Forced to have sex with strangers christina o’connor, 32, lost her childhood after she was groomed, beaten and trafficked

Tearing across the grass, my ponytail streaming in the wind and my schoolbag slapping against my arm, I ran as fast as I could.

‘Quick, Tina!’ yelled my friend, as we fled from the school, down a lane.

It was 2005 and until recently I’d been a well-behaved child, never naughty or late. But then I’d started secondary school and become the target of merciless bullies, taunting me for my puppy fat.

By 13, I couldn’t take any more, and some days – like today – I’d go to registration in the morning before escaping across the school field with a friend. For a few months it was fun, hanging around Huddersfield with nobody noticing I was playing truant. Until one morning in 2005.

I was waiting for the bus with a friend, when three men in their 20s approached us offering us cigarettes. I took one and when they suggested meeting later, I was flattered at the attention.

That evening, after telling my parents I was meeting friends, me and my school friend sat in a car by the park, the men gave me more cigarettes and vodka, and I felt so grown up. A man called Pretos seemed to be the leader of the group and when I said my goodbyes at 7pm, he smiled and told me he’d see me tomorrow.

The next evening, I lied to my parents again and jumped into a car with Pretos and his friends, the music blaring as we swigged vodka and smoked cannabis.

It felt great having grown-up friends, yet I was always coming home late, drunk, and while they didn’t know who I’d been with, my parents were furious and it led to huge rows. ‘What’s got into you?’ they cried.

It didn’t matter if they grounded me, I’d just sneak out anyway. Three months on, Pretos invited me to a party. Inside the terraced house, the air was thick with smoke. Middle-aged men sat chatting to other teen girls like me. Then someone slipped a pill into my hand, so I glugged it back with booze. But I blacked out and when I came to, I was on a mattress, with Pretos tugging down my jeans.

‘No!’ I slurred.

But my head was too fuzzy to fight as he raped me. After, I pulled on my clothes, stumbled downstairs and somehow made it home. I was only 13 and tortured myself with shame, believing it was my fault.

When Pretos texted the next day, I tried to ignore him, but he hounded me until I picked up my mobile. ‘I’m outside your house,’ he