“Are you okay?” she worries. “Do you want me to punch him for you?” “No, no, I’m okay.” My mouth strains into a smile. “Really.” I am okay. Completely okay. I’m okay when I stomp up to the cabin bathrooms and stand under the hot spray of the shower, letting the heat melt the ice from my bones, scraping the mud from my skin with such force it leaves behind angry red nail marks. I’m okay when I slather my hair with too much shampoo and close my eyes against the water like it’s pouring rain; when I sob into the palm of my hand, alone where nobody can hear me. And I’m definitely okay when I towel
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