Colder Thy Kiss
Nellie closed her eyes and leaned against the alley wall. She could do this. She must. Fighting every protest in her body, she allowed the man to place his hands on her hips, shuddering at the way he trailed them up and down the length of her body. It was Benjamin. Mr. Barker. He was the one touching her like this, not some vile old man. It was his moist lips on her neck, his hot breath that stank of garlic and rot, his love she would receive. She was not about to sell herself to some street man. His hands slid under her skirt, and Eleanor fought to keep herself from trembling. Her fists clenched, and her chest rose with each rapid breath she took. His fingers were trailing higher, higher, until she thought she might faint or scream or run, but she did neither.
"Quiet, whore. It'll be over before you know it."
Mrs. Lovett could feel his sneer as his mouth raised to her ear, and she could not prevent a small whimper from escaping her lips as he captured her mouth with his. She could do this. She would do this. She had to. There was no other way for her to eat. Mrs. Lovett could do nothing but attempt to convince herself that this was necessary, that without doing this she would die, and that if she died she would never see Mr. B again. Memories of their times together flooded her head, blocking out filthy images of the present, the way her body was being abused, and the feel of the man in front of her. And, much to her surprise, before long it was over. The man pressed warm coins into her palm and left her there, crouched in a ball against the mildewy stone, wondering how many more times she would need to sell herself until she could see his face again.