stable or she wouldn't have had that spell in the psychiatric unit where she met Robin. But everyone gets depressed, don't they? More than just a letter's difference between sad and mad. Well, that was his opinion.
Until last night. He had little doubt now that Carol was as crazy as a lobotomised bug. He wished he could talk to Robin about it. Perversely, her husband was the very person who could shed some light on the question of her sanity. But if he knew that Eddie and Carol were….well, Eddie didn't want to go there.
"Don't do that."
"What?"
"Chew your lip."
Eddie stopped chewing his lip and started thinking about the night they'd spent together.
She had woken him up, screaming. He rolled over and wrapped an arm around her waist.
She shrugged his arm off and scrambled out of bed. She wouldn't shut up. He pulled the quilt over his head, but it was no good. He could still hear her. He pulled back the quilt and yawned and swore and switched on the bedside lamp. The bedroom was cold and his mouth tasted of rotten eggs. He rubbed his eyes. The bookcase swam into focus, the umbrella plant leaning against it. Discarded clothes lay jumbled on the rug. Carol was standing in the corner with her face in her hands rocking backwards and forwards like something, well, like something let loose from a lunatic asylum. Her nightdress was wet and clung to her left leg.
He swung his feet out of bed and stumbled towards her. He stepped on a hairbrush and swore. When he reached her he grabbed her wrists and yanked her hands away from her face. Her slender hands wriggled out of his grip and went straight back to her face. "What's the matter?"
She stamped her feet like a toddler having a tantrum. He clamped both her wrists in one hand and squeezed until she yelled. He slapped her. He didn't want to, but he couldn't think what else to do to calm her down. When he let go of her hands she immediately shielded her face with them again. He reached out and grabbed her. Her hands were slippery.
It took about ten minutes and the same number of slaps to calm her down.
He asked again, "What's the matter?"
"It was touching me." Her breathing was jerky. The words came out as five distinct syllables punctuated by sharply drawn breaths. She said it again. " It was touch-ing me ." She looked at him with her smoky grey eyes. "It woke me up. Scared me."
"What was touching you?"
Her face looked like invisible fingers were clawing at it, scratching holes in it from which tears streamed out.
It was 02:31, according to the alarm clock.
By 02:54 he had an answer.
What had happened was this. He had been snuggling up against her in his sleep. He slept naked. At some point during the night he got an erection. She had woken up, felt his penis pressing against her and proceeded to wet herself.
No big deal. His cock touching her had scared her so much she'd pissed herself. Now why was that? He couldn't begin to understand. And she wouldn't discuss it. Still, no big deal, eh?
Carol's public persona, the one he thought he'd fallen in love with, was as false as the blue varnished fingernails of the hand now gripping the stolen car's steering wheel. As false as the two blue varnished fingernails that clamped the cigarette she raised to her lips. The real Carol was a crazy woman with a penis phobia. God, but Eddie wanted her. Blood rushed to his cock. If only he could unbutton his trousers and whip it out, yeah, whip out his cock and invite her to wrap her lips around it. The thought made him giddy. Oh, sweet Mother of Christ. But his cock was repulsive, remember? Instantly, his penis shrank. He lowered the window and let the wind bite into his cheek. Before long the whole side of his face was numb. He closed the window and the car soon filled with smoke.
"How's it handling?" he asked her.
"Good."
"Thought you'd like it," he said. "You got on well with the Sierra we used last time." Eddie had put false plates on the car and he'd stick the taxi sign on the
Until last night. He had little doubt now that Carol was as crazy as a lobotomised bug. He wished he could talk to Robin about it. Perversely, her husband was the very person who could shed some light on the question of her sanity. But if he knew that Eddie and Carol were….well, Eddie didn't want to go there.
"Don't do that."
"What?"
"Chew your lip."
Eddie stopped chewing his lip and started thinking about the night they'd spent together.
She had woken him up, screaming. He rolled over and wrapped an arm around her waist.
She shrugged his arm off and scrambled out of bed. She wouldn't shut up. He pulled the quilt over his head, but it was no good. He could still hear her. He pulled back the quilt and yawned and swore and switched on the bedside lamp. The bedroom was cold and his mouth tasted of rotten eggs. He rubbed his eyes. The bookcase swam into focus, the umbrella plant leaning against it. Discarded clothes lay jumbled on the rug. Carol was standing in the corner with her face in her hands rocking backwards and forwards like something, well, like something let loose from a lunatic asylum. Her nightdress was wet and clung to her left leg.
He swung his feet out of bed and stumbled towards her. He stepped on a hairbrush and swore. When he reached her he grabbed her wrists and yanked her hands away from her face. Her slender hands wriggled out of his grip and went straight back to her face. "What's the matter?"
She stamped her feet like a toddler having a tantrum. He clamped both her wrists in one hand and squeezed until she yelled. He slapped her. He didn't want to, but he couldn't think what else to do to calm her down. When he let go of her hands she immediately shielded her face with them again. He reached out and grabbed her. Her hands were slippery.
It took about ten minutes and the same number of slaps to calm her down.
He asked again, "What's the matter?"
"It was touching me." Her breathing was jerky. The words came out as five distinct syllables punctuated by sharply drawn breaths. She said it again. " It was touch-ing me ." She looked at him with her smoky grey eyes. "It woke me up. Scared me."
"What was touching you?"
Her face looked like invisible fingers were clawing at it, scratching holes in it from which tears streamed out.
It was 02:31, according to the alarm clock.
By 02:54 he had an answer.
What had happened was this. He had been snuggling up against her in his sleep. He slept naked. At some point during the night he got an erection. She had woken up, felt his penis pressing against her and proceeded to wet herself.
No big deal. His cock touching her had scared her so much she'd pissed herself. Now why was that? He couldn't begin to understand. And she wouldn't discuss it. Still, no big deal, eh?
Carol's public persona, the one he thought he'd fallen in love with, was as false as the blue varnished fingernails of the hand now gripping the stolen car's steering wheel. As false as the two blue varnished fingernails that clamped the cigarette she raised to her lips. The real Carol was a crazy woman with a penis phobia. God, but Eddie wanted her. Blood rushed to his cock. If only he could unbutton his trousers and whip it out, yeah, whip out his cock and invite her to wrap her lips around it. The thought made him giddy. Oh, sweet Mother of Christ. But his cock was repulsive, remember? Instantly, his penis shrank. He lowered the window and let the wind bite into his cheek. Before long the whole side of his face was numb. He closed the window and the car soon filled with smoke.
"How's it handling?" he asked her.
"Good."
"Thought you'd like it," he said. "You got on well with the Sierra we used last time." Eddie had put false plates on the car and he'd stick the taxi sign on the
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