SCRATCH

"A smudge of chocolate. I was looking at her index finger. Her hand had dropped quickly when she heard the sound of me - that finger moved carefully behind the fold of her skirt. I went back to her eyes, surprised and unprepared to smile, cry or be angry. I didn't want her to smile. I remembered the lipstick on her front teeth the day before. She was afraid, her lips still shining moistly from having just had her finger between them. The melted luxury of her abandonment to that delicious pleasure was gone - hurt had surprised her and gotten stuck somewhere all around us, but especially in my chest. I wondered what she did with the wrapper, a blood clot of anger rutted in the realization that she ate my last piece. There was no more."