Dog Bite - Page 9

I pick at that night from Weekends like a scab. Sometimes I try to push Heather from my mind, repeating, she’s gone, over and over. She’s gone. Other times, I can’t help myself. I let it fester. It feels good to let it crawl around my skull, to take over. To imagine all the ways she hurt me. Ways I never even knew at the time. Inventing her motivations. Her failings. Inventing what she did with the bouncer. I know I shouldn’t. But I pick. I can’t help it.