…about a scar

Laura tried not to smile as the interviewer’s gaze dipped down and popped back up. The question was always the same and usually unasked: How? And it wasn’t as if the scar stood out that much 10 years on. Not like the first few months when it had been red and puckered, pulling the skin of her neck into a bunch. And it wasn’t as if how was all that much of a secret either. Ray was obviously the cause, how could he not be?

Except, and this always made Laura smile, Ray had been so careful not to leave a mark where it would show. That’s why Laura had been unable to break through that blue wall cops always drew around their own. That’s why she’d made sure to dip the steak knife in the blood before she’d passed out and why her knife had still be on the table, untouched, when the ambulance crew showed up.

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