Bitch

She was quickly bundled into a run down decrepit car, the rusty doors squeaked as they were opened, a hideous screeching noise which left Chantelle cringing. Once thrown into the back seat she could smell the strong scent of cigarettes, alcohol and worn leather. The seats were torn up in various places, the floor was littered with beer cans, food wrappers, ripped porn magazines and even small empty square packets that Chantelle didn't want to think about. When the car started it sounded like a bear had suddenly woken up inside the rotting vehicle. The old beast roared violently, making the windows shudder in their frames and the stained seats vibrate. The man climbed into the driver's seat of the car, gripping the wheel and driving away.

The house Chantelle had been originally taken to was in a very run-down suburban area. This was the side of New York no one wanted to see. Outside the grimy windows, Chantelle saw teenagers, could have only been around 13 years old, huddled together in groups as they passed, what looked like, a bottle of vodka around their little circle. She saw couples screaming at each other in the middle of the street and she saw children playing with broken toys made out of chipped wood or climbing on old dangerous wrecks of cars.

The houses around this area were mainly dumps or complete hovels, with filth covered cracked windows and front yards trashed with litter and broken discarded furniture. Front doors were chipped with flaking paint and chimneys had been completely torn off the torpid roofs due to wicked chaotic weather and tremendous earthquakes.

The rattling car slowly crawled it's way to an old crumbling bridge. Chantelle looked out the crack windows, wondering what the hell was going on and where this loon was taking her. Adrenaline thundered through her veins and she couldn't stop her knees from knocking together agitatedly. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears as she grew distressed and fidgety. She just wanted this to stop, she felt dirty and she felt tired. Her head hurt like hell and her clothes were muddy and ripped in various places. They'd taken her bag and her hair was a mess. It was like the end of the world to Chantelle. Everything around her had crumpled and there was nothing she could do about it. Even worse, she had chipped a nail. That manicure had cost over $100 and it looked like she wasn't getting another one any time soon.

The man got out the car and Chantelle looked around frantically, her eyes following him as he walked round the side of the car and opened the back door for her. Chantelle stared at him blankly, her eyes wide.
"Well get out then." The guy growled and Chantelle snapped her mouth shut, scrambling out the car.
Chantelle stood up unsteadily, looking nervously, her palms still itching and her heart beating rapidly. She was scared; there was no doubt about that. She could never stand up to this man. She thought she could while she was still angry and plotting her escape. But now she was standing next to this very tough looking dude...she was having doubts about herself. She couldn't take him on to a fight even if she tried. She was getting her hopes up. There was nothing she could do. And she felt so helpless. All she wanted to do was sit down on the floor and cry. Someone had to help her, there had to be loads of people who'd want to help a poor girl like her. What had she done wrong? Why did this have to happen to her of all people. It was so unfair!

"W-where are you taking me?" Chantelle stammered but then straightening up so she didn't look so pathetic.
"You can stay with the other kids, they'll look after ya until we decide what to do with you." The guy mumbled.
Chantelle tightened her jaw, summoning up all the courage she had to stand up to this man, "I demand you take me home this minute." She ordered, crossing her arms.
The man stared at her for a few seconds, his deep brown eyes looking her up and down before his thin lips twitched into a grin. He burst out laughing. It was a high laugh, the mocking ones that you find very hard to contain. Chantelle just watched, her lips pursing together in annoyance and her pretty baby blues narrowing into tiny slits. She gave a sniff. He was mocking her and she didn't like it. Things had changed, this guy was laughing at her and not with her; this was something Chantelle wasn't used to.
"I demand you keep you're bloody gob shut," the guy chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye, "but you got balls lass, that's something that might just keep you alive...for a while. I doubt someone like you would last out here very long." He muttered.
"S'cuse me?" Chantelle snapped, "what do you mean someone like me?" She laughed light heartedly.
The man chuckled, "you know exactly what I mean."

He took off down the path and Chantelle stood still, crossing her arms over her heaving chest, staring at the man while he proceeded down the street.
"If you don't come now, I'll just get someone else to come and collect you," he called, "and they wont be gentle about it." He added and Chantelle huffed, scurrying after him, still wearing her clacking high heels and mini dress.
People stared at her as they walked down the street: she must've looked like a prostitute. Her mini dress had rolled up even further around her thighs and it was torn in various places, her legs were covered in dirt and mud while her make-up was smeared halfway across her face. Her hair extensions had frizzed up and mascara had run down her cheeks like slimy snail trails. She was used to this amount of attention, she was beautiful, people were always staring at her. But this was a different type of stare, this was a stare of disgust, stares that said "god, what happened to her last night?". And it made Chantelle awfully uncomfortable.

They came to a turn, a tunnel leading down into an old looking underpass. The lights inside flickered and graffiti covered the walls like the doodles in a notebook. Drug dealers and thugs hung around the entrance in gloomy looking clusters. They eye balled Chantelle as she made her way unsteadily past, regretting each step as she trod further and further down into the gloomy cave.

Inside was no more welcoming than the outside. The first thing that hit Chantelle was the lack of light and the smell. It was a bitter smell and a very unpleasant one. The smell of sweating bodies that hadn't been washed for months and the smell of smoke, rotten food and even pot. Chantelle very quickly became distressingly nervous, she looked around anxiously as they passed people slumped up against the crumbling walls and teenagers that could only have been around her age, were huddled together, trying to keep warm in the nipping draft.

Then something hit her, she creased her forehead, trying to get her head round it. They lived here. How could they possibly stand it? Chantelle wouldn't be able to live like this. She loved her comfortable lush king sized bed at home, her large bedroom and her 44 inch plasma TV. She couldn't live without her luxurious walk in closet and her collection of alluring designer heels and custom made mini dresses. She couldn't bare being without her laptop, iphone and her Jacuzzi. They amazed her as well as disgusted her, they could stand lying here in the dirt and filth with the mangy cockroaches and scuttling rats. While she found it hard to sleep over her friend's house just because the bed was only queen sized and there were no silk sheets.

She stared at them with wide eyes as she passed the children, they looked up at her in disbelief. They were shaking their heads at her, some of the girls were even laughing. It was like she was suddenly the center of attention as more and more of the homeless started whispering to each other and snickering. Chantelle stuck her nose up in the air, trying to ignore their pathetic gossiping. They could think all they wanted about her, she really didn't care. She was far better than them anyway.

She followed the man as he lead her through the underpass. They came right to the very end, near the second entrance where a circle of lanky teenager were hanging around and talking. They looked up Chantelle as she arrived, their chapped lips playing smiled as their eyes lit up in amusement.
"What the fuck is this?" A boy suddenly asked, stepping forward towards the man who stood by Chantelle.
"Callum decided to fucking kidnap her." The young adult lied.
Because Chantelle knew he was also a part of the kidnapping too.
The boy laughed, "and what am I supposed to do about it?" He sneered.
"You," The man pushed Chantelle over to the boy, she stumbled up against him, giving a little squeal before the boy pushed her away. "Are going to look after her until we decide what the fuck we're gonna do with her." He explained, his voice a low rumble.
The boy's face fell, "you're kidding me!" He muttered and the man chuckled.
"Am I really the sort to make jokes Isaac?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
Isaac glanced at Chantelle before turning back to the man. "Why me?" He protested.
The man sighed, "because I said so." The guy grumbled before spinning around on his heels and striding away.
The boy looked at Chantelle blankly. He had long black sleek hair and huge dark eyes. His pale skin looked unhealthy and pale while speckled with freckles. He could have only been around 19, wearing a long black coat, black scarf and some worn mud caked leather boots. The large over sized coat hung off his skinny frame like a sack and his eyes were glazed over, hiding a sad past. He pursed his chapped lips.

"So, I guess you should tell me you're name." He muttered, not bothering to hide the unfriendly tone to his voice.
"Ch-Chantelle" Chantelle stammered, playing with a loose thread on he hem of her dress.
"So are you a prostitute or something?" Isaac asked, looking Chantelle up and down in disgust.
Chantelle scolded. "A prostitute?" She gasped. "NO!"
Isaac smirked, "well, you certainly dress like one." He jeered and Chantelle's bottom lip quivered.
He was insulting the way she dressed, no one had ever done that before.
"Jeez, look what the cat dragged in." A snarly feminine voice came from behind Chantelle.

Chantelle spun round on her heels, her eyes narrowing. A girl stood behind her, would have been around the same height as Chantelle if she had not been wearing heels. The girl was Japanese and looked to be around 16 years old (thank you http://www.quotev.com/LoveandHatearethesame for taking part in my character contest!) . Her glossy yet filthy raven black hair was cut short unevenly, looked as though someone had carelessly done it with a pair of blunt scissors. Her dark eyes would have been pretty too if they weren't swimming with sorrow, loss and pain. But despite these weakened dim eyes, the girl seemed to have a harsh atmosphere to her, there was a vicious grin playing across her lips and the few people standing around Chantelle had begun to slowly back away as the girl came up to her. She stood in front of Chantelle, placing her thin hands on her bony hips. She wore a one strap T-shirt that was spotted with flakes of mud and ripped across the hem. She was the only person in the underpass who wasn't wearing a thick winter coat against the bitter cold and also the only one not carrying a rucksack across her shoulders. Chantelle disliked this girl on the spot.

"What the fuck is this?" The girl snarled.
"Ask Mark." Isaac grumbled as the girl looked Chantelle up and down like dog shit stuck on the bottom of her shoe.
"Why is she here?" The girl asked.
Isaac sighed, "I really don't know. Alexus just stay out of this." He muttered and Alexus just shook her head.
"I want to know why the hell this girl is here. We can't cope with another mouth to feed." The girl, Alexus, snapped.
"We wont have to: She can feed herself," The boy threw back, "we just have to keep an eye on her."
But the Alexus's smirk just grew wider. "No" she simply said, crossing her arms, "we could use her."