Margaret doesn't leave the dining room.
She comes back in carrying a small plate, something simple she must have forgotten the first time. Bread and butter, her movements are slower now, cautious in a way they weren't before.
I'm halfway through standing when she stops beside me.
"Elaine," she says softly.
I look up at her.
Her eyes are fixed on my neck, looking intensely at the juncture between my neck.Like she's making sure she isn't mistaken,
"That mark," she says. "What happened?"
Zane stiffens across the table, I feel it without looking at him.
I don't hesitate, I don't weigh my words. I'm still tired, sore, and past pretending or trying to cover up for any asshole.
"He did it," I say, nodding my head ince toward him. "Last night. He grabbed my neck and threw me down."
Margaret's face immediately drains of color.
Her fingers loosen around the plate. It slips and cracks against the floor. The sound is sharp and loud in the quiet room.
