David Wiltse - The Edge of Sleep

“You’ve done it often enough,” she said. “Play with it, get it up.”

He squirmed underneath her, afraid to make a maximum effort to get her off for fear that she was stronger than he was.

“Cut it out. That’s enough for one night. I’ll come back tomorrow and we’ll get it on again.”

“Do it now!” she exclaimed. She took his hand and clapped it between his legs. “Do as you’re told.”

She lost her leverage when she moved and Edgar managed to roll to the side, pushing her off.

“Christ!” He started to rise and was halfway up when she grabbed him from behind, pulling him back. He jerked forward and her nails ripped down his back.

“You stupid bitch!”

He turned and slapped her hard across the face. Blood was already coming from her nose by the time she sat up again. The look on her face was so savage that he recoiled in anticipation of an assault, but she stood without a word and walked into the bathroom.

Edgar hurried to get dressed.

“You made me do that,” he called over his shoulder toward the bathroom. He hopped on one foot, trying to draw his trousers on while holding his underwear. He could put on the underwear later.

“I’m not the kind of guy who hits women,” he said. “But Jesus, you’ve got to calm down. Enough is enough, you know?”

He heard her moving about in the bathroom. Her movements sounded as hurried as his own. The door of the medicine cabinet opened and closed.

“I’m willing to just forget this,” he said, looking for his shoe.

She came out of the bathroom with the blood from her nose running past her chin and dripping onto her chest. She seemed completely unaware of it as she once more stood between him and the door.

“You thinking of going?” she asked.

He saw his shoe against the wall just behind her. Something told him not to bend over to get it and expose his back to her again. But what was he afraid of? A stark-naked woman standing defenselessly between him and the door. She was armed with a slightly demented look in her eyes, but apart from that he should be able to get her out of his way with a well-placed kick.

“Yeah, I’m going,” he said. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

“You’re quite a disappointment,” she said, not moving.

“Well, there you go,” he said. “I had a great time. You’re a very sexy lady, but you never know how these things are going to work out.”

He found it very disconcerting that she continued to ignore the blood that dripped from her nose. It trickled slowly down her torso toward her pubic patch. It was eerie that someone could so totally disregard an injury to herself.

“I tell you what,” she said, “since you don’t know how to use that thing of yours, you don’t really need it, do you?”

“What?”

“Why don’t you just leave it behind here with me. You’ll be better off without it. That way you won’t be making any more promises you can’t keep.”

Edgar thought he might very well leave without his shoe. She was getting weirder by the moment.

“What are you talking about?”

“You said you were going to take good care of me,” she said. “You promised.”

“Hey, I tried. You happen to have a little problem there.”

“You disappointed me,” she said. “Everyone is always disappointing me, and frankly. I’m getting just a little tired of it.”

She lifted her right hand to waist height. The thumb and forefinger were clasped around something.

“Come here, sweetie.” she said. “We’re going to relieve you of that thing that’s causing you all that trouble, and then you can run home to your mother.”

Edgar peered at her hand. She held a razor blade between her fingers.

“I told you to come here,” she said, her voice suddenly stem. “Do as you’re told. This instant.”

Dee took a step toward him and Edgar kicked out in panic, aiming for her crotch. His toes struck her in the abdomen and she tumbled forward. The razor blade fell from her fingers and Edgar picked it up off the carpet. She was on all fours, gasping for breath. He had half a mind to slash her on her exposed back just to show her how it would feel.

“You’re crazy!” he yelled at her. “You’re out of your mind!”

She muttered something he did not understand. He leaned over her, his mouth close to her ear.

“You’re crazy! You ought to be locked up!”

Her head hung down like a defeated animal and the blood dripped from her nose directly onto the carpet.

She muttered something again. Edgar bent closer, holding the razor blade as a weapon in case the crazy bitch tried to bite him or something else insane.

“What?”

She caught her breath.

“You think I’m crazy?” she said. She tilted her head up to look him in the face. She sounded amused. The blood ran over her lips, but she still did not seem to notice.

“I know you’re crazy,” he said.

He grabbed the door and yanked it open. The huge man from the restaurant whom he had seen trudging along the highway sat on the stoop in front of the door like a dog awaiting its master.

“You think I’m crazy?” she said.

The man stood up, blocking Edgar’s way.

Edgar looked from the man to Dee, who had rolled into a sitting position. He wanted to suggest that things had gone far enough, that he had meant no harm, that there was no need to carry things farther. Edgar tried to grin at her, to demonstrate his good will, his certainty that she bore him no real hard feelings.

Dee looked at him and smiled beatifically. The blood was smudged across her stomach where he had kicked her and the entire lower half of her face now seemed to have been painted red. When she spoke her teeth were smeared.

“He hurt me. Ash,” she said.

Ash grabbed Edgar by the throat and squeezed. Edgar managed to slash at him once with the razor blade before his body was hurled against the wall.

After Ash put the man in the trunk of his car he returned to the room to clean up the mess. Dee was curled up on the bed, still naked, her knees pressed to her chest, her face to the wall.

“We have to go, Dee,” he said. He put all of her clothes into the suitcase, folding them carefully as she had taught him.

“I just want to sleep,” she said. Her voice was so sad that Ash wanted to cry for her.

He put his extra shirt atop her clothes, then went to the bathroom to add their toiletries to the suitcase.

“We have to go before they come,” Ash said.

“I just want to sleep.” Her voice was low and fading, as if she were already deep in slumber. He knew she would be like this for several days, immobilized by lethargy, too depressed to even dress or feed herself. He had to get her away from the motel before she sank too deeply to be roused.

He checked her purse and made sure that her pills and his were still there. He tried to remember how many capsules had been in her vial the last time he checked, but he could not. She must not have taken any in several days, he knew that much. There was no point in trying to make her take one now. He knew from experience he would have to trick one into her somehow, but not when she was this low, and not when she was too high, either. She was too clever then. It was only when she would come out of this depression of her own accord, when she was on the way up but not yet high, and ravenously hungry after days of starvation, that he could slip one of the capsules into her food. After that she would take them herself. For a while. Never for long enough, but at least for a while.

Until she did come out of her depression enough to find them a place to stay, they would have to live in the car. Ash could never check into a motel by himself, he knew that. They would all surely know about him immediately. They would be able to tell as soon as he opened his mouth that he was not competent, that he was not to be trusted. They would laugh at him, or worse, send for the authorities to take care of him.