Every single time she touched a gun, she rechecked it and cleaned it. Doing so, being so anal about her weaponry, had probably saved her life. Or ruined it.
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They say you can’t bury the past. That was probably true, but what they really meant was that trauma ripples and echoes and somehow stays alive.
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... every vehicle in this pile of junk had one day been driven off the lot new and shiny, with excitement and hope and expectation, and now they lay in tatters, dying piece by piece in the back lot of an old body shop off Route 10.
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‘Grief don’t do that to a man. Guilt does.’
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Turns out Franklin Biddle Academy was looking to get a few scholarship kids in, you know, financial aid so they could say that the school was”— she made quote marks with her hands—“‘ diverse.’
===
... everything around her screamed pampered, patrician, privileged, powerful. All the Ps.

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