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At one point they were going to take Brook away. Two cardigan and slacks wearing social workers had come over with clipboards and concerned looks on their faces. They seemed to take particular interest in the pantry, stocked with whiskey and cheese puffs and soda and Budweiser. It wasn’t looking good but then Grant, her Dad’s fairy art dealer had turned up and fixed things. It wasn’t the first time.
Hopefully this situation wasn’t going to bring them back. Living with Judd was no tea party but she didn’t fancy being sent to a foster home in Queens. She was old enough to take care of herself and it’d be much better now… Now that her freak pointers were gone…
‘Hey!’
It was coming from the other bed, teenage male voice.
‘What,’ she said, not wanting to sound too friendly. F*%k making friends in a hospital.
‘I heard you cut off your ears, like that painter?’
Little punk. She felt like going over and boxing him. She clenched her fist but felt her restraints.
‘Maybe I’ll cut yours off if you don’t shut your face.’
That got him. It occurred to her then that she was going to go from being called Spock to Van Gogh… Tears welled up in her eyes even as she tried valiantly to fight them back. Wouldn’t do to weaken now. Couldn’t survive.
And just then, as if her vulnerability had left a gaping hole for the boogie monster to crawl thru, something changed. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room and been replaced by a thick fog of malice. Brook felt a stab of fear so intense it made her shake.
Her neighbour was rising from his bed and crossing the room toward her. But he was no teenage boy. She let out a scream so loud it could have raised Jesus.
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1 comment:
Much sweetness!
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