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Show THE BRUISE-5 leaving an empty space for the seven demons, so I call Peter. He will bring brandy and a warm body. I am so grateful to see him I take off my clothes as soon as he arrives. "Hey, what is this?' His hand is on the bruise, then flinches off it like it's a hot thing. I twist away from him, sit up, flip my hair over my shoulders, curl a tendril over a boob. "Hey, where'd that come from? That's no kidding." I say nothing, but he grabs me across his knees and insists on inspecting the bruise. If it weren't for the brandy I'd bite him. He sits me back up and shakes me a little, so I laugh. "Not funny," he says. He is beginning to irritate me. "Look. It's nothing." "Nothing? My God, did I?" He covers his eyes with his hand. I nearly laugh again. "Silly, no, I must have fallen." "Must have? You don't remember? It isn't good if you don't remember." Sometimes I hear screams outside my window at 3 a.m., and I always take a cab after dark no matter how much it costs, never answer when a stranger knocks. But that is normal New York afraid. What happens sometimes now is that the fear comes inside, and there is something terrible right here in the room beside me. I feel it starting now. "From drinking?" He is frowning and looking concerned. What does he want the bruise to mean? "Just go," I say. "You're always like this when your father visits." he says |