Page 2 of Knox

I snatch it and think he’s going to let me go. Nope, this wanker isn’t finished and jerks himself until a measly amount of cum dribbles out of the slit. He stumbles away, and I stay put. I wouldn’t put it past him to be waiting so he can get his fiver back.

It must be five minutes before I think it’s safe enough to leave the alley. I was wrong, and his fist hits me square on my face. I drop to the ground, and he starts to kick. I curl up as tight as I can and hope he runs out of steam.

Someone shouts out for him to stop, and to my surprise, he does. Footsteps pound the pavement, only stopping when they reach me. Car doors open and slam shut, and the air is full of shouting.

Two hands rest on my shoulder and back, coaxing me to unfurl myself. When I lift my head, I groan and drop it back down. The cops. I’m screwed.

After refusing to go to the hospital, I’m taken to the police station and bundled into an interview room—or at least I’m guessing that’s what it is. There’s a small table with four chairs, two on either side.

A small woman comes in; she’s carrying two cups of hot drinks. One smells like coffee, and the other is hot chocolate. “I thought you might like a drink. I’m Sharron.” She places the hot chocolate in front of me.

I want it, like really want it, but I want to get out of here more. “I want to leave. You can’t hold me.” I don’t know if that’s true, but I say it anyway. I pull the scratchy blanket around my shoulders.

“It’s just a few questions. What’s your name, sweetheart.”

I think about everything that’s happened to me to finally end up here. I think about the parents that wanted drugs more than me. The foster homes I’ve been in that have never lasted long because I was too quiet or I didn’t fit in with the other kids, or the ones when the father is way too interested in me, and the wife knows. Any excuse to pass me on when I wasn’t interested in their lives. Then the last one, the one that set me on this path. Wayne and his private visits in the night. “Where’s Dean?”

She smiles but doesn’t answer. “Can you tell me your name, please? I won’t know what to call you, if you don’t.”

I think of one of the last things Dean said to me. “Knox,” I tell her because my life has been nothing but hard knocks.

“How old are you, Knox? Is there someone we can call for you?”

I don’t say anything else, and she doesn’t try either. After a long while, there’s a knock on the door, and when Sharron gets up to open it, I lean to look past her and see a new guy. He doesn’t look like a policeman. I don’t know why I think that, but he’s more relaxed. Less uptight.

He walks in and takes the second seat opposite me; Sharron sits back in hers. “Hello, Knox, my name is Robin Foster. I’m a social worker and a foster parent. I thought you’d like to get out of here. What do you think?”

“I think hell to the fucking no. I’ve had my fill of both of those. You’re nothing but interfering busy bodies or perverts who like to fuck the kids they get paid to look after.” I sit back in my chair, my arms over my chest, feeling very satisfied with myself.

“I’m sorry you think that. You must’ve had some dreadful experiences, but I’m not like that. You don’t have to believe me, but if you’re prepared to take a chance, I’ll prove you wrong. I have one other teen staying with me, so you won’t be alone. What do you say? You’ll have your own room that locks.”

I shrug, not wanting to look too interested. The idea of my own room sounds good, sleeping rough has been hard, so hard sometimes I wanted to just go back into a children’s home. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder to stay under the radar. “I don’t believe you. Do you know how many people like you have said that, and it’s always been a fucking lie? Too fucking many. Anyway, I need to find my brother. He’s the only one that’s ever looked after me. I’m fourteen, and the first time one of the foster “Dads””—I put dad in speech marks—“forced himself on me, I was seven. Fucking seven! So, no thank you. I’m better off just me and Dean.”

The policewoman looks at me horrified, her hand to her mouth. I carry on with my rant, something I needed to get off my chest. “Oh, don’t look so shocked; you know this shit goes on. You know that when a kid complains, they get shuffled off to the next house that’s being paid to abuse kids.” I sag back in my chair, my rant done. I wince at the pain in my back, which is probably a bruise from the arsehole’s steel-toe boots.

“I’m sorry, Knox. I can’t change what’s happened to you, but I can change your future. You have to trust me. There’s a reason Sharron called me. She knows that for kids like you, I’m the only one that will make it right for you,”

“I don’t trust you.” I cross my arms over my chest, and that hurts too. The ache of bruises blooming and my exhaustion is battling with my defiance.

“I don’t blame you. But give me a chance to prove you wrong,” he says, and for some reason, probably the need for a bed, is weakening me.

“Whatever.” I shrug. He smiles, knowing he’s won. I’m not going to make this easy. I need to find Dean. I don’t care how long it takes me or where I have to go to find him. I will.

The house we drive up to is well posh and big. The upstairs windows are all dark, but the two large ones on either side of the front door have light coming between the gaps in the curtains.

“Oh, good. Kip is waiting up for us. He usually likes to say hello to our newest family member,” the man, whose told me to call him Robin, tells me.

“Who the fuck is Kip? Sounds like something you call a dog,” I snap. I’ve had enough of his jolly chit-chat all the way here. This is the first time I’ve spoken since I left the interview room.

“Kip is my husband,” he says, totally ignore me swearing.

The house is the biggest I’ve ever been in. There are so many closed doors in the hallway. I don’t know why anyone needs so many. How many are bedrooms? Is the house full of kids? I don’t like the thought of that. I know they’ll know what I had to do to eat; they’ll judge me and turn away from me.

There’s a niggling thought that’s pecking away at my brain that tells me I’m wrong. That they could be just like me. I remember he said there’s another teenager here, but is that all there is? I won’t know until the morning.

The door on my left opens, and a huge man comes out. He’s built like he spends his life in a gym. His T-shirt strains over his biceps, and he has tattoos running down both arms. He smiles at Robin. It’s full of warmth and a look no one has ever given me. “I thought I heard the car.” He looks at me, and he give me a smile too. “Hi, I’m Kip.”

“Kn…Knox,” I stutter as I give him the name I said a couple of hours ago for the first time. It’s going to be weird hearing it.