My hands went to the buckle at the back of my head and hesitated.


My hands went to the buckle at the back of my head and hesitated. He didn't say anything. I put them back at my sides, making fists to help control the pain. After waiting a moment, just long enough to acknowledge that I had learned another lesson, he said, "Take it out." I did. Relief. "Stand up," he said. I wobbled unsteadily to my feet, my back still to him. I thought he was going to take out the other, but he didn't even tell me to turn around. Instead, he went into the bedroom. I followed silently, not knowing what else to do. I passed the full-length mirror in the bedroom and stopped. I was a sight. Mascara and eyeliner mixed with saliva were smeared all over my face from my eyes to my chin, even drops on my chest and thighs. My lipstick was smeared; on my stomach was a smear of that gooey brown stuff he used while putting the chain on, and my hair was an explosion of straw, partly matted with more miscellaneous goo. I stood with my legs apart in a most unladylike position.

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