PHOTO PROMPT © Amy Reese
‘It’s a weird place,’ she said. A little girl lost voice.
She was attractive but shabby: smudged mascara gave her a bruised look; ripped, grubby tights; bitten nails, polish chipped. Another rich kid dropout.
‘This one’s yours,’ said the guard, pressing the door release.
‘The room’s empty.’ Fear for the first time.
‘We find it best,’ he said, shoving her forward.
‘What the hell’s going on? This is detox, not prison.’ The door rattles, the catch snaps shut.
The first night’s always the worst. He ticks his sheet, tucks the pen behind his ear.
If she survives that …