The first rays of morning sun were highlighting the back wall, resembling bony fingers reaching through gaps in the trees outside the window, trying to touch the darkest corners of the room. Miley turned over in her creaky bed, flinching as she pulled the thin sheet off her sticky body. She wished she had curtains. Maybe she’d ask again. The sun was making her head pound. She couldn’t wait for the days to get shorter. She turned again, frustrated at being awake so early. Sitting up, she ran her fingers through her matted hair and flinched as she felt the pain of her burns, throbbing. She wiped the sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand and checked them. The blistering had simmered down a little and scabs had begun to form. Maybe a splash of water would help, she needed to keep her sores clean. She stepped towards the door and pushed. ‘Great,’ she said as she went back to bed. The door was locked.

She grabbed the bucket from the corner of the room and peed. She’d have to empty it out in a couple of hours, like she did most mornings. Slopping out! A friend on the streets had mentioned that term. He’d done a short spell in prison and he had to slop out. She felt like a prisoner. There was nothing dignified in peeing in a bucket and tipping it away. With the heat, the room would soon smell.

Fiddling with her friendship bracelet, she thought of her friend and remembered the evenings they shared together when they were on the streets. Her friend became sicker, more addicted, needing more medicine and getting worse, not like Miley.

Back then, on the streets, it had been chilly and wet. She hadn’t thought how the weather would affect her when she ran away. Once damp, she’d stayed damp for days, in fact the dampness never left. There’s only so long they could spend in public loos, trying to dry off under a cold hand dryer. She shivered at the thought of being back out there now, begging.

She hugged herself as she recalled a particular incident. She’d been curled up in a doorway and remembered her heart pounding as a man climbed under her blankets. His smell was something she remembered vividly – beer. Twirling the friendship bracelet her friend had given her, she shuddered as she thought back to how close she was to being attacked. She froze as he’d fiddled with her layers of clothing until he’d reached her underwear. She felt him try to feel her from behind. She struggled, tried to reach out and hit him, but he hit her harder. Through her screams she heard someone yelling at him to get off her. Trembling, she wiped the tears from her face.

It was the girl with the straggly hair, whom she’d seen walking up and down earlier that day. She dragged the man onto the path and kicked him. Angry, he’d slapped her as he zipped himself back up. Grabbing the pint he’d left on the step, he then poured it over Miley before swearing and continuing towards New Street Station. As she sat in that doorway crying her eyes out, the girl placed a warm arm around her shoulder, whispering that everything would be okay and that they would look out for each other. That’s how their friendship had begun.

Miley wiped a tear from her cheek as she remembered her street friend. The following day, her new friend had become her protector and teacher at the same time. They stole food from the market, one of them snatching, the other distracting. For a short while, life had become a little more fun. ‘Outside Symphony Hall is a prime spot,’ her new best friend said as they begged for money and met up with another girl. She’d been right. They’d come away with forty pounds that evening. As a newly established friendship group, they had a slick operation on the go.

Things got tougher. Shop assistants began to remember their faces and started telling them to go away. And then there were the do-gooders. It was never, here’s a sandwich, hope you enjoy. It was more, tell us about yourself and you might get a sandwich. Her friend had told her that one of the do-gooders, a man who had to be at least seventy, had asked her for sex in exchange for food. So much for doing good! She may have been sixteen but she wasn’t a prostitute and her friend had described how betrayed she’d felt. ‘Everyone has ulterior motives,’ she would always say. Her mind wandered back to the present as she felt a little tetchy, her skin beginning to crawl. She needed medicine soon, just a little dose to be able to function.

Medicine. That was another subject that crossed her mind often. Their boss said that the job would be stressful and it was. The medicine was meant to help, and it did, for a while. Miley wasn’t stupid, she knew what they were giving her was illegal drugs but she so wanted to try them, be a grown-up. Once she received a fix, nothing else in the world mattered. It was just her and euphoria. Medicine helped her get through the hard days and the long nights. Her hands began to tremble.

‘I need some medicine soon?’ she called as she banged on the door. She held her breath and listened. She couldn’t hear any movement. ‘I’m locked in again. Do you have to keep locking me in?’ Tears streamed down her face. She knew she’d remain locked in until she paid her debts. It was nothing to do with Jackie. Her medicine was costing more than she was earning. She’d be forever indebted and she totally understood she had to pay her debts.

A few days ago, she had demanded to be let out. That time, she’d received another dose of medicine, a higher dose. It had felt like the first time all over again. ‘Where did you go, leaving me here all on my own,’ she began to sing, making up the lyrics and tune as she went along. Sliding down the door, she sat on the floor. That is where she’d wait until someone unlocked the door. ‘You never said goodbye, you never said…’ The tune tailed off. She wondered if she’d remember it. She’d like to remember it so she could work on it one day. She wished she had a phone or a tablet so that she could record these things, but she had nothing like that any more. All gone in the early days of being homeless, sold to make a little bit of money for food. Her stomach began to spasm and a hot sweat flashed through her body. ‘I need my medicine,’ she yelled, but no one was listening. Sweat dripped from her brow. It was starting again. Rocking back and forth, she clutched her stomach, hoping that the pain wouldn’t make her sick.

Jackie began to murmur. All she wanted was to have her medicine and be let out. She wanted to sit with Jackie, sing her a new song and play with her hair. She listened as the floorboards creaked in the next room as Jackie staggered across the room. A new day had begun.