Give Me Peace

by M.K. Harper

“I’m going to drop the Browns off at the Super Bowl, and then make muffins. With extra chocolate chips,”

Me.

I’ve never understood the ‘make yourself at home’ saying.

Real and true.

My right shoulder dislocates far easier than it should from the numerous times it’s been snapped out of place. But I’d still add to it, take on all of Saylor’s pain, if I could.

I laugh, swinging my legs as we turn towards the kitchen. Roan snags one and playfully bites my toe. I squeal and squirm, giggling uncontrollably at the ticklish feeling. “Love these little toes.” He gently kisses the inside of my ankle, turning me to goo as I melt against him.

His head falls back as his release fills my throat. I try—I really do—but there’s no way in hell I’m swallowing. It tastes sterile. Like the smell of a hospital.