Belle with a Showy, Red LeakJennifer L. Knox
It was tough to poke the thick embroidery needle through her lower lip and twist the stud in before the hole closed. Lips don’t want holes in them. Same with tongues. She’d have to be more careful in the shower than she'd ever been with anything—softly brush the blood away as if with someone else's sleepy, gentle hand. Whitney was coming over to do her hair with wine coolers and straws. She’d cut all her nails so she wouldn’t snag her new black tights when she pulled them on drunk. Nothing covers bruises like black tights. But all that would come later: the bruises, the buzz, the busted nuts, her getting shoved listlessly from one set of hands to the next like a beach ball the whole crowd’s tired of hitting.
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