Rachel sits on my bed with long yellow legs twisted beneath her as if broken. She wears her hair pulled back to expose her scars. She's naked and a little drunk. Her good eye is an impossible dark blue, like a kid’s marble. The rebuilt left eye is pale and bright as the tip of a knife. Her expression blank and cold like she doesn’t recognize me. She has small curved feet and runner’s legs. Flat brown belly and visible ribs. She has poor circulation and her skin is cold to the touch. She bruises easily. Veins stand out in her arms. Her muscles move like shadows. She touches herself constantly. Her thumbs are double jointed and she pulls them into disturbing shapes. Rachel creates silence in her wake, heavy and bright. She picks at a scab on her wrist.
Where is the baby.
I told you. I took him to stay with my sister.
She stares at me with that marble blue eye.
Two days ago, I say.
Why.
Because you asked me to.
What did you tell her about me.
Nothing.
She nods as if she knows I’m lying.
The bedroo…
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