The Dying Don's Bride
Mysister'shusbandtookmelikehewastryingtobreakme.EnzoMarchettislammedintomeinthepitchdark.Theheadboardcrackedagainstthewall.Ibitintothepillow.Onesound.Onemoaninmyrealvoice,andeverythingwouldbeover.BecauseEnzodidn'tknowitwasmebeneathhim.HethoughtIwasVivienne.Hiswife.Myoldersister.Hismouthdraggedacrossmyshoulder."Youfeelsofuckinggoodtonight."Mynailsdugintothesheets.Tearsburnedmyeyes.Notfromthepain.Fromthesick,shamefulheatcoilinglowinmystomach.Thiswasmysister'shusband.Mysister'sbed.Mysister'sperfume