I draw the red lipstick over my lips one more time, coating it with color. The school couldn't end sooner today. I'm already itching for the sense of freedom getting drunk provides.

My eyes skim my reflection in the mirror. I've covered the bruises well enough. Concealer is one of man's best creations. I put aside my makeup bag and pull up the neckline of my crop top.

With long strides, I return to my room and wear my oversized hoodie. I keep my hair open and my face hidden behind it. In a quick motion, I sling my rucksack over a shoulder and tiptoe out of the house.

Once outside, in hurried steps, I walk in the shadows. It always provides a sense of security.

The sky is dark, and the moon is nowhere to be seen. Thick layers of cloud are scattered above.

I fasten my pace and soon spot the neon lights of the bar I frequent.

For a moment, I slow down. My stomach churns with disgust and humiliation. Even after months of doing this embarrassing thing, it still hasn't lost its daunting effect.

A night of peaceful sleep, without the fear of having to face my so-called father, is what my body is worth.

I shake my head.

No, I'm too far gone. These types of things don't affect me. They shouldn't.

My soul is forever scarred and ruined, etched with humiliation.

A victim of the unfairness in this world.

Maybe that's what I deserve?

I cross the road.

Wonder how the alcohol addicts perceive this sign? Do they get excited when they see their regular bar?

As I near it, I realize it's more crowded than usual.

Friday night. I recall with distaste.

The bouncer gives me an overall look. I fiddle the zipper of my hoodie before inhaling sharply and standing taller, pushing my shoulders back to make my boobs stand out better. The makeup helps me appear older.

While watching my face, he nods with recognition.

I visit here more than I'd like to admit. Probably more than an addict.

As I step inside, alcohol mixed with sweat's scent assaults my nostrils.

The music is louder than usual; it vibrates on every surface, on my skin, and it reverberates in my skull.

I push my way through the absurdly moving bodies. With an effort, I reach the other side of the bar.

Tonight shouldn't be hard to find a bed. I hope.

I settle on a stool, dropping my backpack between my legs. With an elbow on the counter, I press my free hand's index and middle fingers together and wave it.

The bartender notices it and jumps in front of me with a smile.

Would he still smile if he knew about the way I live?

"The usual," I tell him. He nods and gets to it.

I survey the area. Most are busy dancing. I spot a few groups of girls huddled, and a few lone men sitting in dark corners.

I sigh and turn around. The bartender places the long island iced tea before me. Rummaging through my rucksack, I pull out ten bucks and place it on the counter. He folds it and shoves it into his pocket and goes to attend to others.

I scan the bar again as I pick up the glass, hoping to catch someone -man preferably- looking my way.

Between my thumb and middle finger, I twirl the straw before pulling it to my lips. For a second, I hold it between my teeth before sipping.

The icy liquid burns my mouth as the mixture of cheap liquor slips down my throat. The extra vodka I asked for, promises a hangover for tomorrow and a blurry memory from tonight.

I fix my attention on the ground, tracing the lines of the cracked black marble floor. My head pounds as the music beats in my skull. The tempo pierces through my eardrums.

As the minutes tick away, the sense of having someone's eyes on me alerts all my senses.

My heart rate picks up, my back stiffens.

I wait. The feeling remains.

I inhale sharply and turn, bracing myself for the worst. I follow the line and my gaze locks with a pair of brown eyes.

He smiles, his features softening in the blue and red lighting of the bar.

The man stands, and for a moment I allow myself to take in his form. Tall and well built. His shirt fits him perfectly, showcasing his masculine chest. He must hit the gym regularly. He walks to me and plants himself on an empty stool beside me without looking away.

Up close, he doesn't appear old or intimidating.

I offer a small smile.

"Hope this spot ain't taken," he says over the music.

I shake my head no and sip my drink.

He nods. "You come here often?" he asks. I note his thick Southern accent.

"Yeah," I reply.

His intense gaze makes heat rush to my cheeks, but there's no judgment in his features, only kindness, and understanding. It's oddly comforting.

"Pretty girl like you ain't gotta stay alone. Night ain't safe." his brown eyes spark as he scans my face.

I don't know what to say to that. Before he has the chance to question me further or ask my name, I change the discussion's direction. "Did you just move here?" I ask. It's important to know. I must make sure he has a place before I get too drunk to care.

His smile widens. "Naw, I moved here a couple' years ago," he answers and leans to me.

I nod. Under his scrutiny, I draw a sharp breath before taking another sip from my drink. The way he looks at me is as though he can see past my painted face and count the scars on my soul. Like even if I share my darkest secrets, he won't mind nor will it surprise him. The glint in his eyes encourages me to trust him.

Or maybe it's just the alcohol beginning to affect my thinking.

"Tell me, whatchaya doin' here all by yourself," he watches me intently. His warm smile, and the kindness radiating from his face beckon me to talk to him.

I shrug. "It's Friday night. I'm out for the same reason as everyone else."

"Are you enjoyin' your night?" he asks.

"So far, so good," I say and take another sip.

"You got anybody waiting for you?" he questions.

My mind is already under the effect of the drink. In normal circumstances that question might have set red alarms, but not for my foggy brain.

I blink at him with confusion before shaking my head and downing the rest of my liquor.

"Why? Are planning on kidnapping me?" I joke as I put down the glass. This fresh surge of confidence allows me to hold his gaze.

"I ain't never gonna do that," he says with a toothy smile.

I giggle and nod.

He orders a drink for himself and when the bartender places it in front of him, he gulps it down in one go.

I watch the dance floor.

That's how it always works. Go to the middle. Grind each other. Oops, I meant dance together. Utter the two golden words and that'll land a place to sleep.

I turn to him. "Wanna dance?"

He nods and stands, pulling me along with himself. He steadies me before I lose my balance and fall.

Tonight's my lucky night. He's gentle. And young. I just hope his bed doesn't stink.

I shake my head as we move to the center of the floor. I sway to the beat, not a care in the world, with this nameless man next to me.

Booze makes everything better.

Passage of time slips from my grasp. The drops of sweat trailing my neck are a giveaway that we've been here long enough. Dark walls spin around my vision. With each flashing light, everything comes and goes out of focus. I realize how dry my mouth has gone. I need another drink.

He leans to me to say something but before he gets the chance; I interrupt him by screaming over the music. "Your place."

A smile curves his lips. An unnatural glimmer in his eyes catches my attention.

My drunk brain is making me see things? Great. Just what I needed.

He takes my hand and leads me out of the bar.

We silently pass down the street. He keeps his grip on me, steadying me now and then. He walks into a dimly lit alley and slows his pace.

Curiosity sparks in my already muddled mind. "So we're going straight to yours?" I ask, sounding weird to myself as I stumble.

"Ain't that whatchaya wanted?" he scans my face.

"No," I slur. "Everyone touches me, but you didn't. You don't wanna have sex with me?" I cock my head to the side as I try to figure out which of the three heads is actually his.

"Naw," he smiles and climbs the stairs leading to the cramped building, and pulls me with him.

"Then how can I sleep at yours?" I whine.

Everything spins around my head, it's as though the ground is swaying under my feet. My mind refuses to function properly.

I don't wanna go back home.

"Oh, you will," he darkly says and turns to me. The mysterious glint in his four eyes holds me in place. "And you'll get your best sleep," he whispers and leans down to me.

The door swings open. When did he unlock it?

He steps in and drags me along. The man stops before the first door on the right.

The colors blend as I stand next to him. Everything swims before my sight.

He helps me inside his house. Too far gone to care, I don't check out the place.

I drop my rucksack and wait for him to have his way with me.

He shuts the door behind me and leads me to his bedroom.

The king-sized bed stands in the middle, welcoming as it should be. I wish I could just jump on it and fall asleep without interruptions, but everything's got a price.

I gingerly tread to the bed. At the foot of it, I turn and face him.

His eyes darken, but even in my screwed drunk state, I can tell it's not lust. It's something much worse.

He saunters to me and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.

"Sleep now," he says with an odd undertone.

Nevertheless, I nod. I fumble with the zipper before being able to pull it down entirely. I drop the hoodie on the ground and climb onto the mattress. With an unfocused view and lazy movements, I dive under the covers and pull the duvet over my body.

My eyelids grow droopy. A sense of relief washes through me. Tonight's bed is free.

Nearing the edge of consciousness, I close my eyes.

But before sleep takes over me, a sharp sensation pierces through my neck's skin.

I whimper and try to touch the spot, but my arm feels too heavy. Or is someone holding it down?

Before I get the chance to do anything, darkness consumes me.

Thank you for reading this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it =)