Once upon a time, a red-headed braggart kissed me in front of his ex-wife with no warning, like I was a new pair of skis or a particularly sexy mountain bike he was smug about buying on sale because it was end-of-season clearance and I was last year’s model.

It was our first kiss. Perhaps I was a prop in a game that they’d been playing for some time. I saw him differently, then. He’d sought a small kind of power using me as a tool.

I couldn’t want him after seeing him like that, after his tongue in my mouth with an unexpected ex looking on.

We’re all mercenaries though, to one degree or another, as we seek our desires in the world, using whatever tools come to hand. Whom do I use, and how do I use them, have my callous hands wounded us both. Most certainly.