Moth to a Flame

by K. Webster

  “Sidney, what kind of abuse?” Her eyebrows furrow as she asks the question.

  I decide that I am taking control of my life. Hopefully this woman will help me.

  “Uh, let’s see. Mostly just whippings with her switches. Those are manageable. The baths—the baths are horrible,” I confess, and a shudder racks my body at the thought of one. Tears fill my eyes, but I force them away by blinking wildly for a moment.

  “You are speaking in present tense. Sidney, she can’t ever do those things to you again. You’re safe now. Together, we’re going to get you through this.”

  And for the first time in the past eleven years, I am suddenly filled with a very foreign feeling—a feeling of hope.