The Bully (Part 6)

I settled down onto the floor in a deserted alleyway. The journey to London was long, and I was exhausted. As well as that, I was skint. I had to work that night, or I wouldn't be able to afford any sort of accomodation. I shuddered thinking about it, but I had to. It was the only way I could get the money to get a house. I had a bit in my bank, but not enough, judging by all the estate agents. Even the cheap one bedroom bedsits were way out of my budget. I had to earn money, and earn it fast. Not even the rape had dissuaded me from prostitution. After all, I wasn't pregnant!

That night, when I got all glammed up to earn the money, I stood on the street corner, looking seductively at all the young males walking past. Before long, I managed to persuade one of them , and haggled on the price. An hour later, I was on the street again, and trying to charm the men to me like snakes. My well being depended on it. And once I had a place, I would try and find a proper job. Still, nothing would bring me as much money as prostitution would, at my age. After all, who would take on a thirteen year old at the risk of being found out? Still, if I glammed up enough, I could pretend to be eighteen or nineteen. I'm tall for my age. In fact, I found I looked down on some of the female teachers and sixth formers when I was at school. Most of the girls in my year were at tops about 5'5" I was over 4" taller than the second tallest girl. At least that would be useful. I hated it when I was in school. Thinking about it, that was what probably made Pauline bully me. Still, she couldn't find me here. I was well away from anyone I ever knew here in London. No one could find me. It was almost like I was invinsible. No one would get away with murder any more. I felt like a new girl. I wouldn't let any one bully me again, ever. Age didn't seem to matter any more. No one could prove anything. And I didn't want to go back to my mother until I had done something to make her proud of me. What, I don't know. Got a job, or something. I hardly knew what would make my mother proud. I stopped knowing what she was like ages before I left. She never liked me coming home after getting into trouble at school for not completing homework or whatever, when in fact Pauline and her gang had stolen it and ripped it up, treading it into the mud. It always seemed so unfair, but there was never anything I could do about it, including tell my mother. She would go over the top.

Just before I got into the family saloon of some bloke who pulled up, my mother's face came into my head. But it wasn't the face of my mother when she would come home smiling about something that happened at work, but the face I wanted to forget. The face when she saw me on the train. The face when she was looking so bedraggled, as if she hadn't slept in weeks, the face when she realised that I was on the same train that she just stepped off from onto the platform. The face that realised that she had found me, and that she had lost me as well. The face that held so much love I hadn't realised was there before. I climbed into the car. One last time. Then I was going back to my mother. I no longer cared if she would be proud of me or not. I realised after nearly a year that I missed her, and although I no longer depended on her to survive, I needed her in my mind, and I needed her comfort and compassion.

I couldn't wait for it to be over. I faked an orgasm, and got dressed as soon as possible. Then I ran out of the house with the money, and ran straight to the tube station.

Getting back to Sittingbourne was the only thing on my mind. I didn't care how much it cost me, how far it was, as long as I got there before dawn, and my mother went to work. I finally got to the station, and I was challenged at the ticket office, because I looked over sixteen. I had no identification on me, so I ended up paying full fare. I couldn't really be bothered to fight about it. I had enough money on me to last a long time even when I got home. Finally, I was sitting on a train on the final leg of the journey back home. I had with me my one ruck sack, complete with a couple of outfits, the paracetamol, and other things.

I felt so dirty, so poor, all because I had left home with only a few outfits and a few things to keep me alive. I still didn't eat much, but I had stopped over eating and throwing up, and I had stopped eating nothing. My figure was no longer the most important thing on my mind. After all, my clients seemed to like it, which gave me the confidence to start eating a little every now and then. Not much, and only things with a few calories, but it was something. Maybe that would please my mother.

Finally I pulled up at Sittingbourne station, and the night sky was illuminated by some stars and the moon shining down. The street lights shone onto the pavement, one or two along the way back home flickering and shining red and orange. It was quite cold, and I shivered, rubbing my bare arms, and walking quickly. My heart was beating loudly, as I stepped up to the door, the brass knocker smiling out at me. Through the door, I heard the television blaring, and in between silent breaks, the sniffing and tears of my mother. She was up late. I didn't know if she was waiting for me or not, or whether she had given up long before.

I was standing there. I didn't seem to be able to reach up, and give the usual knock on the front door, the one that sounded like the rhythm of 'Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer'. It had originated from when I was little. One Christmas, the mother of one of my friends lifted me up to the knocker of the door, and my little fist hammered out the rhythm of the Christmas song for a joke. My mother knew it was me, because I loved the song. I would sing it all Christmas time, and even in the summer. It stuck. Whenever I came back from anywhere, and I needed to be let in, I would hammer out 'Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer' and my mother knew it was me.

My heart was beating. I knew I wanted to meet my mother again, but it was a bit like the feeling that I would feel about meeting my father after these 11 years. My hand reached out for the knocker, but my hands were shaking so much, I only managed a few normal knocks. I suddenly heard the television being turned off, and I lifted the knocker again, and hummed the tune under my breath, knocking the knocker with the same rhythm. I dropped the knocker, and turned to run away, I was so nervous.

"Charlie!"

I turned around, and saw my mother standing in the warm glow of the door frame. I burst into tears, and ran into her arms. I couldn't stay without her any longer. Her arms tightened around my body, until I could barely breathe. A huge feeling of love burst inside my body, filling me, and I hugged my mother so hard, I thought she would explode from the pressure. I felt so loved for the first time in so long, I couldn't stop the tears from running down my face. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she loosened her grip of me, and looked at me.

I looked back. She had the same bedraggled look about her, the same tiredness, but now, she also had a look of peace. She hadn't lost me. I had found her, and she found me as well.

Epilogue of The Bully

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