She licks at the hot metallic flood filling the void where her wisdom tooth should be. Maybe if she’d never had them taken out, she would have known not to trust a kind mask with fists made for fighting.
He’s cooking dinner now.
Singing fills the kitchen as he sploshes red wine onto raw mince. The chopped onions make his eyes cry. He glugs from the bottle. “That’ll take the edge off” he says to his steamed-window twin.
Published in Paragraph Planet, June 2016