I push myself up on my elbows and shake my head. “You don’t have to do this.” “Shut up.” She slips in bed behind me, reclining me in her arms. “Enjoy it. It’s the last time I’ll do it.” The singular thought has the power to destroy. My heart hammers, and I look to the window like I can stop the sun from rising. At dawn, she’ll be gone, and there’s not a thing I can do about it. Slowly, methodically, like she’s done all summer, Dakota rubs the lotion on my bullet wound. I relax into her, wanting to tattoo her touch onto my body. Her graceful hands knead the scar tissue as gently as she kneads
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