Mickey’s parked the van on a side road near where we scored. I think he said it was Narrabeen. We’re in the back. It’s a little grotty with rust and dirt but it’s not too bad. There’s multi-coloured cushions spread on the floor. I’m lying down carefully on the cushions so as not to spoil my white dress. He’s sitting upright, leaning against the side of the van, which isn’t a good idea in a white t-shirt, but he doesn’t seem bothered.

He’s mixing up the shots in my spoon. He didn’t have his own with him but I always carry one. I’m disciplined like that. After he’s filled his own syringe, I pass him mine. He draws up my share into the barrel. I hope it’s strong.

I sit up to inject my shot. I fall down on the cushions. My eyes are closing. It’s a good hit. Using with Mickey is better than using with Stix. Mickey’s more generous with what he puts in. I’m thinking he’s not in my company for sex. He didn’t fuck me last night, and he could’ve done. It’s blowing my mind that I’ve met a man who wants to just be with me, and who I can kind of trust.

He’s lying next to me. We don’t speak. I’m dreaming. In my head, me and Mickey are dancing, an old-fashioned ballroom dance. He’s in a black tuxedo. I’m in a scarlet dress that cuts at the top of one thigh and has ruffles at the hem. He has one arm around my waist. I have one hand on his shoulder. My other hand is clasping his. He spins me around. I tip my head back. He pulls me up. We’re spinning around again. It feels like I’m spinning as I lie here. This is the best hit I’ve had since I’ve been in Sydney.

“So what’s the deal with you and Lorna?” he says. “Have you slept with her?”

I open my eyes. “Why are you asking me that?”

I stare up at the blackened ceiling of the van. I don’t want to discuss any sexual experiences I’ve had. I don’t want him to know anything about my past like that. Not knowing whether he’s aware that I’m a hooker is doing my head in enough. He doesn’t need to know I sleep with women as well. He might have an opinion on it. Most men do. They want to watch me with another girl. I don’t want to put on a show for him. I like him. I don’t want to know if he likes that. It’ll change everything. I felt content. Now I feel on edge. He’s ruining my hit.

“I guess you won’t be wanting breakfast?” I say to change the subject.

“No, I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Shall we go?”

“Let’s lay here for a while.” He stretches his arms out wide. With one hand, he scoops my body towards his. He has one arm wrapped around my back with his hand on my shoulder. The other arm crosses over my stomach with his hand on my hip.

My head rests on his chest. My eyeballs feel like they’re about to extract themselves from the sockets. What do I do now? If he was a client, I’d climb on top and sit astride him. I’d grind on his cock. I’d make him hard. I’d say whatever words that particular client wanted to hear. But Mickey’s not a punter. I’m not on a job. I don’t know how to act.

“You okay, Nicole?” he asks.

“Hmmm,” I force out a sound. I’m frozen, still. I’m in that place where I can’t talk. It’s somewhere in my head. It disconnects me from the world. It’s where I go to be safe. It happens quite a bit. I don’t know how to get back though. I’ve never worked it out. I’ll just need to wait for it to happen.