January 31, 2023 - “Local Girls” by Elizabeth Lerman

“She’s not always like this, you know,” one of them hisses.

“Yeah, she’s really not,” another one insists, her whisper hot in my ear.

“Please, please let me out,” the sad one sobs from inside the closet, but the lights flick off and she shrieks, then sobs louder.

I step forward, needing, then, to open the door, but a leg shoots out and I stumble, cannot catch myself and my face meets the floor with such unforgiving force, I have to fight to find my breath. I taste blood and my tongue finds the divot in my lip where my tooth has bitten down hard. I watch the two of them watching her, waiting for orders, or a reason to live, but she is watching me and she’s waiting too, wanting, so badly, to see how I will handle the hurt. I wonder what she would do if I stuck my own leg out and fell over again, slamming the same side of my face into the beech wood. I want to shock her, I think, want to look her in both eyes and say I can’t feel a fucking thing, but instead I stand up, spit blood and shrug.

“See you tomorrow,” I say and the three of them are silent. I smile wide and step into my sandals. From somewhere inside the closet, the screaming has stopped.