My Cardboard Balcony

No Trouble by Belinda Roddie I can squeeze you into my schedule no problem - your name in between the baseball game at six PM and the existential crisis at twelve AM. I've got obligations, sure, but a stranger with lime and juniper on his breath can sway me just fine when my mind's not pulsing like the hurricane tide, Hawaiian sands bristling beneath my disturbed skin. I'll take you in, and after the screaming's done, I'll be sure to give you a good time.

"How many stitches did you get?" I showed him the lower side of my jaw. "Three," I said. "You?" He shook his head. "I got off easy." His hand was trembling against my arm. He was looking out the window, his legs propped haphazardly against the stool that served as his ottoman. "Do you think Amy will be okay?" I wasn't sure what to tell him. She had been cut up badly, and if nothing else, she would be scarred permanently.