"is someone hurting you at home?"
the counselor asked,
her pencil skirt riding up as she sat forward,
in her slick
leather chair that resembled her her slick blonde bun.
you'd told me i needed help,
you
called the guidance counselor.
i t r u s t e d you
not to say anything.
i guess trust is
like life,
it dies out eventually.
YOU ARE READING
touched ✓
Short Storystory #2 in the 'for the flawed' series. tw | abuse every night you held me. making me feel disgusting, because you were the s e c o n d to touch me. © 2014 flawed- (lowercase intended for stylistic purposes.) [Jan 16, 2015:: #2 in short story.]
