–GOD THAT KID LOOKS SO SAD

 

                         What she didn’t say about the scar

 

       was how he threw the wine first, eye-level to blind her, then cracked the glass before stabbing the jagged crystal into her upper arm, grabbing a fistful of her hair next, trying to yank it out by the roots.

       what she didn’t say—that for weeks and months, different iterations of this followed, that she allowed it because what else could she do when she had nothing and nowhere and nobody else?

       what she didn’t say, was how one night while he snored like a drunk boar, she caught his throat with a letter opener, caught it dead-center and twisted, watching him spasm for someone else for once.

       what she didn’t say, is a word to anyone but me, that night we lay under jewelry case of stars, holding hands, mine trying not to squeeze against her throbbing pulse, or the key that it held.