After we finished eating, the rock we'd used as a makeshift table was littered with empty pizza boxes, crumpled fry wrappers, and half-drunk Coke bottles sweating in the late afternoon heat.
Nicole was slumped against Mira's side—stomach full for the first time in forever—cheeks flushed from the cold drink and the rare sensation of being warm and safe.
Angela lounged back on her elbows, still naked, one leg kicked up lazily, licking cheese from her fingers with slow, deliberate swipes of her tongue.
Lisa sat cross-legged beside her, picking at the last slice, smirking every time she caught Megan stealing glances at the food.
Megan sat a little apart, blanket still clutched tight around her shoulders like a shield. Her torn cop shirt hung in useless rags underneath, black lace bra peeking through the ripped fabric, panties visible where the crotch had been torn open earlier.
