By Jayne Martin

At the mailboxes, I share sidelong glances with the neighbors from 3C and 4A as he arrives home. “Evening, ladies,” he says, the stench of drink in his wake as he staggers up the stairs.

In bed, I pull the quilt over my head to shut out his rage. Turn up the television when your body slams against the thin wall we share. Avert my eyes from your bruised flesh when we meet on the landing.

The newspapers say we were complicit. I can still hear your cries.

Jayne Martin is a 2017 Pushcart nominee, 2016 winner of Vestal Review’s VERA award, and a 2018 Best Small Fictions nominee. Her work has appeared in Literary Orphans, Spelk, Crack the Spine, Midwestern Gothic, MoonPark Review, Blink-Ink, Cleaver, Connotation Press and Hippocampus among others.

4 thoughts on “Complicit

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s