A SHORT STORY
I’ve been here for weeks—waiting. My mother told me to wait beneath the stairs, so I did. I’m still here, huddled to myself and shivering. Though the cold air has long numbed my skin, my stupid body shivers and my bones rattle. I’m not even sure if it’s still cold or if it’s day or night. But I know that I’m terrified.
I’d gotten home from my date with Gregg past curfew, and I knew my step-father would have a real red face about it, so I snuck up the stairs carrying my sling backs in one hand and my pair of flowers in the other. My doorknob squeaked the way it always does, and the door jammed at the top. I skillfully lifted it and broke it free without any significant sound. I thought I’d just lay in my bed a while—above the covers, the way I lay with Gregg when we’re alone—then I’d spring for the kitchen to at least grab a snack bag of chips. For some reason, my stomach was really pinching, a kind of cramped ache.
My bedspread stuck to my back, static creating a bond between us. I hated the fabric, but the color had been gorgeous when I picked it out. My eyes closed, filled with thoughts of the vibrant blue bedspread, as my skin picked from the sticky silk. I was in the middle of cursing the god-forbidden shit when I heard the rattling downstairs.