It begins bright crimson, always bright crimson. The color of Christmas baubles or prep school emblems. By bedtime it will be eggplant with its green stem intact, by morning Crusades purple, by the weekend black and so much harder to cover up.
But that’s in the future, along with his explanations and her apologies. Now it’s crimson and marks the space under his left eye. He puts a hand over it as he stares into the bathroom mirror and wishes – like always – that he could go through the next couple days like that.
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