They smile at each other, not evil smiles, but not nice ones, either. They feel good and safe, but not as good and safe as they’d imagined they would. They are distracted from the stars and the cool night air by the places on their bodies that burn and pull and pinch, the itching that never stops. They are proud of what they’ve done. But still, sometimes, they wish they could be smooth and whole, some softer version of themselves.
