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  • Writer's pictureCounty Lines


It’s been just over a week since the raid and I’m still numb.

I’ve been evicted from my home. None of the gang have been arrested. I am still under investigation for possession with intent to supply. I am broken, numb and spend every day getting progressively more suicidal.

Mr Boss Man turned up on my doorstep today. I normally worry about what weapon he’s armed with, whether his levels of agitation are high enough to end up using it. But today, I didn’t give a flying fuck about getting hurt; I just wanted to die.

He was on his own and this is the third time this week one of the gang have showed up. So I thought enoughs enough and made the decision to confront him to show him the paperwork the police gave me. I shoved the warrant to raid my flat in his face, informed him about the quantity of drugs the police had found and they’ve sure he read every damn word of a notice given to me stating the police were aware drugs were being dealt from this flat. Then I started crying, asking him why he’d done this to me and told him I’d been charged with possession with intent to supply class-a drugs.

That’s when it hit him. He looked like he’d been given a hard slap. He kept saying sorry, said it was his fault, that I wouldn’t get charged. Then said something that genuinely shocked me.

He told me to tell the police boys from London had come in and taken over my flat. To tell the police the truth. He apologised over and over looking close to tears.

I fucking DESPISED him. I loathed him. I felt no pity, no feelings of forgiveness. I HATED him. I didn’t want the nasty, evil, cruel piece of shit scumbag anywhere near me. All I felt was rage and disgust.

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