of thought, and decided it likely was not.

She took with her very little when she finally left. She had very little to take. Trinkets, clothes, shoes… these things meant nothing to her, as during life her mother could never be bothered to pass down any of the traditional, societal definitions of womanhood. Could never be bothered with her daughter at all, really, nor with her husband. Two had learned by herself about womanhood, in back alleys and cheap motels, years after her mother had died. Her education handed down by what men told her to be, what they told her to do. Promises of love, drops of blood on the sheets.

When that didn’t work, when she realized she could be more than this, it came as an epiphany. A rare glimpse of sunlight in an otherwise dark life. She’d left her father, apoplectic with desire and dismay and alcohol-fueled rage. She’d left behind their hole of an apartment. She could do better on her own.

And she had, for a time.

Pool was easy, the angles naturally making sense to her. Slipping into a bar even easier. New York City cops had far better things to worry about. Bouncers knew it, owners knew it, and a patron was a patron. Particularly short, pretty blondes with good legs and a cute face. The type of girl who could entice an entire crowd of rowdy young men to stick around for more drinks, dropping dollar after dollar into pool tournaments that, invariably, they lost.

She didn’t go home with these men, though many had asked, and in the end this factored into her undoing. Descent and rebirth, and descent and rebirth again. These men could not understand her, or why she spurned them. She’d leave them with a knowing smile, standing dismayed in the street. Sometimes she kissed them lightly, thanked them for their interest, but always with that mischievous gleam in her eyes, that sardonic grin on her face. The look that proved that, regardless of pretty words, she took vicious pleasure in walking away.

It was power, and Two reveled in it. The ability to make men throw their money, their bodies, their hearts at her. Lots of men. Lots of bars. She walked away from every one… walked away grinning her savage grin. For eight months Two lived, celibate as a nun, feeding on the hearts of men.

Eventually they tired of it. Patrons began complaining. Bouncers began carding. Bets around the pool table, even when Two could manage to enter the bar in the first place, dried up. People had heard of her. Two was forced to give up the pool earnings, and her tiny studio apartment with the mattress on the floor, the only piece of furniture she owned.

One bar remained, the only one at which she’d allowed herself to develop friends. The owner, Sid. The bouncer, Rhes. She didn’t play her game here. She didn’t taunt the men, break their hearts. It was here she went when she wanted a glass of beer and a conversation. It was here she turned now, desperate for somewhere to stay. Rhes offered the use of his apartment. Two didn’t decline the offer.

Her relationship with Rhes was entirely platonic. This surprised her; surprised both of them. Two was attractive, young, charming. Rhes was in his mid-twenties, with a powerful build and a handsome face. Two would have broken her celibacy for him, if he’d asked. Sometimes she wished he would. Rhes never did, and Two came to realize that he could not. He knew her age. He knew her past. It would have felt like taking advantage of her, regardless of her own willingness.

After nearly eighteen months of living with Two, Rhes had been forced to turn her out. His relationship with a young woman named Sarah was progressing toward a romantic stage, and he didn’t feel right living with an eighteen year old homeless girl. Eventually, ironically, Sarah would not only come to understand the situation, but reiterate Rhes’s offer from two years before. But by then it was too late. By then Darren, and the needle, had hold of her. For better or for worse, it would change her life forever.

* * *

“Please, Darren…” Two whimpered.

Darren, towering above her, the bag still in his hand, the sneer on his face half grin, half expression of disgust. She could see this excited him, plain as day. To her own surprise, she found that she couldn’t blame him for it. Two knew the aphrodisiac of