monsieur unloveable
he opened his palm and there were tiny purple stars on them. where did you get that, i demanded. from your dress, he said meekly. it was true. i looked behind me and there, on the back of my left thigh was a palm-shaped imprint where stars used to be. wtf did you do? i screamed at him. well, at least i didnt step on you. he pointed to the girl named maria, who wore her hair short and shaved, and black lipstick, and who looked gloomily at the big muddy foot print on the black skirt she was wearing. if you want, mics, he said, you could punch me right now. and so i did. i reared my right fist back, back, back and hit him with all my might right in the middle of his lean face. don't you ever think sometimes, of hitting without hurting? thats what i did. i heard the cruch, maybe my bone or his teeth or both. the blood gushed out like something that came unstuck and then he was screaming, and flailing his arms, and somehow his hand touched his nose and my stars got unstuck from his palm and got stuck in the mess and his face was blood and gore and purple stars, and i loved him then. his blood and mine were mixed on my fist and i loved him because i hurt him and i loved him because he let me hurt him.