At First Eric Stares At

Some Things Are Hard To Let Go Of.

You Think My First Instinct Is To Protect You. Because You're Small, Or A Girl, Or A Stiff. But You're Wrong." He Leans His Face Close To Mine And Wraps His Fingers Around My Chin. His Hand Smells Like Metal. When Was The Last Time He Held A Gun, Or A Knife? My Skin Tingles At The Point Of Contact, Like He's Transmitting Electricity Through His Skin. "my First Instinct Is To Push You Until You Break, Just To See How Hard I Have To Press." He Says, His Fingers Squeezing At The Word Break. My Body Tenses At The Edge In His Voice, So I Am Coiled As Tight As A Spring, And I Forget To Breathe.

Don’t Tell Me You’re Going To Eat A Mashed-potato Sandwich

Your Daughter Is Doing Well Here. I've Been Overseeing Her Training." Since When Does "overseeing" Include Throwing Knives At Me And Scolding Me At Every Opportunity?

Because Even A Sliver Of Distance Between Us Is Infuriating.