Sickness may be catching (Kerry)

The car door slammed shut in my face. His last words rang in my ears, competing with the tinnitus that usually has over-riding power in that area.

“That’s it. I’m outta here. I’m getting rid of the stupid things,” he had shouted at me.

He had spoken with such vehemence that his spittle splashed onto my cheek. I recoiled, shocked by his uncalled-for tirade, and pushed myself hard against the driver’s door in an attempt to avoid any more spit. I thought of the germs that must surely be dripping down my face as I waited for his next volley of rage. I am very particular about hygiene and specially avoid contamination from body fluids. My bottle of anti-bacterial lotion was in the glove box by his knee and therefore out of my reach at this time. I would be all right as long as I didn’t lick my lips. I sat tight-lipped, wishing he would come good with his promise and just get out of the car.

But he sat there in the passenger’s seat fuming with anger. His fat, white hands were working furiously with one another, twisting, pressing against his knees, squeezing together. They reminded me of the ‘stupid things’ he had threatened to rip so violently from my care. Squirming live things, crawling over each other blindly, pressing down on each other. I had to look away. I could feel my stomach begin to turn.

“You tell anyone, you’ll be sorry. Don’t think I won’t be watching you,” he had added.

This time his voice had dropped ominously, sliding, hissing across the car seat between us. I felt dirtied by the hate in his words. They had a bitter, poisonous smell. I reacted instinctively by brushing something off my skirt, not wanting to have his poison settle on me. Nevertheless I nodded furiously, unable to open my mouth but acknowledging that I understood. He apparently took my response as acquiescence to something he had said and smiled grimly. It was a moment of comparative relaxation and I allowed myself to settle back into the seat a little. The door handle had been pressing sharply into my hip, aggravating my chronic bursitis. I needed relief from the pain.

Seeing me relax, however imperceptibly, seemed to aggravate him again. He leaned forward and brought his face up close to mine. He was sneering aggressively. I pushed back and again the door handle sent a jab of pain into my hip. I could feel his hot breath. He smelled like the drunk he was, reminding me of stale cigarettes and late-nights in the pub. I was repulsed.

“I’m taking them,” he shouted at close range.

He leaned back and undid his seatbelt. Twisting in his seat, he reached over to the back seat and picked up the basket. I heard the faint, nervous mewing. He climbed out of the car. With one last look in, he communicated the full slug of his vicious intent.

The car door slammed shut.