Safety pin

The light was too much. ‘Turn it off,’ said Yvette.

Diane checked the closet door was locked then crouched next to her.

Head between her knees, Yvette asked: ‘What if he hears I’m tired?’

‘He’ll ask why... and then you’ll break down.’

‘You’re right.’

‘Stay strong.’

Yvette sighed. Her fingers dug into her forearms.

‘Don’t.’

‘Let me...’

Diane lifted Yvette’s head up in her hands. ‘I need you to be strong.’

Yvette closed her eyes.

‘Look at me, please.’

‘Diane...’ Yvette squeezed her eyes tighter. Splashing against her inner walls, the feelings wouldn’t die. ‘We killed him.’

‘Shh. Yvette.’ She gripped her arms. ‘Listen. Nobody will know.’

‘And I’ll live a lie... lamenting his loss...’

‘We’ll both...’

‘Diane?’ came a call from outside the closet.

‘I have to go. Are you...’ He stepped away. ‘Let me go. Clean yourself up,’ said Diane.

Diane left. Yvette sat in the closet feeling sick. Vomiting the truth up and washing it away: that would be the best outcome. But it was stuck in her. Stuck like a pin, holding her broken body together, fused with her bones. ‘It will be my meaning,’ she thought. ‘This endless nausea, this endless fatigue. I’ll live around this pin.’