Feb 25, 2013

Chapter 4, part 4

Greta heard Jack. Her arm was still bleeding. She was hoping that if she ignored it long enough it would stop. So far, that wasn’t working, but Jack’s constant, prying gaze wasn’t helping. If anything, it was deepening her disassociation.

“What?” Jack questioned. A “Breaking News” scroll had gone across the screen and Greta jumped, momentarily forgetting to forget about her arm, and blood dripped on to herself and the couch.

“The scrolly thing at the bottom,” Greta said, pointing furiously.

Jack eyed her warily. “It was something about the psychosomia.”

“It was the symptoms.”

If you knew what it said why did you ask me?

“I don’t…” Greta sank back in to the couch. “I wanted to be sure…” Jack looked at her quizzically. Her behavior had been bizarre to say the least. He looked worried and almost calculating. Greta saw the look on his face and spoke, “It’s nothing, there was just a lady on the metro the other day. She had those symptoms.”

“That’s impossible,” Jack spoke matter of factly. There was no room for interpretation, he was sure of it. Jack took Greta’s arm and examined the bandage. It was entirely soaked in blood. This was quickly becoming a situation. If Greta’s life were a fiction someone would have said “you’ve lost a lot of blood” or the audience would start to think “she’s lost a lot of blood!” and start to question her vitality.

“Yeah…” Greta yanked her arm back. She wasn’t in a movie and she wasn’t going to die. She was simply going to go through a lot of towels tonight. “Well, time for The Vampire Chronicles!”

“Isn’t there something else we can watch?”

“There is… But, I’ve been looking forward to this. And I’ve had such a rough couple of days…” Jack groaned, reluctantly accepting the circumstances. 

The Chinese food was cold and there wasn’t very much left, since most had gone into Jack’s ever expanding stomach. “That’s not very good for him,” Jack said, watching Greta feed Gumbo a piece of squid. He snapped and swallowed at the thin piece then pawed for more.

“Neither is a dull, boring life filled with healthy cat food of the same variety every day. Better a life that is happy and a little shorter than a life that is treacherously long and sad.” Greta grabbed Gumbo. “We are happy, aren’t we Gumbo?” She placed him in her lap, attempting to cuddle, but he yowled. Gumbo did not want to sit. He meowed and clawed to be free. In his last and victorious effort to escape the prison of Greta’s arms, he scratched her and scurried away. “Ouch!”

“So happy.”

“All great loves are built on foundations of straw.”

“I’ll take good love, then. Is good love the house that’s made of brick?”

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