She wanted help, the thin, jowl-eyed lady. Long pink scars
scattered like brush strokes up her brown arms and onto bare shoulders. Her
hair hung resignedly past her shoulders. Her lipstick was only approximately in
position. She teetered on gold open-heeled shoes.
“Just give me a strong lock and chain; 3 feet of chain that
can go around the door handle. My husband threw the other one away. And he
broke the last lock I had, like, like it was made of candy. He gets so rough
when he drinks. I need to lock the bedroom better. When he decides he wants me,
he just comes and takes me. I need a better way to keep him out.”
