Laddered

For the third time in a month, the LTLP arrives at my door with horrible wounds.

This time he has gone at her with a ladder.

Three days ago, he brutalised her with an old box of LPs. If you're going to get viciously assualted, you'd probably rather it wasn't with old Pretenders albums. That time there was no lasting damage, this time she has a large welt on her forehead, like someone has implanted a golf ball halfway into her skull.

Again it falls to me to calm her down. She talks about going to the police, of leaving this place and Jonny Billericay behind. I tell her she has to stay, to give him a chance, he's not all that bad. I fear she's the last connection Jonny has to the real world, and without her his fragile sanity will snap.

Like a cornflake. Snap.

She says that she knows I'm right. He's not that bad, she says. Just more and more psychotic. We kiss, a long kiss, a good kiss, and part once more.