Weekly Writing Challenge: Dialogue


“Elizabeth, why did you do this?” He looked at me, stunned, helpless.

“I . . . you . . . ” I took a step toward him, and my bare foot slid on something squishy and still warm. “You weren’t here to stop me.”

“So this is my fault.”

A drop of blood from the trailer’s low ceiling hit him on the shoulder. Actually, no, it went right through him and splashed to the linoleum. I tore my eyes from it and to his shoulder. Wait, the blood drop was there, staining his white T-shirt. Shit. I rubbed my eyes. “No, it’s not your fault. I lost control.”

“Again.”

“Yes, again, David. Again I lost control.”

He shrugged and turned in a slow circle, taking in the abattoir. “This is a mess.”

I lifted my foot, regarded what I had stepped on. Large or small intestine? “Yeah.”

“How are you going to clean it up?”

I bit my lip.

David half-smiled. “Didn’t think about that, did you.”

I shook my head, trying to remember where I had stashed my clothes.

He sighed. “How many guys were here?”

“Umm . . . three.” Little question on the end, though.

“Bad guys.”

“They were part of that biker club, the Dingoes.”

“Right.”

“They were the ones who raped that thirteen-year-old girl last month because her brother tried to get out of the club.”

David knelt, raised his eyebrows at the right hand curled on the floor. “The brother’s dead too, right?”

“They killed him on this property somewhere. I can smell his body. It’s hard to pinpoint his grave, though. I know they urinated on his body.”

“Class acts.”

My clothes were outside, I remembered that much, but after I got the brilliant idea of stripping naked and just knocking on the trailer’s door to see what happened–they yanked me inside and bolted the door shut–I tossed the garments off without noting exactly where.

I went to the diagonal window set in the door and peered outside while my ex-boyfriend said, “You don’t remember exactly what happened here, do you?”

No sign of my stuff. I had parked my car half a mile away and had walked through the woods to reach this shitty little singlewide. I pressed my forehead to the glass. “Not really.”

“You’re losing it, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“If I had been here, you would have torn me apart too.”

That got me spinning around. “No! I would not have done that!”

“Oh, come on.” He picked up a jawbone, with the stubbled skin still clinging to it.

“David–”

“Look at this mess. This is deranged.”

“No, it, I–”

“You don’t even remember what happened after they pulled you inside.”

“I changed. Obviously.”

Right? Instantaneously, or had I teased them a little? Instantaneously, it had to be, I wouldn’t screw around with three murdering, drug-dealing, child raping pieces of shit–

He dropped the jawbone. “Obviously. I dropped you in the nick of time.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. You were getting scary. I didn’t think I’d be able to deal with you.”

“David, I’m the same person.”

He laughed. “Holy shit, look around. What is that over there?”

I followed his eyes to the tiny kitchen. “It’s a boot. In the sink.”

“There’s a foot inside that boot.”

“I can fix this. I won’t do this again. Just come back to me, okay? Say it’ll be good between us again, please.”

I looked at him, where he had been. Nothing there but bits and pieces. I rubbed my mouth, tried to ignore that my skin was sticky with blood.

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