Fallout (Crank 3)

to harm her. My muscles go

rigid. I never told anyone. Now

someone will know. “Wait.”

He pauses, confused at jumbled

signals—my body screaming

yes, while my mouth says no.

It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.

My eyes sting. “I want to. I do.

But …” My face heats to flush.

I don’t want him to know. Don’t

want anyone to know. Tears spill.

Kyle brushes them gently away.

What’s wrong? The answer

he waits for is painful. But for

us to work, I have to tell him.

AN INTENSE

Shiver

quakes me, initiates teeth

chatter. Kyle hands me my shirt

like an offering. Waits,

silent,

as I launch the lurid account.

I can’t look at him while I recite

it. Instead I focus on a skinny

sapling

wearing a single crimson leaf.

I am the fledgling tree, weighted

not by wind, but by memory. I

bend

but refuse to break. I finish