I look at the ring on my right hand. At that moment, I hate it. I hate it because it is everything I am supposed to be. A band of gold with a diamond in the center. No sharp corners– perfectly curved and molded to make the viewer feel comfortable.
I want to throw it. I want to throw it and hear the satisfying sounds it makes as it hits the mirror, hopefully leaving a scratch on it and clatters onto the shelf. But of course I won't do it. "Coward," a voice inside me says. It sounds like a snake. Yes. I am– coward.

Maybe this is why I like snakes. They don't sugarcoat things. I press my thumb onto the tip of my other ring. Shaped like a snakehead, the tip is sharp. I press it in, harder...