filling up. That’s why I don’t touch the dope, you know? It messes with your head. She’s so out of it, Duke has to practically drag her to the kitchen.

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