ESCAPE - jeff switt

I dab my face with foundation cream and watch each bruise seep to the surface like shit in a cesspool. They scream, "Look at me, damn you. Look at me. Too scared to leave him. Too scared to kill him."

I’ll show him.

I stuff a fresh pair of panties into my shoulder bag. My make-up. The twenty-three dollars he keeps hidden in an argyle sock in the back of his underwear drawer for poker night.

My hand trembles, clutches the door knob with uncertainty. I have maybe fifteen minutes.

I pull open the door. It’s him.

Jeff Switt
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