Struggle For Control

On Sunday evening, hot water streamed over Mort’s
body – this relaxed his nerves a bit, but not completely.style="mso-spun: un: yes"> He looked at the clear glass of the shower
door; it was steamed up and he found himself wiping away the thin film with his
hand.

Paranoid, boy?

“I didn’t just hear that,” he said to himself.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> “Please, God…I didn’t just hear that.”style="mso-spacerun: yes"> Mort quickly finished showering and toweled
off. He again wiped away steam, this
time from mirror. He ran a comb through
his hair as he studied his reflection.

&nb![en![endif]>

I’m sorry, I tried.

“Yeah, well…”
Mort sighed, his body suddenly feeling very weighted.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> “I think I’m gonna call this off.”

Call it off?
Wait a minute, why call it off?
If you were going to call it off, then I wouldn’t have needed to try to
talk you out of it in the first place.

“Didn’t expect him to show up.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> You said he wouldn’t.”

I know.
It was just a fluke. He’s trying
to scare you.

“He does scare me!
Every time I hear him…I’m scared shitless.”

One night out. You convinced me it would be O.K., now you have to prove
yourself.

“Keep him away?”

I will.

Still a bit shaken, Mort finished getting
ready. He threw on a pair of pants and
a sweater – the weather had turned colder since Friday.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> He nervously cleaned his glasses, put them
back on, and walked out the door. Please
let me be the only one going on this date.

***