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Tilly. It was a new sound for me. I could tell he liked it.
    “Heroin?” he asked. “You got some?”
    I knew by the way he asked that he wouldn’t actually do any . . . but he’d be happy to watch and then he’d take me, making the destruction complete.
    I shook my head and gently grabbed hold of his jacket, moving my hand down the jagged open edge of the zipper all the way to the very bottom, which fell below his waist. I let the back of my hand brush against his jeans and felt the evidence of his building desire. His need for me mirrored the need of an addict.
    “I know a guy,” I whispered. My menthol cigarette was still in my hand. I had only brought it to my lips twice and the neglect had turned it into a cinder, both dangerous and eerie.
    “You want me to buy for you?” he asked. “Why would I do that?”
    I swallowed and breathed in the smoke. “I got the money,” I said. “But the guy who sells . . . I owe him a little more than what’s in my wallet, ya know? So . . . if you could help me . . .” Again my hand brushed against his jeans. He was staring at my bra, watching my chest rise and fall, wondering if it was the drugs or desire that made each breath so shallow. “I’ll give you the money for the score.” I sucked in my cheeks, moved in an inch closer. “I’ll give you the money and so much more.”
    “Oh yeah? What exactly are you going to give me?”
    I let go of his jacket and cupped him. I let his smoke surround me, making my eyes water as I pressed my breasts against him. “Whatever you want, baby. I’ll get on my knees right here. I’ll fuck you in an alley . . . in a cheap motel . . . You can touch me, spank me, tie me up—you can do whatever you want to me.” I leaned in farther, grazed my teeth against his earlobe. “You wanna fuck me with a cigar? Or just your cock?” I rubbed my hand up and down. “It’s big, isn’t it?” I looked up into his eyes, let my cigarette fall to the pavement. “Whatever you want to do to me . . . I’ll like it,” I whispered. “I want you to use me. I want to be fucked by a stranger . . . by you . . . All you gotta do is get me the hit.”
    He had pulled back a little, tried to catch my eye . . . but I stared at the ground. I wouldn’t meet his gaze.
    “This the first time you doing this, babe? Pimping yourself out for drugs?”
    I hesitated a moment before nodding.
    “But you’re doing it now, so you must be jonesing something serious,” he said. “And when we’re done you’ll feel even worse than you do now because then you’ll be nothing more than a cheap whore.”
    Finally I forced myself to look into his eyes. “Have you been with whores before?” I asked.
    “Yeah, a few.”
    “Did you care how they felt afterward?”
    “Not so much.”
    I took a deep breath and voiced the only question that mattered: “I told you what I’ll let you do to me. I’ve told you what I’ll do for you. Do you really care how I’ll feel afterward?”
    He reached out, stroked my cheek with his thumb. If there was a question in his voice before, the leer in his smile settled the matter. “No. I don’t care at all.”
    It’s all I needed to hear. In minutes he was following me down the street, down one alley, then another. He ignored the other pedestrians, drunk stragglers trying to weave their way home. Every few steps he reached out, touched my butt, brushed his fingers against my bra as I smiled, warming my hands in his pockets. “Soon, baby,” I promised. “Soon.”
    In minutes we were in the right place, hidden in a dark alley between two buildings staring at the dealer on the corner. “That’s him,” I whispered. “He’s got the good stuff. It makes every cell in my body come alive—I swear when I’m on it I can fly.” I took his hand, pressed the bills into his palm. “When you’re inside me we’ll fly together. I’ll be like a supernova . . . just for you . . . Whatever you