Blood and sweat ran down my face, blinding me as I ran. I could hear the footsteps pounding on the pavement behind me, getting closer. I whimpered in fear, they were going to find me again. I spend my whole life running but they always found me. I was their toy, that they never lost. I'd never known any other home than the suitcase that I carried at my side.

"Come on dear! Don't run away, it will be better for you. You can't ever escape us." And that was what I was afraid of. That I would never know what it was like to be normal, to have a home and a family. Although the way things were going I'd have family in no time, but the father would be unknown.

I was their toy, I had been since I was twelve. I was now eighteen and I was always on the run. If I escaped from wherever they were holding me they would track me down within a few hours, days if I was lucky. The longest I'd ever made it was a week. There were other girls like me, I'd seen them. They auctioned us off, the buyer got us for a year and then returned us to the seller. But I was never sold. They kept me, for their own personal use. It was appalling, which is saying something, considering what I've seen.

It was cold. We were underground, running through pipe and gauges. Steam pluming from our mouths. The footsteps were getting louder. I cried in frustration, I thought that I had lost them this time. Why did they always come after me? What was so special about me? They had at least fifty other girls, what did it matter if they lost me?

These were the questions I would probably never have an answer to. They would keep me, for one reason or another, a reason that I wouldn't know. And they wouldn't care if I asked, they'd kick me and tell me to shut up, or to get back to work. They didn't care about me, I was a person, but they didn't see me that way. To them I was an object for sale. An object of pleasures, pleasures they wanted.

Thick arms wrapped around my waist and we tumbled forward, through the steam and mist coming off the pipes. He struggled up and placed his knees on my shoulder, pushing down mercilessly. But I knew better than to show him that it hurt.

"Ah, we've got you now." He grinned, showing brown, jagged teeth. The rest of him looked about as good as his teeth. Torn clothing, greasy hair. If I hadn't known who he worked for, I would have said he was a random, harmless, homeless man. "Get up girl! We haven't got all day." He pulled me to me feet, pulling my arms around my back and knotting them together with coarse rope. He came to stand in front of me, his face hovering an inch from mine, he smelled worse than he looked. "Thought you could get away this time? I've heard that they've had trouble with you before, you need to learn to listen!" He slapped me across the face and turned away dragging me behind him. He threw me into a car, as soon as we reached the surface, emerging from the sewage drain that I had retreated into just minutes before.

I fought to restrain the tears that were desperately trying to run down my face, to throw me deeper into my despair. But I wouldn't allow them to fall, I couldn't let my captors witness my pain, my fear. I was shoved roughly into a car that reeked of stale cigarette smoke, and old beer. I wondered if it had been used in a while. It seemed like it hadn't. I hated the helplessness that I was feeling. How did the female gender always get themselves into situations like this, so much so that it inspired the term damsel in distress? The man sat beside me in the car, and we were off. To where, I didn't know. But my thoughts were so far else where that I didn't care.

About fifteen minutes later the car stopped, jolting me out of my terrified trance. They pulled me out of the car and threw me to the ground in front of someone I knew, someone I recognized. The master. Also known as my father. I was his child that he had with the whore from room 112. He probably didn't even know her name. It probably doesn't bother him that he doesn't know. He's one of those men. Made of steel. Nothing penetrates their core. Nothing emotional. He showed absolutely no fatherly love towards me. He probably didn't even remember that I was his daughter.

"Well trying to escape again were we? Didn't make it so far did you? When will you ever learn? YOU CANNOT ESCAPE ME. I AM YOUR FATHER, YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER." Okay, so he did remember. But it didn't matter, the only thing he ever felt was anger. Other than that he couldn't feel it. No love towards his family, me. No care, for his employees. Nothing.

And I hated him for that. I hated him for how he treated me, for how he treated the other girls, for the fact that if my father ever spoke to me it was to yell at me for running away, again. He jerked me to my feet with one arm, and dragged me back into the building that had been my prison for all the eighteen years of my life. And it didn't look like that was going to change. I jerked myself free from him and stalked up to my room. A dangerous move but I was willing to risk it, To have to impression that I had inflicted any emotion upon my father. I think that was part of the reason that I kept running away. To see that it was possible for him to feel anything towards me, even if it was anger. I slammed my door when I reached my room. Satisfied at the booming noise that reverberated from it, I threw myself onto my bed. Not bothering to undress I closed my eyes and let sleep wash over me.

When I woke the next morning the sunlight was already peeping through the grimy curtains that hung in the windows on the wall across from my bed. If the sun was already up and no one had woken me up yet, then it could only mean one thing. It was a meeting day, a time where all of the employees and buyers got togther about, well, to talk about whatever they needed to talk about. Usually there wasn't that much to talk about and we just ended up with a u=building full of passed out or drunken men. The only reason that we didn't all escape was the cleverly place security guards that were also strewn among the building. They were known to blend in with the other men. Making it very hard to detect them indeed. What a meeting day also meant was that we all got the day off from being treated like rag dolls. These days didn't come often, so the rest of the girls and I knew to savor them while they lasted, because they never lasted long.

I hesitated, wondering if I should get out of bed or if I should sleep in, a luxury that I never got a taste of. But the option of sleeping in was taken from me as a sharp rapping erupted from the door to my right.

"Get up girl. The master needs you." Oh, great. A call in on a meeting day. This should be interesting.