I doffed my school jacket. Slowly.
“Pierdowa,” I chanted subvocally. “Pierdowa.”
“Do not inform anyone of my presence,” the man whispered, his smile a bite.
His red, black and white armband scorched my eyes.
As I continued undressing, his mouth went slack, his eyes fogged slightly.
“Wonderful,” he breathed, the W nearly a V.
I walked to him, let his arms surround me, and pressed myself against him.
As I raised my arms, my breastbone felt the tiny click.
The silencer did its job.
He was dead before his hands reached my throat.
I faded back to dormitory’s shadowed door.
A couple of days later, she continued the story...
The matron cut her eyes to me, widening them a bit.
I looked down with a slight nod.
“To your room,” she snapped. “You’re late.”
I walked slowly to the stairs, head down, shuffling my feet.
I did not glance at the men in the parlor, armbands tight on those squeaky rubberized trench coats.
I dragged up the stairs, then ran to my room.
Shutting the door, I spied the small box of chocolates on the night table, the small cream-colored envelope beneath.
The heavy card within, I knew, would have one embossed word: “Bon.”
The cheque was a surprise.