Сияние

The Scrapbook

           

           Hestarted,almostguiltily,asifhehadbeendrinkingsecretlyandshewouldsmellthefumesonhim.Ridiculous.Hescrubbedhislipswithhishandandcalledback,"Yeah,babe.Lookinforrats."

           Shewascomingdown.Heheardheronthestairs,thencrossingtheboilerroom.Quickly,withoutthinkingwhyhemightbedoingit,bestuffedthescrapbookunderapileofbillsandinvoices.Hestoodupasshecamethroughthearch.

           "Whatintheworldhaveyoubeendoingdownhere?It’salmostthreeo’clock!"

           Hesmiled."Isitthatlate?Igotrootingaroundthroughallthisstuff.Tryingtofindoutwherethebodiesareburied,Iguess."

           Thewordsclangedbackviciouslyinhismind.

           Shecamecloser,lookingathim,andheunconsciouslyretreatedastep,unabletohelphimself.Heknewwhatshewasdoing.Shewastryingtosmellliquoronhim.Probablyshewasn’tevenawareofitherself,buthewas,anditmadehimfeelbothguiltyandangry.

           "Yourmouthisbleeding,"shesaidinacuriouslyflattone.

           "Huh?"Heputhishandtohislipsandwincedatthethinstinging.Hisindexfingercameawaybloody.Hisguiltincreased.

           "You’vebeenrubbingyourmouthagain,"shesaid.

           Helookeddownandshrugged."Yeah,IguessIhave."

           "It’sbeenhellforyou,hasn’tit?"

           "No,notsobad.

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