𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 |𝟏𝟖+(HOLD)

II

For the past few days, I wandered aimlessly—nowhere to go, nowhere I belonged. I was cold and hungry, with no one to lean on. I never had anyone I could rely on; it was always just me. Over the years, I accepted that it would always be this way. I'm not worthy of love, not worth anyone's time. I was told I was a waste of space, and I've accepted that I would be nothing more than that.

The sun was high, glistening down on the frosty grass. I blew into my hands, hoping for some warmth, my nose and cheeks rosy from the cold air biting at my face.

I looked around the lively streets—men dressed in suits, women wearing barely anything, and drunkards stumbling by. Part of me considered earning money by selling myself; it felt like the only option. But I was set free for a reason—she saw something in me, something I couldn't even see in myself.

I wanted to be someone like Athena. She was strong, brave, and beautiful—everything I knew I couldn't be because I was weak, hideous, and naïve. I was frail, every bone visible, my hair greasy and thin. I was used up—something no man would ever desire.

I wanted to cry, to wallow in my despair, but I had to live. I had to keep my word and live, even if it meant dying trying. Even if it meant going against my word—her word.

I wiped my eyes before any tears could fall, forcing myself to stand tall, even if it was all fake—an illusion.

My heart was heavy with grief and sorrow, my soul torn between keeping my word to her or surviving. The world is cruel, especially to people like me—a waste of space. If I had to go against my word, so be it. If I had to sell myself to survive, so be it. The world was always a cruel place.

My legs moved on their own, aimlessly wandering the town until I found myself in an alley. Women were being used like they were nothing, people were doing drugs, selling illegal items. Every fiber of my being told me I shouldn't be here, but where else could I go? I had nothing to live for, no one who would care if I dropped dead right now.

I felt eyes lingering on me as I stood frozen in place, unable to move a muscle. They smiled like the devil, chills coursing down my spine. My brain screamed for my legs to run, but I was stuck, paralyzed with fear.

Rough-looking men with tattoos covering every inch of their bodies took slow, predatory steps toward me. Beads of sweat ran down my forehead. I turned to run, but someone grabbed my hair, yanking me down. My head hit the concrete, instantly blurring my vision. I felt like I was going to vomit, my head ached so badly.

"Where do you think you're going?" I lay still on the ground, knowing I couldn't outrun them. They surrounded me like I was dessert, and I could barely move, my head throbbing in pain. "You're in our territory." They all smiled in unison, sending wave after wave of fear through me. I knew this was it. Why does this always happen to me? What did I do to deserve this? I leaned back, accepting what was to come.

After they had their fill, I lay lifeless on the ground, cash sprawled around me, my clothes ripped and discarded.

"Thanks for the meal, pretty lady." The men looked down at my used body lying lifeless on the cold concrete. I closed my eyes, hearing their footsteps fade away until there was nothing left but the soft chatter and my heavy breathing. I opened my eyes, staring into the cloudy sky, large clouds gathering to signal rain.

Small drops landed against my face until the rain began to pour. I couldn't tell what was rain and what were tears. I felt like I was falling into a never-ending tunnel, like I was drowning and would never reach the surface again. Perhaps I've already drowned.

I wanted it all to end. Is that too much to ask?

My brain begged me to move, but I just couldn't. I can't do this anymore. The tears seemed never-ending. I'm so pathetic, so stupid. Every insult I threw at myself pushed me deeper and deeper until I knew I would never see the surface again.

Finally, my brain willed my body to get up, my clothes drenched in cold rain, pieces shredded on the ground.

"Here," someone said, holding out different clothes. I looked up at an old man, no older than fifty-five. He smiled as if he lived a happy life, despite living on the streets. "It's nothing special, but it's the least I could do." I tried to muster up a smile, but fell short. Nevertheless, he smiled down at me, his decaying teeth on full display.

"T-thanks." I took the raggedy clothes from him, quickly throwing them on. Afterward, I looked into his lively eyes that held so much... hope, happiness? How could a man like him be happy in his situation? "H-how can you be so... h-happy?" I asked, his smile never leaving his lips.

He chuckled lightly, taking a deep breath.

"When you're an old man like me, you learn to love the little things." He looked up at the sky, the rain falling against his wrinkled face. "When you lose everything you have, you realize it's the small things that can bring joy to your life." He finally looked at me, his eyes full of hope—hope for me. "Don't worry, kid. I've got hope for you." Every fiber of my being wanted to break down and cry in this man's arms.

Never did I imagine I'd be getting advice from a homeless man. He walked off back down the dark alley, but not before taking one last glance my way, flashing his decaying teeth before heading into the darkness.

I stood up, leaning against the brick wall, taking slow, shallow breaths. I gripped the wall, holding myself up on my wobbly legs. Every step I took was painful; I craved a shower to wash all of their dirty hands off me.

After countless struggles, I finally made it out of the alley. The sound of loud chatter filled my ears, smiles on people's faces. I wished I could be this happy. I fisted the cash those men used to buy me. It wasn't much, but it would do.

I aimlessly drifted wherever my feet took me until I came face to face with the pastel café. I looked through the window, watching the beautiful woman inside cleaning tables, swaying her hips to whatever tune she was playing. The sound of a bell rang as she swiftly looked to the door, locking eyes with me. She flashed me a bright smile.

"Oh my gosh, you're back!" She rushed over, crushing me in a tight hug. I didn't hug her back but patted her lightly. "I thought I'd never see you again!" She finally released me, her beautiful curls smacking me in the face. She grabbed my hand, leading me to the closest seat.

"What can I get for you, my lady?" She bowed her head as if I were truly a princess.

"A b-bagel, please," I asked politely, handing her some cash. She smiled, shaking her head.

"Don't worry, love. It's on the house." God, this woman was beautiful—her dark, curly hair framed her delicate face perfectly, her pretty brown eyes shining just right in the sun, and her mocha skin flawless. She arched her perfect eyebrow. "Something on my face?" I bet she didn't even know how beautiful she was.

She headed to the kitchen to prepare my meal. A few moments later, she brought out a freshly toasted bagel layered with just the right amount of cream cheese.

"What's your name?" she asked. It had been months, maybe even years, since I'd said my name, and it wouldn't be a surprise if I couldn't remember it. I dug deep in my brain, trying to recall it. For all the years I was sold and bought, I was called "pet"—nothing more.

"H-Heaven." It felt so foreign on my tongue. She smiled, holding out her slender, manicured hand.

"Nice to meet you, Heaven. I'm Amara." I hesitated to take her hand, but I gently placed my cold hand against her warm one. "Let's be friends," she said excitedly, clapping her hands as if today was the best day ever.

As her warmth spread through me, something shifted inside—a spark of hope in a heart that had long been cold. "Friends," I whispered, more to myself than to her, as if the word itself was a lifeline.