DUST Part One

I sat there doggedly watching Patrick's face for
signs of consciousness.
God I loved him.
Purely.
Without desire.
He was my Father.
He couldn't leave me now could he?
Catherine watched me from her chair like one of those
fey Welsh women you see in faded postcards.
Colourless and full of spite she berated me and Patrick
time and time again. She reminded me of dust and cobwebs.
"Of course you realize that your Mother was a common
prostitute?" She snarled showing small pointed teeth
like Justine's.
What were they cat-people or something?
"Yeah Ma's never hid it, at least we ate I suppose."
I tried to make light of it, but it was nasty. I was the
child, it was not my fault who made me and definitely
not my fault Ma was a brass.
"Patrick always liked to put his dick in the shit! Your
Mother used to scrub my floors, how does that make
you feel?" Her voice was like a rasp.
"Feel? Not much at all actually, no let me re-phrase
that, I'm sorry for you. Sorry you are so bitter
and twisted, sorry you like the sherbert too much.
Sorry you can't act like a wife, he might die, then
what?"
"You filthy little whore! If he dies, then good! If he
survives he's not going to like it, me knowing about you
and the press knowing about his other little secret."
She smiled in a demented way, I knew a lot was bravado,
of course she cared about her husband. But this secret,
what was it? I demanded to know.
"Tell me!" I raged.
"You will find out tomorrow if our man can't stop
the press."
"I have a right to know!"
I did not know I was shouting, a nurse came running.
"What are you doing?" She glowered at me. "I think
you had better calm down Miss."
"I'm going to get some air." I ran my hand through my
hair, which was standing up in filthy tangles and spikes.
Nice. The lobby was filled with sick people waiting, their
loved ones and medical staff.
Then I saw him.
Alan!
He sat in the waiting room, so dark and imposing,
when he saw me he sprang up and held me to him.
"Raine phoned me." He kissed my hair:"How is he?"
"Not good."
I stroked his dark grey shirt, grey you see not black,
must be summer! I loved his daftness. I smelt his
neck, delicious and mine.
"Maybe." I said and squeezed his arm: "You might have
ideas about taking the edge off my nerves?" I leered at him.
He looked shocked.
"Becka! Patrick might be dying and you want to......!?"
It was a bit sick I must admit, but I needed to feel
safe and alive and this was the one way I knew would
work.
"We need to find a store cupboard. Preferably with
surgical tape."
Alan began to warm to the idea.

Becka M