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Ron Jameson.
“So I bit into his ear. The bastard doesn’t even have normal tasting blood. It was way too alkaline. I think I may have permanently damaged my taste buds”. Ron was pacing his office, rehearsing what he would tell Mary. “Where’s my coffee? Then remembered she wasn’t there. “Oh. Right”
Mary was with Mason, she was tending to his wounds and intently listening. She hadn’t seen Ron in a day. This was unusual as he slept as the office most days of the week, which by default meant she did also. Hours at the office could be counted on one hand, especially during school holidays. Monday was different, the slightly erratic behaviour had given way to extreme unpredictability. He was violent and tender in a breath. Clothes gripped him in an unwashed and dirty way. There was a constant pulse in his neck and his pupils seemed to react to an unknown source of light independently of each other. This went on for days. Whenever Mary tried to leave the room to seek medical advice or a restraining order he broke down. He sent her home early on Monday and said not to call back until he called her. He said he needed to work alone for a few days. Tiredness had her well and truly in it’s cold postcode. Her gold jewellery weighed heavy, her sore shoulders slumped. She forgot about his state of mind, the impending explosion, and let the thought of sleep guide her back to a comfortable place. She slept in the house she never sees, and didn’t really see it at all.