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The Thief

I yanked off my lace up boots at the door and hauled myself up the stairs. My hand gripped my clammy doorknob and swung the door open. Lucy’s eyes met mine for an instant with a look of horror before she threw the little white book she held behind her.
Images of her greedy eyes stealing my thoughts off page after page burned in my mind. I stood frozen, then came crashing down on her as my secrets crashed down on me. Lucy uttered a helpless gasp as she scampered away, and my bony arms hit the pillow where her guilty fingers had just turned the pages of my insecurities.
She cowered tense against the opposite wall, nails digging into the floor, and I flung myself at her twisted face wishing I could make her forget who she was and why she deserved the bruises she would wake up with in the morning. My claws grasped at Lucy’s skin and hair, trying hopelessly to pry the memory and judgment from her. Escaping my grip, she ran from my room and I slammed the door behind her, making the house shake with the force of how I hated myself.
Stripped of dignity, helpless tears I had kept contained for years were set free and poured out until they flooded my life. My wet hands, desperate to take anything back, found only my bare ribs.

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