One second, Sammie had a fistful of my hair in his hand, his mouth murmuring I-love-yous in between gasps and moans. But then his phone chimed. I could see it sitting on the coffee table with her name illuminating the screen. Could tell his thoughts switched from my body to her body as he finished in my mouth.
The next second, I was fluttering around Sammie’s bathroom with blood dripping down my arm. The rings glittering between my knuckles were more than a fashion statement. They were medicinal. Each one had pointed, sharp edges that were perfect for improvising. Perfect for moments like this. They redirected the pain away from my heart.
“Are you okay, baby?” Sammie asked from outside the door. I must’ve been in there, scraping at my skin, for at least ten minutes. “Stomachache again?”
I unraveled a wad of toilet tissue to mop up the blood zigzagging down my skin. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I think I’m going to be okay, though. Just give me another minute.”
I could’ve used the lie as an excuse to head home. Could’ve screamed at him through the door to leave me the fuck alone and chat with his beloved Bethany. Could’ve just opened up the door and let him see the mess he’d made.
Instead, I pulled down my sleeves, moseyed over to the couch, and waited for him to join so I could rest my head on his lap. As long as he kept the phone in his pocket, out of my line of sight, I could pretend that the stinging in my arm was from a cat scratch.
