Sidetracked

“Are you an angel?” she asks, her throat raw and raspy, as though she’s dehydrated.

“Compared to him, yes,” I say honestly.

She slowly stands, warily looking at me. She can’t be older than eight.

She was locked up. Her scars are different from ours. She was held captive. She needs air like we need confined security.

Lindy’s scars don’t run as deep or painful as mine. One man ruined her.

As for this Kenneth guy, I’m glad he’s fucking dead.”

A small grin spreads on my lips. I don’t know why it sounds like he’s condoning what I just did. Or why I feel a sense of pride.