My fingers typed the message quickly, moving fast so that my brain didn’t have a chance to stop them from pressing send. It felt good, though, in a bad way. Like smashing a glass against a wall or spitting phlegm out onto the pavement. These past few weeks I’ve been carefully moulding myself into the shape of something he might want again. I took deep breaths when I was with him to stop myself from crying. I shaded under my cheekbones until they looked bigger. I started taking fucking supplements. But like the Incredible Hulk, the real me is breaking out from under her skin and I can’t hold
...more
