I think she started it, but I don’t know. One day we were in a relationship in that beautiful phase where we still liked each other so much, and we washed dishes for each other and chopped onions side by side, laughing about crying, wiping each others’ eyes. Then the next day we were in something different. The place where her shoulder blades almost met was suddenly purple, and I tasted blood, slick and tangy, against my lipstick when I opened my mouth too wide.