Page 10 of Jacob Michaels is Not Crazy

“Something crawled into bed with me last night.” I set my glass in the sink. “Just like every other damn night I’ve been here and wasn’t too tired to notice. So…what is it? You have a cat? A dog? A raccoon or opossum or something?”

“Who the hell keeps an opossum as a house pet?”

“Crazy old country women from Ohio who think that the guy they set their grandson up on a date with turning into a wolf at the full moon isn’t that big of a deal??!?”

Her eyes were rolling around again.

“You just aren’t going to let that go, are you?”

“You have some douchebag try to grab your junk, turn into a wolf, and then get plowed into by a truck and see how long you hold onto that nut, lady.”

“Who the hell hit him with a truck?”

“Not that that should be your first question, but Lucas did.”

She thought about this for a moment.

“Well, I guess he had it coming.” She shrugged.

“Oh,” I laughed in disbelief, “you are crazy as a shit house rat, aren’t you?”

“Someone’s getting’ the Point Worth back in their personality.” She quipped. “Keep talkin’ all folksy and maybe people will start to think you’re actually from around here, no matter how much you’ve tried to act like you’re better than all of us.”

The heat poured off of me as I braced my hand on the sink edge. A shattering sound rang through the air as the glass in the sink practically exploded. Oma jumped back from the stove, putting distanced between the sink and herself. Glass ricocheted off of my knuckles and felt like pinpricks but I didn’t so much as flinch at the sound or the feeling. Internally, I couldn’t help but wonder why the glass had shattered. However, I was not going to be distracted by Oma’s nonsense or trickery.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What is in this goddamn house, Oma?!”

“There ain’t nothin’ in this house except my crazy damned grandson breaking my shit!” She growled back. “Your goddamn hand is bleeding.”

I glanced down. My hand merely looked a little scratched up.

“Don’t deflect.”

“You need to take your pills!”

“I am not crazy, Oma!”

“You just tore your damn hand up, Robbie.” She grumbled. “And you’re worried about raccoons and opossums?”

“My hand is far from ‘tore up’, Oma.” I held it up for her viewing. Just a few small scratches. “What’s been crawling into bed with me?”

“I have no idea, ya’ asshole.” She turned away from me to poke at the bacon in the pan some more. “But you need to take them pills.”

“Fine.”

Without another word, I ripped a few paper towels off of the holder next to the sink and blotted at my hand as I walked towards the doorway.

“Now where the hell do you think you’re going?” Oma hollered after me. “You ain’t even had breakfast!”

“I’ll eat at the café.”

So, I went and got my coat, wallet, phone, keys, and left.