The first sip I puckered. Sucked the roof of my mouth like the night before. Nothing prepared me for this or, that night, my own blood dripping its juice box drip from a loosened tooth. I told you—in the bathroom, sodium peroxide, warm saltwater, gargle, spit. Your arms awkward around me as we both looked into the mirror, my bottom lip gesticulating like a man on fire. I told you I don’t like nobody playing back there. You held me like a lush holds his drink: humming down each swallow, holding firmly the glass to break then lick each shard.