She is sitting at the bar waiting when he strides through the door, and in an instant, everything that makes her her is gone, consumed.

He is her heroin, blazing in the dim room like a lighter held under a spoon. And he knows it.

It has been this way since the night they met. All the power held tightly in his fist, her need spilling off her face and him lapping it up.

She knows he’s no good for her, but when he looks her way, she lights up like someone’s thrown a switch. That lit up feeling — that’s what she lives for.

And she’s sure that no one who’s good for her could ever give her that.