power. Hadn’t she played with it for years before arriving in her present situation?

“You were a bad girl,” Darren growled. Two repeated his words, agreed with him, petulant, breath hitching. But now the tears were drying. She thought she knew how best to resolve this. Was her lower limp trembling just a bit more than necessary? Were her eyes just a bit bigger?

“I was a bad girl,” Two said again, and arched her back, drawing out the words like warm honey on her tongue.

Pain flashed across her face, sudden, explosive, unexpected. Two recoiled from the blow. Darren’s expert delivery rarely left marks, but it hurt no less than any other slap.

“Don’t play that shit with me, girl.”

Two looked up at him, sniffling. The slap had brought fresh tears to her eyes, and she blinked them away.

“Say you’re sorry, and meant it.” Darren looked down at her like a dark king, and Two realized that this had been just another in a long series of lessons. Darren was in control. Darren was the boss. Darren was God, dispensing pleasure and pain at his whim.

“I’m sorry, Darren.” Two meant it. No tears, now. No hysterics. Just rapid breathing, clenched teeth. The need was a tight ball in her stomach. She tried not to look at the heroin. She tried to look at the windows, the clock on the desk, anything else. Again and again her eyes returned to the bag.

“Take it and get out.” Darren tossed the bag into a corner, and turned to his ledgers. Two scrambled after it on all fours, like the dog Darren had trained her to be. By the time she was out the door, calling her thanks after her, Darren had forgotten entirely about her.

Her roommate’s name was Molly. The girl had been in the business for fourteen months, a fact which repulsed Two whenever she gave it even a moment’s thought. Molly was a sweet, honest, quiet girl. She had become wrapped up with the wrong people. These people had led her to heroin, and heroin had led her to Darren. Darren had led her to the clients, of which there were many. Molly was an absolute premium, the Rolls Royce of Darren’s line of whores. Even after fourteen months, she was still the youngest girl in his service; only twelve. Her work earned more in a weekend than most earned in a month.

Two believed she didn’t think about this, but looking at the bags under Molly’s eyes on a Sunday morning when the little girl returned, tired and often bruised, to shoot up and go to sleep, was like a physical force hammering on her. They’d shared a sister-like relationship at first, but Two had been forced to establish some distance after a nightmarish group-job they’d been ordered to perform. This had happened occasionally since, and perhaps the most horrifying thing about the events was the way in which Two had become inured to them.

She and Molly were popular, as individuals and as a group. Two, with her large eyes, upturned nose, and small breasts, could pass for much younger than she really was. She received the clients who wanted to fuck a twelve year old, but still retained some sort of conscience, some semblance of a soul. Molly’s clients, as far as Two could gather, had no soul at all.

Sweet lips, big blue eyes, long brown hair tucked back in a ponytail, Molly was swinging her legs over the edge of her bed, watching Two. Her client had backed out tonight, but as he’d pre-paid, Darren had treated Molly to a night off. She had absolutely nothing to do and this, compared to her normal nights, was bliss.

Two cooked the heroin, pulled down her pants, and pushed away her underwear, exposing the joint between thigh and pelvis. She still shot up here, a remnant of the days when she’d hoped to escape, the days when she was still concerned about needle tracks. She had no qualms about exposing herself in front of Molly. How could she? Molly, in turn, was not the slightest bit phased as Two slid the needle into her skin, pressed the plunger, set the syringe on the dresser.

The effect of the fix was near-instantaneous, as always. First the burst of pleasure, warm and pulsing like an orgasm. Vision blurred, muscles relaxing, Two seemed to float off into a cloud of euphoria. She laid back on the bed, hands crossed behind her head, and heard Molly speak as if from