*River*
Raising myself up on one elbow, lying on the bed, I place a sliver of watermelon into Norah's waiting mouth. Under Joaquín's knowing glare, I'd gone to the kitchen and heaped food onto a plate. He wanted to talk; I didn’t.
I don't need to hear my misgivings voiced or be told that I tread on dangerous ground. Norah is mine tonight, tomorrow, for as long as she wants to stay. When I have to give her up, I will somehow find the strength to do so.
Her fingers journey over my chest, halt, journey again, halt. "How did you get all these tiny scars?" she asks.
The small indentations have always dotted my flesh. I shrug, momentarily forgetting that she can't see my movement. "I don't remember. They've always been there."
"There are so many. Whatever happened must have been painful." S
