I’m shaking my head,
as if the voice will shake out of me.
But there’s only one way to stop it.
I walk past Andrew. Past the guy,
shoulder-checking him so hard
he stumbles into the doorframe.
Andrew's behind me, but I don’t wait for him.
And before the door swings shut,
I hear him say under his breath:
“You fill her head with that shit again,
“I’ll put you in the fuckin’ ground.”
Noise spikes as I turn the corner,
voices climbing the hall.
Then there’s bodies—everywhere.
The bar’s crowded,
wall to wall,
holding in heat.
I want out of my skin, out of myself.
The only answer is a quick come or a cold death.
Either way, I need to be gone.
My pulse is in my clit,
my thighs,
at the bottom of my spine.
Everywhere but where it’s supposed to be.
My thighs clench.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Where’s the exit?
No—thebathroom.
