“My name is Tiffany,” she says to the girl with the blond pigtails she just watched slink out of the alley behind her. The girl with the easily tamable behavior. That makes sense. Going through hell would make anyone submissive. I’ll bet he made sure of that. “What’s your name?”

The girl doesn’t respond, only flinches against the sun, her skin so pale like a newly formed membrane.

“That’s okay, that’s okay,” Tiffany assures her again. She leans back and gives the girl a good look from head to toe. “But, fuck, what happened to you?” she asks, maintaining her grip around the girl, afraid of letting her go. Afraid she’ll bolt and afraid of her own blue-eyed reaper coming for punishment. She pulls the girl in close for inspection. “You look like you’ve been through a garbage compactor.” She takes a whiff. “Sheesh! You smell like it, too. Have you been in that alley all night? Were you alone this whole time? Did someone touch you or hurt you? Is that why you’re bleeding? Why were you digging through garbage? Are you hungry? When was the last time you had something to eat? Or a clean shower? Do you have a place to stay? And once again, where are your shoes?”

The girl stares at her, her expression paved over with thought, digesting the questions one at a time. Tiffany waits patiently as the girl tenses then settles. She can feel the tendons in her wrist pulsate in rhythm to some unheard tune. Tiffany loosens her grip, but immediately the girl grabs her hands before they collapse to her side.

“Tiffany,” the girl says, slowly, as if saying the name for the first time. Her fingers curl around Tiffany’s, feeling smooth against her tough skin.

Tiffany’s eyes search the girl’s, finding nothing but genuine curiosity. She smiles, her exhale shooting out steam from her nostrils like a dragon. “Yes . . . yes, that’s my name. Tiffany. Can you tell me yours?”

“Vanilla.”

“Oh! Vanilla? Okay, well. Interesting name. But I guess I can’t really judge.”

Tiffany is rambling; the girl watches her with indifference.

It feels like I’m fucking trying to pick her up. And failing miserably.

“Aren’t you cold? It’s freezing out and at least I’m in a jacket.”

“No.”

“You’re not even shivering.” She feels cold. “Well, do you have anywhere to go?” But I already know she doesn’t.

Vanilla’s brow creases as though the answer brings her painful confusion. She breaks eye contact to look down the road. Her body starts swaying in slow-motion toward that direction, like some gigantic magnet in the distance is reeling her in. Her fingers loosen their hold. As she is about to step away, Tiffany pulls her back in.

“Hey!” You’re not going back there, that’s for sure. Concrete jail, my ass.

Vanilla returns her attention to her, her face filled with shock from the yank. But it quickly settles into a smile. “Tiffany,” she repeats. She reaches out and grazes her fingers across Tiffany’s cheek.