I Don't Have Much In Life But Take It - It's Yours.

By the time the sun has risen about the slate tiles on the rooftops, I'm long gone from the clearing and the woods and the memories they hold and the rich estate, and by the time the rays of weak morning sun are warm enough to heat the skin on my arms, I'm back in the centre of town and weaving in and out of early market-goers and stall-holders. By the time the big church clock strikes seven, I'm helping an old lady to set up her market stall, and as the chimes for quarter past ring, I've finished up laying out fake designer handbags and cheap looking purses. By the time the crowds have started to gather around the market, I'm sitting in another dark back alley with a white polystyrene cup full of cheap coffee in my hands, heat seeping through my body and the eight-sixty-five change.

A huge amount for me, especially as pay for only fifteen minutes worth of light manual labour.

I throw away the empty cup, onto the pile of rubbish in the corner of the alley, and stare at the stack of cigarette butts, broken bottles, used syringes and condoms, amidst the other assorted junk. I lean back against the rough concrete wall, feeling it rub against the nape of my neck and I wince. I pick up my money and I slide it into my pocket, getting to my feet and avoiding putting too much weight on my bruised leg. I find myself wishing that I hadn't gone for that guy last night and wishing that the adrenaline that acted like a painkiller yesterday was still pumping around my system.

I swing my bag onto my back and start walking back towards the market, hoping I can get some more work, limping slightly and wincing when I twist my ankle. I squint as I step into the morning sunlight, and nod to a group of kids that I once helped with getting their hands on a few hundred pounds when the messed up big time. They raise their hands back in a greeting, one of the girls sticking her tongue out, and then they go back to staring hungrily at the food stalls.

I walk across the street and look into the window of the hair salon, meeting the eyes of one of the girls who works in there, and she shakes her head furiously and waves me away. They either don't have any work for me or they don't want some labelled-as-emo-hobo-kid-who-steals helping them get stuff for their salon. I do as she gestures, and immediately crash into a good looking boy on a skateboard, about two years younger than me and with dark floppy hair. I quickly apologise and he nods and smiles at me and skates off with his equally good looking friend (who looks good in a different, more baggy-and-skater way), who is glaring daggers at me.

Weird kid.

I stop at a stall and hand over a fiver in silver in exchange for a pair of red Converse on the shoe stall. They have a rip in the right side of the left shoes, hence the very cheap price, but I don't mind, as most of my clothes are ripped or damaged. My current pair are literally falling apart and with the amount of running I have to do, I need some shoes that won't cause me to trip up when I don't need it. I take off the battered-and-dirty black pair I'm wearing and replace them with the new red ones, tossing the old pair into a nearby bin.

I look around the crowded market for a few seconds, before I meet the eyes of a girl who I sometimes talk to in the park, in Ebury, and she quickly darts over to me and hugs me tightly, crushing my ribcage. I give her a hesitant one in return and she begins to ramble on about her new "totally emolicious" new boyfriend (who I know, and is not emo at all) and how "mother fucking hot" he is. I can clearly smell the stench of vodka on her breath and even from some distance, at around half eight in the morning, and I quickly excuse myself and escape from her.

And the reason that I'm escaping from her is that the group of kids I saw and greeted earlier have grabbed someone - a guy, judging by the hair, stance and figure - by the shirt and dragged him into their alley, and he's probably getting the shit beaten out of him for something he probably didn't do and something he probably doesn't deserve.

I wouldn't usually intervene in the fights involving big groups of kids but I know these kids and these kids are twats - they don't just fight when they have to, they fight when they want to, and they don't care who they hurt and how they hurt them. They've been known to leave people with broken limbs and severe bruising. They've never hurt me, because I helped them, and they never hurt Avalon, but that's probably because I slammed their so-called-leader into a wall and threatened to kill him the last time he tried groping her. And I meant it and probably would've if Avalon hadn't talked me out of it (she didn't want me to go to jail).

If you see any kids around here with injuries from a fight, it's pretty easy to guess who's caused them.

I get to the mouth of the alley, and I can see that the guy is doing badly - very badly. He's fighting back as hard as he can, but they're used to it and together - there's six of them - they're a hell of a lot stronger, and I can see the red of fresh blood glinting on someone's fist.

I yell something that even I'm not sure what it's meant to be, and I stand there with my arms stiff at my sides, my hands balled into fists, my teeth gritted together, and I see a couple of them look at me for a second and nod, as if encouraging me to join in, before kicking the guy once again. I growl quietly, wondering if they'll remember that I carry out my threats every time and I told them a while ago that I was sick of them beating anyone and everyone up, and mentioned that I'd do the same to them.

"Get the fuck away from him," I hiss loudly, leaning forwards slightly and staring stonily at the kids, and when they look up, I can see fear reflected in their eyes and they run, run quickly, as if they haven't been fighting, snatching their stuff up as they leave, like the cowards that they are, melting away into the dark shadows that hug the walls, even in the day. I fight the urge to yell a threat after them.

I never liked them much anyway, but on the streets you help each other.

The guy falls from his standing position, holding his stomach as he land on his knees. He retches and then whimpers in pain softly, and I decide that this is the moment where I should go and leave him to sort himself out, but I hesitate and then it's too late because he's looked up by then.

Hair obscures most of his face but I can see the congealing blood on his jaw line from a cut on his cheek and a red mark around his eye, which is already starting to go purple. As he gets up, his hair shifts and I can see a dark bruise on his forehead, more red marks and - to my horror - I recognise him as the guy who I had to run from last night. For some off reason I find myself thinking that he looks a lot better without the nu rave-esque clothing, but I brush that aside and step backwards as he gets closer, and I flinch as he stretches out a hand to me.

"Don't run away, please," he says, through clenched teeth, "I'm not going to hurt you," he adds.

I bite my lip and shift my position, making sure I can run if I need to and keeping my eyes fixed on him so I know if he's faking anything. I don't look at his eyes though, making sure that mine are trained on his jaw.

"I want to help you," he says quietly, stretching his hand out closer towards me. I stare at it nervously for a second, wondering about just what's going on in this boy's head. I can see his nails, cut short, painted in black with green stars, the lacquer chipping off. They're a contrast to my short, bitten, dirty nails and grime covered hands.

"Why would you want to help me?" I ask, and he goes silent for a moment. His eyes flick to my face and they seem to linger on my eyes for longer than they should, and then he shakes his head a bit and shrugs.

"Just because I do," he says, but there's something in his voice that tells me he's lying. "You shouldn't be on the streets. Please?" He pleads, stretching his hand out to closer to me again. His fingers are shaking slightly and I blink at them for a few moments.

I run a hand through my hair, grasping it at the roots and feeling sharp needles of pain shoot through my scalp as I tug on my hair. I hesitate as I hold my arm up by my cheek, and I feeling his eyes boring into mine. I stretch my arm out slowly, flinching every few seconds, and as my fingers brush his, I realise how much I'm shaking and I pull my hand away quickly.

"Please," he murmurs, and I reach out again, touching his fingertips with mine and I see him smile, and I feel my mouth twitch into something and I tighten my fingers on his. He moves his hand so our fingers are laced, and I feel panic welling in my chest but I push it down.

He moves our hands so they're between us, and I feel his grip tighten, as if he's not going to let me go. We walk through the market for a little bit, and he keeps looking at me and smiling, and for some reason, I'm sneaking glances back and smiling a little bit more every time. I change our course as I catch sight of some people I know, making my way through the back streets.

"Who are you?" He asks, his voice quiet, and I look down, pretending that I can't hear him, but just trying to think of an answer I can give him. I can't give him a last name, as it doesn't apply anymore, I can't tell him how many siblings I have and what I'm taking at A Level and who my best friends are because I don't know how many siblings I have and I don't go to school, and my best friend is shut up in juvvie, so I just decide on something simple.

"Fynn," I say, barely whispering.

"I'm Jay," he says, louder than me, and he squeezes my hand a little and I shake my head and smile at him through my messy hair. We're out in the open now and I can feel the heat, too much heat, making me sweat through my heavy jeans and thick hoodie. Jay's walking much slower now, and I tense up as I see that the houses are big and some people are glaring.

After all, I do look like what I am - a homeless kid - and I bet they don't see many of those in the daylight.

I pull away slightly, feeling my whole body go rigid, and when we stop it's in front of the biggest house on the whole estate and I drag my feet, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor, biting my lip so hard I can taste blood in my mouth. I shiver slightly.

"Please Fynn," Jay says, dragging me along with him as I pull myself back. "You know I just want to help, I promise," He nods at me, and smiles, but I don't return it.

I do stop going back though, and when he opens the door, his grip on my hand becomes a whole lot tighter, as if he thinks I'm going to run, and when we step in, I have to stop myself from gasping. The whole house - I've never seen anything like this. It's all clean, it's huge, there are oil paintings on the walls and thick white fluffy carpets and I get the feeling that everything I own won't meet the cost of even that vase by the door that Jay has just dropped his keys in.

He almost runs up the stairs, but a girl comes out of a room and I instantly drop his hand and stop, shifting my eyes around the hallway and trying not to meet the eyes of the girl fuelled by hatred.

"Who's he?" She hisses loudly, putting her arm up so Jay can't get past her, and she shoots a glare in my direction. I take a step back, almost falling back down the staircase, putting a hand on the wall to steady myself and removing it quickly upon seeing the dirt against the white.

"He's a," Jay pauses for a second, and looks at his hand. "He's a friend."

I feel a smile spread across my face, and Jay looks at me and grins. "Yeah, he's a friend," he repeats, and grabs my wrists, pulling me further down the hall and opening a door, letting me step in before him.

I hear his sister yell something, but I don't really register the words as I'm looking around the room in wonder. It's an explosion of neon colours - the paint on the walls, the clothes on the floor, the posters across the ceiling. There are magazine cut outs on the yellow wall, and gig tickets are piled up next to a computer. There's a widescreen TV in the corner and nearby is a huge bed - king sized - with purple sheets and bright pink cushions.

"I hope you don't mind sharing tonight," Jay says, shuffling as if he's a bit embarrassed by the awe I'm showing over his bedroom. "We haven't got the spare room set up at the moment," he grins sheepishly.

"No, that's fine," I mumble, reaching out and touching one of the cushions and realising it's velvet. "Could I have a… a shower?" I ask, tensing up and hoping he won't notice the way I'm not too familiar with those words.

"Yeah, sure," he says, taking my hand and leading me through a door - a different door this time - and into a little hallway, with a couple of door off each side. "My rooms," he blushes, and opens the first door, showing me a bathroom with a huge bath and a glass shower.

I feel my jaw drop.

"I'll be done soon," I mutter, slipping through the door and dumping my bag on the floor. I shut the door, almost completely, and then I have a second thought and open it again.

Jay is just about to go back into his room - and my room for tonight, until the spare room he's promised me is set up - when I calls out his name and he turns around, fixing his eyes on me. They move down to my bare chest, as I've just taken my shirt off before the first shower in five months.

"Thanks," I smile shyly, and shut the door.

I don't hear his footsteps for a while.