I reach the last door at the end of the hallway and walk inside. After a quick look around to make sure my roommate isn’t here, I rush toward the small bathroom on the other side of the room. I lock the door and turn toward the toilet.
Opening my right hand, I stare at the white pill in my palm. Such a small thing. Harmless looking. Who would guess that something so tiny can keep a person willfully enslaved, living in a prison without bars? It would be so easy to put it into my mouth and just . . . let go.
It is always the same setup. One pill before the meeting with the client. Three more after I’m done. The first one is meant to keep me high and, therefore, more obedient. It doesn’t make it hurt less, but it does make me not care. It’s also highly addictive. If I take it, it will ens
