She spits you out. The sun blazes suddenly into your eyes, and you tear up as you cough and gasp, trying to clear your airway, readjusting to having oxygen. You’re breathing heavily, sprawled out in Kelly’s hand, you realize, with a sticky strand of meat-scented saliva connecting your legs and her lips. She twists her head, and the connection is broken. Your leggings are soaked through with spit and goat juice.

She walks a few steps, to a nearby bench, and puts you down, dropping you the last few inches. You land on an ankle, and hiss as you feel it twist, pulling your leg in close to yourself. You glare up at Kelly and take a deep breath, trying to figure out what to say. 

“Shut up. One more word out of you, and I’m putting you in the takeout container, and you can come home with me,” she snarls. Her face is pink, her lips are trembling, and her eyes are still fixed straight on you. 

You won’t win this fight, you realize. You shut up. You have no other choice right now. 

“Get some fucking help, Hailey.”

Kelly turns on her heel and walks away. The sun beats down on her tan shoulders. Her skirt flutters in the wind, and gives you a final glimpse of her thighs. Some giant passerby smile at her. 

You try to meditate. Center yourself. Breathe. Find your energy. Become one with the earth. But none of it actually works, not even a little bit. It just hurts, so much. You want to cry, but you don’t think you have the energy to make any more sounds. 

You curl up under the sun, and wait to feel okay.