His presence looms over her like an alien spaceship honing in on an inhabitable body. Stop it. No. Stop TOUCHING me! Get me out of here… Please, god. Someone...help! With her lips stretched open, she can barely breathe. Saliva pools in the crevices of her mouth. A stream spills out onto him; he couldn’t care less. If only she could talk-—no--yell. But what would she say? She’s the one who started it in the first place. Damn it! It's all her fault. A single impulse, a moment of braveness she now deemed foolish. She picked up the phone, and bam! That was all it took. She should’ve known better. She’s been here before.
A stinky brew of something chalky, something clean and maybe metal beckons nausea, a swirling bucket of rot inside her, begging to come out. But she can’t get sick, not like this. She pictures it—not pretty. Come on, think of Sammie. The birthday party. She’ll make it there, and soon. Happy birthday to you…Happy birthday… She distracts herself with silent singing, fighting tears. Her husband’s face flashes in her mind. Oh, Frank, where are you? She should’ve let him drive her this morning as he offered. Then maybe she’d be someplace else right now. Eating wok-chicken and Kiamichi, spilling half of it on the placemat as she always does, instead of… Ow! She winces. Tears spring up from the pain. Stay strong, he’s almost finished.
“Kathy…” The voice from all her nightmares.
Don’t say it! She doesn’t want to know. Or did she? Oh god…help!
“Good work. No cavities this time.”
Relief rifles her body like downy feathers. For once she’s glad she didn’t bite him
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