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Summary
She used to shake when she didn’t call, and she remembers how her throat burned like acid when they yelled at each other at the top of their lungs in bedrooms and cars and empty streets. Three a.m. was either a blessing or a curse as words spilled from their mouths, a toss-up between sensual and spiteful; and, God, how her whole body used to tense up at the thought that they wouldn’t last; how she ached and grieved over the inevitable — it was agony, she remembers.
And now, as she looks at her, it still aches, but in a different way.