We Do What We Do in the Dark

by Michelle Hart

long time, Mallory thought, that she had hurt someone. She didn’t know how to feel about this. That she had the ability to wound meant she was important, but this importance came with a responsibility that discomfited her.

What did it matter, Mallory wondered now, whether a woman was pretty or funny? She was fucked either way.

she began to think that there was no before or after; the arc of their lives had forever bent toward each other, the way trees on opposite sides of the road touched and entangled their leaves.