Red-rimmed eyes darted at each new arrival. She licked down-turned lips, her chin quivered and skin splotchy. Shoulders stooped from her white knuckled arm grip as she sunk in stature to stare at her shoes.
Was she sad? Scared? Or wearing her own brand of guilt?
I knew everything about her on paper, all her fears and secrets, where I held the key that was causing her nightmares. I know she’s cheating on her boyfriend and pregnant. But who is the father?
Dare I ask?
Or do I return my bully’s journal she’d dropped on the train station floor?
2 thoughts on “Guilty”