• County Lines

SOS Number 5

Last night I submitted yet ANOTHER ‘give information’ form on Crimestoppers. This time I did jack shit to cover my tracks so I wouldn’t get stabbed to death if any of the gang- particularly Mr Boss Man found out it was me.

I couldn’t give a shit anymore. There’s a 14 year old drug dealing from my home just as trapped as I am. To be honest I’d prefer to be dead rather than lose my home, potentially end up in prison when the blame lands on my shoulders, and lose my sanity from the trauma of the experience. Yes, I’d prefer to be stabbed for snitching. Because whether I snitched or not, I will still get the blame from both parties. I have nothing to prove to the police I’m not some drug baron that hires children to deal them for me. Yet nothing to prove I wasn’t the one that snitched on the gangs criminal activities.

I am absolutely FURIOUS with the police. I am absolutely FURIOUS with these vicious, nasty, drug dealing criminals and I’m absolutely FURIOUS at myself because I’ve had yet another day and night of this and believe me, today I have kicked and screamed, thrown tantrums, begged and pleaded, threatened and bribed, done EVERYTHING to get them out and not succeeded.

Mr Boss Man has dropped in for multiple visits over the last few days since I’ve ramped my effort up to get myself and this kid freed. Sits in my home spinning his knife around directly in front of me, turns up the ringtone on the phone ringing relentlessly, speaks louder to customers as he directs them to meet his 14 year old runner closer and closer to my door. A dirty smirk on his face as I’m begging him to stop this with tears running down my face. Making damn sure I can see the consequences that he’ll give me if I carry on asking. Making sure I’m aware that the consequences will fall directly on my shoulders and not his. Making sure I know I’m absolutely, categorically trapped and have no way out. He laughed at me when he walked out just now and said “you didn’t need to make your life this hard you know. You just had to sit and be quiet”.

I feel sick. A deep, overwhelming sick. I cant breathe, I am crying not realising I’m doing so until one of them asks why I’m crying, and I reach up and feel my face soaked with tears.

Worse, Mr Boss Man is making the kid and the runner here during the day continue with the subtle hints of taking the blame and more threats. Rather than being sat on the sofa smoking cigarettes or on their phones engrossed in social media, they casually fiddle around with terrifying looking knives directly in my line of vision. They leave a pack of Class A drugs worth hundreds of pounds lying on my sofa. Talk loudly about who they’ve robbed and stabbed earlier that day. Describe in detail the injuries they caused, how much blood was left on their hands.

Hints, subtle threats, constant mental torture. Its worse than physical abuse you know. I’d prefer to have a knife to my neck, told to “shut the fuck up” and a backhanded slap round my face than to have this. Today I kept count of the amount of times I asked them in one form or another, to leave. 37 times in 24 hours was the total.

There have been times where Ive debated whether to start taking pictures and recording them on video. But where would I store the photos and video footage when they systematically go through my phone everyday? Internet history I can delete. Crimestoppers is anonymous- there’s no way they could ever prove the information was provided by me. Emails from a temporary email address is risky but still anonymous. It just takes too much time and once I got caught by Google’s autofill. Thankfully none of them are literate enough to know what WordPress is, and it has layers of security. I can quickly dash these blogs out sporadically when they sleep. Then just delete my entire account if need be.

Photos and videos though? Aside from where on earth to store them, my home would be identifiable should the police use them as evidence or somewhere down the line they are found by one of these dealers. That means im not just dead meat but chopped up dead meat.

The boss is coming. Ive asked matey to leave again and he is not happy.

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