Their Truth

Saoirse Run! Thats me there, fleeing down a side ally that no one should have any business going down at 4am on a winters morning in London, but some times a girl's gotta do. There are the two guys that are following me trying to get me back. Let me rewind a bit so you know what's going on. 3 days ago I'm doing my thing, as much as a homeless 20 year old Irish girl can do in London, but anyway I get snatched up by a few men while I'm sleeping, and bundled into the back of a van. Over the next 3 days I am washed, measured, r***d, checked for STIs and pregnancy, given some scantily clad clothing and a promise. That promise, came from a huge beefy, but smashed in the face Russian man, named Ivan. He said: "pretty little Irish things like you always do well at auction, I promise you will make good money." it ended on a little chuckle and he left my food and closed the cell door. Worst thing about it, I knew it wasn't a lie. Not because I knew the ins and outs of s*x trafficking auctions, but because I had a special talent that my father thought me growing up, before both my parents died, my dad spent hours every day teaching me body language, tells, twitchs and so much more. What did it all amount too you ask? I'm a walking, talking, human lie detector. Not that it was much good to me in this cell, but it had served me well since my parents passed, living homeless in London for the past 4 years was a bit easier when I knew people were lying to me about their intentions. Shame the whole thing was what got my parents killed in the first place, but that's a story for a different day, or maybe never. Slam! I've run into something when I was looking back to see where Ivan and his friend were, I seem to have made some distance between us, but when I feel arms stop me from falling on my ass I realise I have ran into a person. I start kicking and trying to get away but he keeps hold of me, I'm panicking and screaming now. I've got on a tiny little silver sequent "dress" that leaves nothing to the imagination, and no shoes. I stand on something, probably glass and I almost fall again. I've given up now, crying and about to pass out from the adrenalin in my body because I've stopped moving, so I plead "Please don't sell me" He looks down at me, eyes wide in shock, and says "I'm not going to sell you, is that who you are running from?" Truth, confusion, and concern, exactly what I want to see on his face right now. His accent is a the thick London accent I've become accustomed too over the last few years, not Russian, more good news. "Yes, please help" This could be jumping from the frying pan into the fire, after all he was standing down a dangerous ally in the middle of the night but he isn't going to sell me and thats the win I'm taking right now. He picks me up and cradles me against him, "alright little flame, let's get you inside" Thats the last thing I remember before everything went black.