Ugly after, I now knew. Not dew-skinned, like girls in the movies. Dry-mouthed, drinking from the tap, spilling water down my chin, wetting the ends of my hair: it seemed impossible to believe that anyone could want me the way that he wanted me. I looked down at my thighs, blue veins and broken capillaries and pale skin, and felt an old fear that my body was transparent, making a map of every pleasure, pain, and injury for anyone to see.
