I WAS NEVER ANY GOOD AT NAMING THINGS

hen I was fourteen years old, I asked a boy to take me apart and read my body back to me. I could feel an unknown weight inside me, pressing down at the base of my spine. I didn’t know how to find it by myself. He placed his hands on my hips, uncertainly at first, but then he grew bold and showed me that my flesh was just dough to be kneaded beneath his