Thursday

”Hello, lover. What took you so long?”

Z walked up to her without a word, grabbing the phone from her hand and swiping it open. After a few
minutes silence he jabbed it in front of her face, the “Recents” illuminating the screen. To the number
that wasn’t his.

“Who’s this?”

“Oh. That was Nichole. She’s been covering for me at Anacapri.”

It wasn’t until she looked down she saw how long she’d been on the phone, well over an hour. With the
mood he was in, it would behoove her to elaborate.

“She’s a friend. She was worried. I really hadn’t realized we’d been talking so long.”

“Not your man, huh? Haven’t been chatting him up lately?”

“No, I haven’t. It’s was Nichole Salazar. Dial it. Go ahead.”

He handed her back the phone.

“No need. You’re smart enough to have deleted those calls. I’d be disappointed if you made it too easy
for me.”

“Okaaay.”

From the look on his face, it was clear she was walking a fine line.

“I’m sorry I didn’t pick up when you called. I had no idea I’d be talking with her that long. I tried to call
you, too, you know, and you didn’t pick up either. But at least I bothered to leave a message.”

His voice could have frozen the whole of the Atlantic outside his door. “I don’t think you want to talk to
me that way, cowgirl.”

Oh boy, he was really pissed then. That was the only time “cowgirl” entered his vocabulary.

“No, I really don’t want to talk to you like that. I’m sorry.”

His eyes still pinned her to the floor.

She wanted to sigh but didn’t. She really didn’t want to deal with this. The moodiness, and over things
that were his own damn fault. He was worse than Colin sometimes.

Then it hit her. Colin. He’d met with Colin today.

“So…it didn’t go well, then?”

“What do you mean?”

Oh boy. She really, really didn’t want to deal but she was clearly to have no choice. “You know.”
“I don’t.”

She arrested the eye roll.

Eye roll, bad. Eye roll, no. Not right now.

“Z, I really don’t…”

“Your man. Is that what you mean?”

Her man.

She went with a light sigh.

“Colin. Yes.”

“Had that name right on the tip of your tongue, didn’t you?”

The crudity of it dripped of Z’s question, as if her ex’s—whether he realized the change in his status yet
or not--name was a Tijuana sex act. The effect was intentional too, she had little doubt.

“I don’t know the details of your conversation today, nor do I want to. What happened between you
two doesn’t involve me. What does involve me, well, I’ll just lay it out. I’m done with Colin. He put me in
a bad position, and there’s no way I want him back. Okay?”

“A “bad position”, huh.”

“Yes. A bad position. Did you not get your money, then? So how much are you selling me for, again?"

“$21,000, peach. That’s what your man cheated me. Plus $4000 in I don’t break-your-thieving-fingers
fees.”

Well, he’d finally irritated her, and she had no intention of disguising it any longer. Fair was far. Z was in
a shit mood; why shouldn’t she get to be, too? “Okay, $25,000. So is that what he paid you? I’m free to
go now?”
“You’ve been keeping me good company, princess. I let your man know how contented you’ve been
keeping me. He wants you, that’s gonna cost extra.”

“Great. So how much am I worth to you?”

“Another $20,000.”

She thought her eyes would pop out of her face like a Looney Tunes character.

“You’re crazy. So I guess I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Is that what you think?”

“That’s crazy money, Z. That’s just…I get you want to rub his face in it, but he doesn’t have that kind of
money. And even if he did…” She laughed, with little humor.

“He took the deal, darlin’. He jumped at that deal.”

She gaped, laughed again.

"He wants you back bad, princess. Why you think that is?"

“Honesty, Z, I have no idea what’s gotten into either you.”

“That’s not an answer. Come on now. What is it?”

She turned away from him, not bothering to answer.

"Ah, a little blush there, eh? What is it? He just love you that much, eh?"
Such mockery in his voice, she thought. Nastiness, pure nastiness. She hated this side of him.

"Maybe."

"Naw, I know the type. Your Collie Dawg ain't loyal unless you give him something extra juicy to gnaw
on. What is it?"

She turned her back on him completely.

His hand clamped around her shoulder, forcing her to face him. "C'mon on now. You got me interested.
You got some talents I ain't discovered yet?"

He ran his free hand over her butt, then cupped and lifted.

She used both hers to push him off.

"Stop it."

Even in his fury he was a beautiful man. She watched as he ran his tongue over the sensual curve of his
lower lip, like she wished she could do now, instead of listening to this senseless bullshit.

"C'mon peach, what is it? I haven't pushed you hard enough yet? Haven't gotten to the bone, eh?"

But maybe not. She had her limits, and she’d reached it. She jerked her body away, putting a few feet
between them.

He watched her go and inclined his head. "I like it so far, don't get me wrong. But that I come begging
for it? That I'd give up my gold? Now I gotta know, 'coz I been wondering what you been holdin' out on
me? What I gotta do for it?"
Her voice was low and venomous. "Fuck off."

"I'm thinking, maybe it's not me in your ass, but you up in his? That it? Hand? Mouth?"

She closed the distance between them and pushed him, with all the force she could muster.

He didn’t even budge. Instead, he grabbed her forearms.

"See, maybe that's it, right there. That fire in you now. Been getting you the wrong kind of heated,
maybe?”

He let go of her and stepped back. “Go on, take some shots at me. Maybe I'll like it. Maybe that's what
ol' Collie Dawg’s got thirst for. Maybe you got magic in those little fists."

“Maybe you’ll find out.”

He gave her a mean, sly look. “Maybe I will.” Then a meaner suggestive smile. “I’m looking forward to it,
peach. Believe that. Right now though, right now I want you to make a call.”

“To who?” She huffed. She was so tired of this. “Jesus. I can’t believe…”

“I want you to call your man.”

She pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed.

“What game are we playing now?”

“No game, princess. Call him.”

“Why?”
“Because he misses you.”

“You’re being a real ass, and I don’t know why. I don’t want to play along though. I’m not interested in
this.”

“Call your man.”

“No. I told you, I didn’t and…”

“Peach. Pick up your little banana phone and call him.”

“No.”

He gave her another of his mean, nasty smiles. The threat was implicit.

“Do what you’re told.”

She took a deep, silent inhale. Her heart was pounding.

“No.”

His instantly dropped the menace. His demeanor remained calm but so cold. She wasn’t sure less
emotion was really an improvement. It certainly didn’t make her feel better.

“We made a deal, me and your Collie Dawg. He wants to know you’re still alive.”

“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”

She pulled up the number long in disuse, looking over at Z nervously. He was watching her like a hawk,
trained on her every expression. His look was a raptor, and she dared not look too long away in case it
was his opening to strike.

“Yes, it’s me. Yes, I’m fine.”

She glanced over at Z’s scowling face. “I’m fine, really. No, I’m not. He…no, I’m fine.” Z’s eyes burned
into her. “I’m fine. Really. I…Please, we can talk about that later.”

She wasn’t sure how long Z was going to let her talk. Not long, probably. Mercifully, not long, she hoped.
She couldn’t listen to this, not now. Colin’s apologies. His pleading. His tears.

“It’s okay. I’m not…I’m not angry, okay? I…I have to go, okay?”

She was shaking but trying not to. Z said nothing.

“Colin, please. I do forgive you. I do.” Her voice lowered to a whisper.

Her throat tightened. Her chest ached. She didn’t want to cry. The conversation was painful, awkward. It
was torture. She was sure the man glaring at her was relishing her pain as much as he hated her for it.

“I have to go, okay? I…Colin, please. I…I love you, too.”

She hit “end call”.

Her hands were trembling, she noticed. She wasn’t sure what to do with the phone.

Z took it from her. He put inside his coat. The inner pocket. She’d probably never see it again.
“He just loves you that much, pussy, don’t he?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. She did not, would not have this conversation with him.

“He just love you that much when I’ve been balls deep in every part of you. Now you’re a lying bitch,
granted, but you weren’t faking how good it was, peach.”

Her face burned. Her voice was soft, so soft she hoped it would hide her own tears.

“I never lied to you.”

He snorted, he sneered. She couldn’t bear to watch.

“You sure do blow hot and cold, darlin’. Mostly cold though. Heh. You got all the makings of those stone
cold bitches I love so much. I love ‘em, but I don’t trust em’ not to pick my pocket or put a bullet in the
back of my head.”

Love.

She wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not in front of him.

There was pleading in her voice. She couldn’t stop it. She knew there would be no mercy from him.

“I can’t with you. You know why.”

And there was none.

“Tell me, princess. Let me hear it from those sweet, double-dealing lips.”
Her voice was breaking, along with every other part of her.

“We’ve talked about it. Why dredge it up again?

“Tell me.”

“Z, please. I’m…I’m not trying to start a fight. You know…” She took a deep inhale, hoping to arrest the
flood of emotion inside her. “You know how I feel, could, with you. I…it’s not you, okay? It’s not you.
We’re just too different.”

No compassion, no empathy. Just his silky viciousness. His teasing derision.

“Different? What’s that mean?”

“Different! Just different. And anyway, is it that surprising? I feel comfortable around Colin. We’re been
together 6 years, okay?”

“You and ol’ Colin are alike, huh? Got a lot in common. That it?”

She seized on her frustration. It was a lifeline. It made her feel less helpless.

“I’m comfortable around him; that’s it! I’ve never had to pretend to be someone else when I’m with
him.”

There was menace in Z’s voice. That silky, nasty, menace.

“Something else, huh?”

She blinked slowly, holding it for as long as she could without drawing comment, and shifted her weight
from one leg to another.
"You do this, you try to force me to..."

"Force you to what?"

"To say things I don't want to say! Things I don't even mean. But you push, and push..." She shifted her
body weight again, settling into what seemed a more stable stance.

“Why are we talking about this? It’s not like you care, not really? You’re just in a shit mood and want to
take it out on me.”

“You worry about that, peach? Me taking it out on you?”

“You really should, sincerely, Z, just shut up.”

He approached her, his stride all purposefulness and aggression. He wanted to cow her. He wouldn’t.

“You think that’s how I do?”

“At this point, I don’t even give a shit.”

He smiled, a nasty smile, coming closer.

“Think I’m gonna put hands on you, darlin’?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you, no.”

He laughed out loud.

“I thought that was what you’re gonna do to me, princess. Come on now. Lay me up, darlin’. Lay me out
with them little fists.”

“I’d like to.”

“Go on, girl. Get it. I’m right here.” He gestured with both hands, urging her forward.

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Fists, darlin’. Not your mouth. Not yet.”

She balled her hands and her face went red. She hated this, hated it. Pushing, pushing, to get a reaction.
For her to show emotion when he’d show none. For her to look ridiculous if she did. For her to cry, when
it was anger, not sadness, not yet. Crying in anger, so he could mock her. Her father, all over again.

“So you can laugh at me? So you can hit me back?”

“Oh, babygirl. I’d never lay hands on that pretty face.”

When he touched her cheek, she batted him away.

“Fuck you, Z. You want to see me angry, okay. I’m angry. I’m really fucking angry! I’ll do it, too. I’ve been
in fights before. I had an older brother.”

“Do it, baby. I’m right here.”

Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking. She tried to inhale slowly through her nose,
controlled. Controlled sniffling before it became tears.

His voice dropped. His smooth, slow honey voice. He bent down towards her, lips close enough to kiss.
“Do me, baby.”

She did, hand drawn back, with everything she had. It landed like a gunshot.

Her palm was on fire. She tried to clench and unclench to ease away the burn. She had no idea what it’d
done to him. When she looked at him, she couldn’t see anything. A darkening of his eyes. A closing of his
face.

He leaned down towards her again.

“I’ve had better, darlin’.”

She couldn’t speak, just a strangled, incoherent uttering of fury.

“Got anything more for daddy, sugar? Closed fists this time?”

She was tempted to fly at him, to do it. She wouldn’t, though. It’d just be another source of mockery for
him. Instead, she brought her hand up to brush the hair back from her eyes, then down under her nose.

“Maybe you’re right about me and Colin. You want that? Closed fist? That what you like, too?”

He smiled, a broad, toothy grin. Maybe it was genuine. She couldn’t tell.

“Be explicit, pussy. I wanna hear you say it.”

She bit her lip. He wanted to hear it. She could do that. She didn’t care anymore.

“I’ll put my fist up your ass. Sugar.”

The grin grew even wider. His hands went back around the side of her face. She didn’t smack them away
this time. He yanked her to him, to his mouth, nearly lifting her off the ground.

She responded. It was more a duel than a kiss. Stabbing, fighting. Her hands closed over the top of his.
She dug her fingers into his, peeling them back.

He let her go.

“You like that, Z? I hope so, because that’s all you’re getting.”

He laughed. Maybe genuine, but she still wasn’t sure.

“I’m assed out, huh?’

She wasn’t sure what he meant, but she wasn’t going to ask. She just nodded, with a singular jerk of her
head.

His voice was a snarl. “I don’t think so. Lover.”

Neither of their hands were tender then. Dueling not just with their tongues, but every part of their
bodies. His hands were in her hair, and since he had none for her reciprocate, it was her nails, down his
back and over his ass. He hissed but didn’t tell her to stop. His grip in her tresses pulled her with little
gentleness towards the bedroom.

She landed palms down on the edge of the mattress, and when he withdrew his grip she turned on him.

“You motherfucker!”

His hands were at her top, tugging. Silk, delicate as spun sugar. It was going to tear. He didn’t care. He’d
bought it. His money. He could do what he wanted. To it. To her.
 The tears were in her voice, the rage, the impotence. “He’ll kill you!”

He laughed in her face, his breath hot against her.

“Collie Dawg? He gonna do that? Oh, honey bee. Oh, darlin’, I’d rather see that bullet coming
from you.”

She went for his eyes. He wasn’t laughing now. He turned his head, dodging her slashes until he
could get a firm hold of her wrists. It took no more than seconds.

“Gonna have to trim them claws, kitten.”

“Fuck you!”

His husky, honey voice, as darkly sensuous as it’d ever been.

“Oh yeah, girl. Ol’ Collie ain’t paying that $20K for nothing, is he?”

She thought her lungs would burst. She could barely get the words out, and it hurt.

“Fuck you!”

“Ol’ Collie Dawg thinks he gonna cheat me again. I made that ‘shut-your-mouth’ offer, only he
jumped on that, peach. He snapped his jaws on it right quick. Collie Dawg wanting the best bone of his
life back, and I low-balled him. I low-balled that like a chump, didn’t I, sugar? I got played by your man.”

“I hate you!”

“Uh huh. You hate me. You love me. You love him. You hate me again.”
 He made a low whistle. It sounded obscene.

“Hot and cold, sugar. Daddy likes it hot though. Give it to him hot.”

Her eyes not leaving his, she hissed, “Let go of me.”

He did. Her claws were unsheathed, and she went for his shirt. She’d rip that, too. Take that
from him, one of his precious Italian dress shirts that cost more than hers.

She scratched. She kicked. He loved it, and it made her fight even harder. She’d hurt him if she
could, which she couldn’t. But she could damn well try.

He kept pinning her down. She kept bucking him off. His hands were in her hair, she dug her
nails into every part of him. He’s was loving it, all of it. Why wouldn’t he? He knew she could never get
the better of him anyway, and he loved making sure she knew it, too. Proving it to her, over and over.

She hated it. She hated him. But she loved it as much as he did.

Z. Sway.

He was the fucking man.

He was the fucking world.

That’s what she saw when she looked down on him. Everything, there in his face. The set of his mouth,
crafted with a master’s brush, but made to devour and be devoured. His proud, perfect nose—he could
say what he wanted, but that nose had never been broken, never touched, not by human hands. His
eyes, and what lay behind them. A king, a conqueror, a lion. They rested on her, as solid as any physical
contact. Lids lowering in his passion, his tongue flashing over the fullness of his lower lip.

His hands locked over the swell of her hips. She rode him, and he filled every part of her.
They moved together, breathed together, as one.

The sounds they made were animal.

Panting.

Words forming between the exhalations.

“Mhmm…that’s right baby. Right there, sugar…Mhmm…Give it to me like you do your Collie Dawg. Give
me that 20K pussy…”

And like that, it was gone. She pulled away from him. It must have surprised him, because she slid out of
a grip that’d felt unbreakable mere seconds before.

He caught her, pulling her back astride him.

“No.”

“What?”

“No. I…” She wriggled loose. She struggled to catch her breath, to form sounds into a whisper.

“Behind. From behind.”

“Why?”

She didn’t answer. Their skin was so slick with sweat it was easy to flit away, to push aside his embrace.
She went down on all fours and struggled to hold the position against his attempts to reclaim her. They
fought, more animal than they had before, two wills against the other, with stakes as high as to
consume and not couple.

He was the one to finally concede.

“Fuck this,” he growled. He mounted her, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. It
wasn’t passion; it was fury, and they both knew it. He knew now the ‘why’ of it he’d asked before; they
both did.

It’s not you.

They came together, though there was no release.

She felt the weight on the bed alter as he moved away from her and stood up. Shower, the
same routine, only this time she heard a muttered, “Bitch” under his breath.

She laid still as the minutes passed, waiting for his return. When he did, nothing further was
spoken. He chose the farthest side of the mattress, not touching her.

She remained still. She tried to modulate her respiration to some kind of stasis. It wasn’t enough
to prevent the heaviness from settling in her chest.

“I’m sorry.”

She would have turned, could have, she supposed, if it would have changed anything between
them. Placed her open hand against his lower back, saying the things she had no words for, as she
usually did.

There was no response, just one low grunt.

She wasn’t sure he’d heard her, or cared.

Friday
When she woke up in the morning she wasn’t surprised to find his side of the sheets cold. She glanced at
the clock: just after 9:00 AM.

She could hear him out in the living room. Sounded like…Bobby Womack. She wasn’t sure what that
music prefigured. Could go either way, she supposed.

Well, she had to face him eventually. That was guys for you: you better be ready to take the good and
the bad. Or the good, the bad and the worse, and last night had been hitting on all 6.

She sighed.

Z had been moodier than usual of late. PMS: Petulant male shithead. She knew that time of the month
all too well. With Colin, it’d been that time of the month all month long.

She walked into the living room, with a discreet look-see at the man. On the computer, again. Any
conversation, or any attempt at one, could wait until she’d had a shower.

Under a rain shower head.

Now that was something worth dealing with Z’s moods for. That, and another high-rise beachfront
condo luxury: water that never ran cold.

She didn’t know that much Bobby Womack, so she stuck with what she did:

Across 110th Street

Woman trying to catch a trick on the street

Across 110th Street

You can find it all in the street…

The water was helping pound the soreness from last night away.

Pounding.

Well, there was some body memory for her. Because that was what that’d been. She winced lathering
and rinsing between her legs. That was also something they’d probably needed to talk about, assuming
they were indeed still talking to each other.

As she toweled off she saw the little dots of red and purple, from Z’s pokey damn fingertips. True, she
hadn’t told him to ease up, but still, he should have known better. She tossed the damp towel on the
floor with a grimace. Let him pick it up; that’s for the bruises, asshole.

Aggressive, meet my passive-aggressive.

She combed through her hair, tousled it. She slid the corner window a few inches open and let the soft
ocean breeze caress her body with a more delicate touch than she’d gotten last night.

Whatever headache or heartache was going on in her own life, Miami mornings didn’t care. Another
damn day in paradise. Definitely sundress weather. She slipped the airy floral print over her head and
reached for her dial-a-pill.
Wait, where…? What…? It had to be here. She pawed through the items in her makeup bag with
increasing urgency. Chapstick, nail file, hairbrush all clattered on the tile.

Where was it?

It had to be…

What the fuck?

She surveyed the mess out on the counter.

They weren’t there.

But they were there, inside the case, the day before. She didn’t play around with those pills. Same place,
every day, same time, every day…

She stalked out in to the living room. Her eyes bored holes into the man.

He didn’t look her way. And she knew, she knew. It was him.

Her voice was barely controlled. “Where are they?”

No response.

“You have them. You have them, don’t you?”

He didn’t even acknowledge her.

She advanced to his desk, planting herself in front of him. Impossible to ignore.

“Where are they?”

All she got was the soft clack of the keyboard.

She felt the anger rising in her like a red tide. Up her chest, throat, lapping at the edge of her eyeballs.

Down her arms, into her hands, racing through her fingers.

“Look at me, goddamnit!”

Nothing.

She balled the fire into fists. The first one landed against his back, the next on his arm, and when he
turned towards her, his chest. They weren’t landing with even a fraction of the fury she felt, which only
heightened her frustration.

He seized her wrists.

“Sorry, darlin’. I’m not in the mood right now. Try again later.”

No words came out of her mouth, just inchoate fury.

“What? You afraid of something? What you so afraid of, sugar?”

She fought, but he held her tight, controlling her.

“I’ve had enough, Z! Enough of your shitty moods, your…”

“You’re finally full up with the fever, huh?”

“Yes, exactly! I’m so over your bullshit! Over and done!”

He let her go.

“You wanna call up your man? Have him come and get you?”

“It’s none of your business who I’ll fucking call. Just give me my cell already.”

He reached into the top desk drawer and held out her garish canary yellow phone. And it was ugly, it
struck her. This man had the ability to make everything about herself ugly.

“Might be in for a surprise, sugar. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She turned on him.

“So what do you want to throw in my face now? Go ahead!”

“You’ve had your fun, but now you’re used goods, honey bee.”

“Oh, fuck you.” She swiped her phone open and began scrolling down the contract numbers. She wasn’t
quite sure who she was going to call yet. She couldn’t think straight; every brain cell was vibrating.

“You’re gonna see what happens to precious little white girls that fuck black men. Like driving that shiny
new car once around the block; your value has depreciated quicker than a cat 5 hurricane.”

“We’re back to that, huh? Whatever, Z.” She rolled her eyes, not caring if he took it as an insult. It was.
He deserved.

He chuckled, with all the humor of a dying puppy. “Think your Collie Dawg’s gonna want you when you
get fat sprouting a black man’s seed?”

She dropped the phone and whipped around to face him.

“What. The. Fuck?”

He smirked. That same beautiful, nasty, smile that spoke more to hatred than amusement. She wished it
didn’t hurt so damn much, that she’d ever thought…She did a mental shake, trying not to tear up.

“Why are you this way? You do this, deliberately. You want to hurt me. Why? I’ve never done anything
to you.”

“You never did anything to me? That what you believe, eh? Well, peach, you did do one thing…that one
little thing so many times I can’t count them all.”

He reached to smooth his hand over her hair. She flinched from his touch.

“Mmmm… You know nature gonna take its course with that, princess.”

“Just give me my pills back, okay? Just give them back, and I’ll go. You don’t want me here. You’ve never
wanted me.”
His expression didn’t alter. He went on as if he hadn’t heard her.

“What you gonna do with a little black baby, darlin’? You thought about that? Oh, the shame of it.”

Her hands shook.

“Oh darlin’, I don’t mean no beautiful little mixed-race baby you white girls are always cooing over. I
mean a black baby, sugar. You look at me—and I got a surprise---I got black in me. I mean, BLACK. Africa
black. What’ll you say when that little African baby comes out of you?”

“I don’t want a baby, you’re right. But it’s not you. It’s never been you.”

“You think your milk white genes gonna soften up mine? Naw, peach. My black gonna eat yours right up.
Black. No doubt. BLACK. Motherland Black.”

Her eyes were wet, and she could feel them spilling over.

“Z, please stop. Please stop.”

He snorted.

“Naw, that’d never happen, would it? Oh, you can fix that right up, can’t you? Oh, that's easy. Abort,
abort, abort. Rip that kid out, toss that kid out with the biological waste.”

“Stop, please. I wouldn’t…I don’t…”

She covered her face. He immediately seized on her hands, pulling them back.

“Oh, no, miss sugar. I’m not gonna make it that easy for you. I’ll make you have that baby. Make you
look at him. Make you look at him like you couldn’t fucking look at me last night. Like you didn’t wanna
see me.”

His voice was louder, or felt louder, and she wanted to cower away, tried to, but he wouldn’t let her go.
She was crying, and she couldn’t stop.

“Now what you gonna do the first time your little black baby comes crying to you when someone calls
him a n****r?"

It was worse than if he’d slapped her. Than if he’d physically punched her in the face. Ugly, so ugly, but
no profanity could be that ugly, nothing could be. She clutched her stomach, feeling like she was going
to be sick.

“Stop, please stop! Oh my god…Z, please…”

“Naw, you couldn't handle that, could you? Couldn't keep up that little color-blind fantasy world you live
in, could you? Yeah, you’re color-blind alright, ‘coz you don’t want to see color, peach. Couldn’t be
color-blind looking down at your little black baby. Naw, you wouldn't keep my baby, would you? Would
you?”

His grip around her tightened. It hurt. It hurt all over.

“Would you?”
It came out more a moan than a word.

“No….”

“What would you do, princess? Go on, I wanna hear you say it.”

And she did, between the tears.

“Give it away. Okay?” He’d loosened his grip enough for her to pull one hand free and run it under her
nose. “Okay?”

He snorted again, and his voice came harder, louder.

“Give it away, or throw it? Throw it away?”

She bent her head down and winced, trying to shrink into herself.

"Yes, yes..."

“What I thought.”

He let go completely, tossing her arms away and driving her back. He reached into his pocket and tossed
something her way.

She looked down. Her pills.

She picked them up and flew into the bathroom. She removed the day’s dose and swallowed. The little
pink circle cut its way down her throat.

She studied herself in the mirror. Her face was blotchy red, eyes scrunched up and swollen. She was
ugly. Everything about her was ugly.

Her knees buckled, and she just managed to seize the edge of the marble counter as she fell into a
crouch.

She sobbed.