Lisa hurled the lipstick at Two, who missed the catch. She heard it clatter against the wall behind her.

“Don’t ever fucking ask me for anything again, cunt!” Lisa slammed the door closed again.

“You know, you really should get that gap in your teeth fixed, hon. Your S’s whistle!” Two called, her voice all sunshine and sugar. Behind her, Molly burst into bright peals of laughter.

* * *

Her friends knew very little of Two’s new life. Rhes, Sarah, Sid; light that she used sometimes to drive away the dark. Darren, the epitome of kindness, gave each girl two days of the month off. Two’s were the first and third Sunday, and she typically spent them at Sid’s. She would take the drug early, letting most of its effects wear off before arriving at the bar. She didn’t want them to know. She didn’t want anyone to know.

They still suspected. Her visits were too infrequent, yet too regular, for them to believe that she was “just busy.” Yet whenever Rhes attempted to learn where she’d been, what she was doing for money, where the bags under her eyes had come from, the air went immediately cold. Two’s expression would forbid further discussion, and Rhes, for all his kindness, could not stand to hurt Two in so blatant a manner. He couldn’t interrogate her.

Eventually, the questions stopped.

Two felt sure that they knew of her occupation. She thought that Sarah would have guessed by now, even if Rhes was busy trying to fool himself. What was the most logical way for a young girl to survive on the street? Why would she give no information about it?

She desperately hoped they didn’t suspect the drugs. Of this, far more than giving strangers the use of her body, Two was ashamed. To be enslaved so fully by something so darkly and desperately evil. Horror masquerading as bliss, disease and decay and death hiding behind a porcelain visage of joy. When the drug ran new through her veins, Two felt as if all problems had ceased to exist. When it ebbed at its lowest, suicidal depression threatened to overwhelm her.

It grew worse. Two had begun skipping visits even to Sid’s, choosing instead to spend the day in this bliss, this forgetfulness, this floating white. Seeing Rhes and Sarah together depressed her. Seeing Sid, Tina the waitress, Dan the other bouncer, free to live their lives as they chose, slave only to their own whims and desires; it was terribly beautiful to Two, and she was beginning to abhor this beauty. She was beginning to hate those she so desperately wanted to love.

For their part, Rhes and Sarah knew more than they let on, only because they understood how badly this knowledge would hurt Two. They were sure about the profession, had strong suspicions about the drug. Were it within their means, they would gladly have lifted Two up and stolen her away from the life she had fallen into. Their resources were too small. There was no money to support her withdrawal, or enter her into a clinic, particularly given that such an act would likely procure wrath from sources they were unfamiliar with.

So they observed, horrified, as Two began to fall apart in front of them. Her naturally light skin became sickly pallor, bags formed under her eyes, her voice fell to flat monotone. Worst by far was the expression of complete apathy. Two’s body moved, her mouth formed sentences, but her eyes were dead.

Sarah wanted to confront her, at least to have the truth. This was one of the few areas in which Rhes had ever denied her. He’d known Two far longer, lived with her, understood her. She was killing herself, but the process would only be accelerated if they alienated her. Better to try and find a solution. Better to watch her die slowly than make it happen all at once. That was their line of thinking.

Two might have thought differently.

* * *

It took Darren a moment to remember to sneer when Two entered the room, a sure sign that she had impressed him. Two stood before him, letting him survey her appearance. This was customary for Darren’s top-tier girls.

“Not too fuckin’ bad. Lose the purse.”

Two tilted her head, surprised. Darren was fond of purses, liked his girls to carry them even if they had nothing to carry. He said they were classy.

“Client wants you to leave it here. That shirt tight enough? It’s starting to get cold out, and the client wants