She bit into the fleshiest part, tearing at the skin with tiny white teeth and I watched, almost salivating, as a small rivulet of juice burst free and ran down her chin, before she quickly wiped it away, glancing around to see if anyone had seen.

'For goodness sake, Kris, stop bloody torturing yourself,' Alice said, grabbing my wrist and pulling me away from the window of the fried chicken restaurant, where I'd been staring at the girl through the window as she tucked into her late-night dinner. My stomach grumbled angrily in protest, but Alice was right. It was torture.

Pulling me into a nearby alley entrance, Alice leant against the wall, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the half a cigarette she'd been keeping, rationing her nicotine fix because she didn't know when she'd get any more. Lighting it, she took a drag and blew smoke out the side of her perfect mouth, the one I loved kissing so much, the one I thought about whenever the weather was so cold that I couldn't feel my toes and fingers, just because thinking about that brought a small flicker of much-needed heat.

She offered the cigarette to me, which I took, knowing I wouldn't take more than one drag myself, as she raised her delicate fingers to her mouth and chewed anxiously on her dirty nails, the skin around them an alarming shade of raw-pink. Even like this I loved her. Maybe more than I ever had. Because even with her dirt-clogged nails, crumpled clothes and unkempt hair, Alice was like a butterfly in the dirty heart of the city, a shining light in the dark underbelly of shop doorways and graffiti-caked subways. She stood out. Always had. And her beauty had been my hope through all the shitty times and our nemesis when that light attracted others who saw what I did and wanted to claim it for their own.

I rubbed gingerly at the bruise that still haunted my jaw, where I'd taken a crack from someone who'd tried to capture what I'd always sworn to protect. I'd made a promise, you see. A promise from the day I'd stopped her shitty excuse for a dad from raising his fist to her again, and from the day we'd packed our bags and run from them all, to the day we'd ended up here, huddled together under a bridge, sharing a sleeping bag and our last packet of biscuits. I'd promised I'd always look after her. No matter what. No. Matter. What.

I handed back the cigarette, watching as she smoked it right down to the butt before throwing it to the ground and stubbing it out under her scuffed boot, the one that had a hole worn through just under her big toe. She sniffed, rubbing at her runny nose with the cuff of her coat. Her skin was pale, too pale, accentuating the dark rings under her eyes and the hollows of her cheeks that seemed to be deepening by the day.

It had been five days since she'd eaten anything remotely substantial and even that had been barely much at all. We'd had our carefully-gathered stash stolen, by the same bloke whose fist had connected with my face when I'd made it quite clear Alice was off-limits to his perverted leer and filthy fucking hands. He might have been twice my age, but I'd managed to get in enough punches to make him realise it wasn't worth the trouble on his own. We'd heard through Seamus, who we sometimes shared the doorway with, that he'd come back later, with his mates, and, finding us not there, nicked our food stash instead and pissed all over our stuff, not that we'd had much to begin with.

We couldn't even go down to the drop-in centre now, because that's where they all went, not because I was particularly worried what they might do to me, but because I knew that gleam in his eye for Alice was never going to go away. He'd take her, just like he took our food. Because he could. Because that's what blokes like him did. And now, we'd been forced to keep our heads down, to avoid our usual hang-outs because of them and our shitty life on the streets and taken an even shittier turn, if that was even possible.

I hated that she was so hungry. Hated that it was my fault. Hated all those bastards who spat on us when we begged for money or passed us by like we were invisible. Like we were nothing. I might have been nothing, but she wasn't. She was everything.

Alice wrapped her arms around her stomach and bent over slightly, her pretty, pale face, twisting into a pained grimace. The hunger had always affected her more than me. She was tiny anyway, a delicate bird of a girl, fragile and skinny even before she'd run away from home. I think that's what had made it easier for her dad, the big bastard that he was, he'd always known that she would never be able to stand up to him and he'd loved that. Loved the power. Loved the knowledge that if he wanted to beat the shit out of her, she'd never be able to do a bloody thing about it.

'It won't be long now,' I said, trying my best to reassure her, but knowing full well that words meant nothing when the hunger consumed you. 'It's only two hours till closing time. We'll hit the bins out back as soon as they've shut up shop.'

'But what if they're watching again, Kris? What if they pour bleach over it all like they did before?'

Fast-food joints. Take-away restaurants. Supermarkets. They were all getting wise to street-tricks. Some were pretty decent, boxing up left-overs and the almost out-of-date food to give to the homeless, but with so many people now struggling to pay for food and food banks running dry, we weren't just competing with other street people. We were competing with the ordinary working-class, the unemployed, the single mothers who couldn't feed their kids. There'd been riots at three local food banks just in the last week alone, when donations had run out and they didn't have enough to feed the people that had been queuing around the block since dawn. People were desperate. And no supermarket or restaurant wanted desperate people hanging about scrabbling in skips after hours.

The manager of the take-away had bleached the food last time. Great mountains of unsold fried chicken and fries, all stinking of bleach and completely inedible. All that waste. It had been the first time I had ever seen Alice cry since we'd ended up on the streets, as he'd sat in his car with the window down and laughed at us. Actually fucking laughed. Heartless, spiteful fucker. I'd wished for something bad to happen to him that night. A car crash. A sinkhole. A huge fucking meteor to land right on his stupid, bastard head and smash his brains into the gutter.

'I couldn't see him in there when I went in to use the loo,' I said, trying to reassure her. 'Perhaps it's his night off?'

'I hope so,' she replied, tucking her cold hands into the sleeves of her dirty coat. 'I bloody hope so. I'm not sure I can bear much more of this.'

I pulled her towards me, wrapping my arms around her and feeling her face in the crook of my neck, soft but cold and we stayed there then, just the two of us, locked together, her small frame engulfed by mine.

We hung around until after closing, hiding out down the alley and waiting until the last of the staff went home and the few spaces behind the fast-food place where they parked their cars was all but empty. They'd brought out the rubbish bags not long before they'd gone, huge black bags of left-overs that could have fed a small army, the sight of which always sent tinges of anger exploding in my gut over the fact they'd rather chuck it out than feed the small army of homeless that lived around here.

I held Alice back a little longer, needing to be sure they all really had gone home, before finally, not wanting anyone else to come along and take what was there, we crept out from the piss-stinking alley and made our way over to the large skip. The smell of fried chicken was so strong it was all I could do not to throw myself in head-first and bathe in it and I knew Alice felt the same. I squeezed her hand as we reached the bin, unable to resist flashing a grin, before grabbing hold of the first bag and tugging it out onto the ground.

With trembling hands, I untied the yellow ribbons and the smell of the chicken hit me hard as I opened the bag and I felt sick and hungry and happy all at once. No bleach. Reaching in, I grabbed the first piece on top, and glanced at Alice, who gave me an encouraging nod.

I pictured the girl in the restaurant, chicken grease dripping down her chin, the satisfied look in her eyes as the taste exploded on her tongue, and I bit into the chicken.

Pain, sharp and hot, spiked in my gum.

I staggered back, clutching my mouth, my shrieks muffled as I felt the warm rush of blood seeping through my fingers and the pain lancing my gums.

'Kris!' Alice's eyes were panicked. 'What is it?'

I reached in, mouth open wide, trembling fingers already drenched in blood and struggling to get a grip of something lodged just behind my front teeth. Sharp edges sliced at my fingertips, but somehow I managed to get a hold of it and pulled, trying not to gag.

A shard of glass. A fucking shard of glass.

'Oh my God, Kris, is that glass? Is that bloody glass?' I heard the desperation and panic in her voice, pitiful and painful to hear, almost as excruciating as the throbbing in my gums that seemed to fill my entire mouth.

I grabbed the bag, pulling it over to where the cracked light on the back of the restaurant shone dimly down. Chicken piece after chicken piece I checked, all spiked with tiny shards. Barely big enough to see in the dull light but big enough to gouge, tear, pierce. I spat blood onto the floor in disgust and despair, my torn gums pulsating angrily. They'd worked hard at it. This had taken time - real fucking effort to sabotage the waste and get one over on the homeless scum.

You're poor? Fuck you.

You're homeless? Fuck you.

You're starving? Fuck. You.

Alice reached out to me, wide-eyed, her fingers finding the blood that poured freely out of my mouth. 'Oh, Kris,' she sobbed.

'Why?' I gasped. 'Why the fuck would anyone do that? We could have eaten that glass. It could have bloody killed us!'

I kicked the bag as hard as I could, sending the contents spraying across the car park and I kept on kicking, crushing, stomping around like I was demented, unable to stop the anger from exploding, spewing forth obscenity after obscenity, curse after curse. I was like a tornado. A force-eight hurricane, reigning down destruction on everything in my path. I'd lift this city from its roots, tearing up tree and brick and steel. I'd watch it burn. Watch it die. All of them. All those selfish, spiteful bastards with roofs over their heads and food in their bellies.

Finally, the tornado dissipated. Exhausted, not just from the exertion of it all, but from a deep weariness that weighed down my bones like they were lead, I stopped, with the stench of fried chicken hanging in the air, anger still simmering in my veins, blood dripping down my chin and my stomach painfully empty.

Looking up, I saw her, Alice - my Alice - caught in the eye of the storm, as always. So small. So helpless.

But she wasn't crying anymore.

The light flickered above her head - once, twice - moths beating frantically against the cracked glass as she stood underneath it, licking at her fingers, her tiny tongue darting out and lapping up every drop of blood.

My blood.