I’m like a shaken soda with the cap blown off. What bubbles out of me when she’s gone isn’t like being angry or ashamed or any of the hot terrible things I’ve kept crammed inside me for as long as I can remember. It’s as sharp and as solid as a scorpion stinger—and even with the way I feel right now, I can still remember its name, it’s Leiurus quinquestriatus—and the sound of the pain it causes comes out of me like a scream, like when a whistle blows loud and high right in your ear, like the screech of a big owl swooping through the night. It goes on for a long time. When it’s over, I’m empty
...more
