‘The Bitter Closet’ By Lucille A Lo Sapio

I walked into the dusty precinct, the bruises showing even though I carefully wound a scarf around my neck. I knew I had to tell them everything; how it happened, why it happened. And I knew they wouldn’t understand. I wasn’t even sure if I understood.
Maybe I was naïve, but I really believed they would shine lights in my face, like they do in the movies. I suppose they don’t anymore. In the movies, that is. All the ones I watch were made before 1980 when reality wasn’t required. So when he began asking questions, he caught me off guard. Was it a girl? Did you to fight over girl?
The lieutenant was sweating, wiping his fore head with the back of his hand. It almost made me laugh. Wasn’t I supposed to be the nervous one?
He was losing his patience. I could see it in his eyes. “Did you fight over a girl and then kill Dulski? Is that why you tried to kill yourself?”
Kill Dulski? What was he talking about? Didn’t he know I was Dulski? Then it struck me. How could he know?

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