“My mouth tastes like blood,” I admitted. “It’s okay,” he told me. So I let him kiss me. And even then, in that very moment, I knew that this was important. I knew that I would trace my whole life back to this moment, my finger bleeding, this boy’s beautiful and messed-up mouth on mine, a work of art between us. I knew it would probably fuck me up. And that was fine. Once our mouths started hurting, we went back inside the house and got some bandages from the bathroom to fix me up as best we could.
