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“I’m taking them. For Bonita and me. She can’t be alone. She’s a material witness.”
“Bonita?” Keith asks.
D.D. gestures to the girl. “She used to work at the Mountain Laurel B and B. Now she’s with us.”
“Where do Keith and I go?” I ask, still processing the room change.
“You two can have my space.” She smiles knowingly. Meddler.
“I can get a cot,” Keith offers.
“No, no, no,” the owner protests immediately. “No cots. You shouldn’t even have rooms!”
Fuck Kimberly and her dog-on-a-leash comment. I reach down, pull out my butterfly blade, and make a show of flipping it open, closed, open, closed.
“You may have a cot!” the man squeaks.
But then I glance at the young maid. Her face has gone bone white. Her eyes are round with fear and she is staring at my knife in horror.
I quickly put it away, but not before I see her touch her forearm, where the cuff of her sleeve has ridden up, and an intricate pattern of scars dances across her exposed skin.
I don’t feel strong anymore.
I feel shame.
For being what a monster made me.
I head down the hall before any of them see me cry.
