Free Trafficked: The Terrifying True Story of a British Girl Forced into the Sex Trade by Sophie Hayes

twisting his fingers in my hair so that it felt as though a million needles were digging into my scalp. ‘You have always lived in a world where the only thing you have to cry about is the fact that “Daddy doesn’t love me”.’ He mimicked the voice of a whining, spoilt child, and then his tone was cold again as he said, ‘You think that means you’ve had a hard life? You have no idea what a hard life is. You have no idea about the things some people have to do because, in their lives, there is no other way.’
    â€˜I don’t think that,’ I sobbed, a small spark of indignation burning inside me for a moment.
    In all the time I’d known Kas – or thought I’d known him – I’d never seen the slightest indication that he could be violent, and somehow it was the abrupt and very emphatic change in his behaviour and his attitude towards me that made me most afraid of him. My mind simply couldn’t process or make any sense of all the new information it was being presented with. I kept thinking that if only we could talk things through logically, we’d be able to come up with a more realistic solution to Kas’s financial problems.
    I was so confused that I wasn’t certain about anything anymore, except, perhaps, that Kas wasn’t really intending to make me do the things he was talking about. So, even if I hadn’t been as frightened of him as I had instantly become, I don’t think I’d have tried to run away and escape from him. All I needed, I told myself, was to find something to focus on that would anchor me once again to the real world I was used to and could understand.
    I’d never even heard Kas swear before that day, so although I was shocked by the things he was saying, I was completely unprepared for what he said next. His tone was contemptuous when he asked me, ‘Do you think you’re the only woman who’s ever worked on the streets for me?’ Then his mood seemed to change and he stretched out a hand to touch the top of my bowed head almost affectionately before saying, ‘But you’re different. The other girls were all bitches. Do you know what a real whore is?’ Suddenly, he grasped my hair again, yanking my head back and upwards so that I was forced to look at him, and shouted, ‘Well, do you?’
    I closed my eyes and tried to shake my head.
    â€˜A whore is a woman who treats a man with disrespect by cheating on him when she’s going out with him. That’s a real whore!’ He sounded almost triumphant, and he smiled as he added, ‘But a woman who sells herself to make money is just being clever. Your pussy will be a goldmine.’
    I began to sob, lifting my feet onto the chair in front of me and clutching my knees to my chest to try to stop mybody shaking, and Kas exploded into uncontrolled rage. ‘If you give me that look again,’ he screamed, ‘if you disrespect me one more time, you’ll see what I will do! How dare you? How dare you do this to me?’ I dug my fingernails into my thighs and told myself, Stop, Sophie! You have to stop crying. Don’t let him see your fear. Your tears are making him angrier . And, as if he’d read my thoughts, he bellowed at me, ‘Stop it! How dare you cry? How dare you do this to me? Just look at yourself! You look terrible. Go to the bathroom and straighten your hair. Pull yourself together, woman, for God’s sake. Go! Go to the bathroom and see how bad you look.’
    Still sobbing, I stood up, edged around the table and scuttled out of the kitchen, with the sound of Kas’s fury echoing after me as he called, ‘Don’t close the bathroom door. Leave it open.’ And already I wouldn’t even have dreamed of disobeying him.
    In the bathroom, I looked in the mirror at my white, tear-stained face and the wild untidiness of my hair and it was as though I was looking at a stranger. I knew