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291 pages, Kindle Edition
First published August 24, 2015


Her kindness burns, but isn't that the point?
"Am I your fantasy? Maybe you spent a lot of time thinking about my body when we were on opposite sides of the damn wall?"
"I think about you when I fuck," he says.

"Okay, Leah. Come along." I nod at the door and laugh, low and dry. "I'm going to Mother's house tonight."
We shared a king-sized packet of Skittles and a "Monster"- sized Sprite, and we passed the Sprite back and forth, Tiffany made some kind of joke about how we were lovers.


Every time I get hard, the anxiety begins. I feel the need not for release but for pain. Pain and pleasure go together; when you're taught this, it's impossible to forget or move past it."
"Charged with manslaughter.. You weren't... Tell us that you're not considered...other family members.. Shelly's family... Right here... Juvenile detention..or..."

"I was at the skating rink. Sophomore year, second Saturday of September. Just me, and the girl my called my "just-Leah friends." Maura, Kaye, Shayna, Tiffany. Maura was dating Trey Reiss, a junior with a compass tattooed on his back. Kaye had just told me about her crush in Shayna. And Shayna, of course, was wrapped in Eric.
Tiffany and I had been the odd girls out. Although I guess we weren't really odd or out, because we had each other. We shared a king-sized packet of Skittles and a "Monster" - sized Sprite, and we passed the Sprite back and forth, Tiffany made some kind of joke about how we were lovers. I saw Kaye blanch out of the corner of my eye.
I remember I felt pretty that night. I think it was the brand new, lime green Chucks. I wore them with a short, black taffeta skirt that kind of flounced around me when I skated. I remember the shirt I had on: a floral pattern with little shoelace bows perched on each sleeve. The way it made my boobs look bigger than they were. I was pretty sure the left one was bigger than the right, but that night, they were looking even. "


As I change into my royal blue outfit, I wonder one last time if this is the way to go about it.















"God, that fucking magic pussy."
"Your cunt is magic."


It seems to me like love should be a literal shield. It should offer physical protection; it should be a balm that heals real wounds. I lay back down beside him, and I wonder why the opposite is true—why loving someone almost always leads to pain.
I want to be in charge of him. To make him happy. Fix him. Because he's mine. Because he's broken. I can't stand it.
As if under some terrible spell, he sinks to his knees, and I finally notice that his hands are stained bright red.