The warmth of July summer entranced me. I’d come to the beach to escape. Make-up covered my bruised face, I’d used my married sisters ID to check into the motel. I didn’t really feel safe, even walking on the beach in the windy dusk on this isolated island. I knew he had his sources, his “people”. I walked near the edge of thee beach grasses, ready to dash into the light of a lobby or bar.
Suddenly, I heard his voice on the deck on the motel. “Where is she!” he yelled.
This IS atrophy I thought, frozen in my steps.