Monday he did not let me shower the wedding off.
I had slept in the guest room of a house that was not mine yet, pale dress on a chair, panties ruined in the trash I was told not to take out. His stripes had dried on my stomach. The slick from the sink had dried on my thighs. At dawn a knock, two taps, and a note under the door in the same hand as the A.
Lecture at ten. Whatever you wear under the dress, you do not wash it off. Sit in the second row. Knees apart. If you want the grade voided, use the shower and I will know.
I did not use the shower.
Mom was in the kitchen, robe, wedding ring new, humming. She kissed my hair and said I looked tired in a pretty way. I said wine. I put on a skirt because trousers would have been a confession, and I felt every stair in the dried mess he ha
