A midnight thirst sent me paddling to the kitchen for a jelly-jar of water and an accidental run-in with my sister. She tiptoed in, late and limping, her cheek raw as red-brown meat.
I caught a quick glance in the chilly glow of the refrigerator before she had a chance to hide the latest souvenir her boyfriend gave her.
" I bruise easily"
is one of the lies she sprinkles like sugar.
But I'm fifteen, not brainless. Besides, I knew the truth at ten. "He'll never do it again,"
she swears. But he will, because
she'll let him. Now, me?
I've got no use for lame excuses
or imitation love that packs a punch.
