It wouldn’t be until the next morning that I would find them stained on my skin. I stand in front of my closet mirror and stare at black and blue. I lightly dance my fingertips across my naked skin. I couldn’t remember how each one had happened, but each brought back moments of the night before.

Short breaths.
Foggy windows.
Hands in hair.
Lips on neck.

I turn my thoughts back to the mirror and reach for my shirt. And that’s when I see the long, red scar traced down my side.

And that’s when I think maybe you aren’t so good for me.