A/N: This chapter is dedicated to RoseHasThorns, who surprised me into writing more. Thanks to everyone who was reviewed so far, your comments mean a lot to me.
He drives her crazy, and it's not an exaggeration -- she's going nuts. Every day the same old things: "I need a wipe, Sharona," or "Slow down, Sharona," or "God! Don't touch that, Sharona!"
Crazy.
Because of this, she says a lot of things she doesn't mean. Nothing too offensive, by her standards, but she can always tell by the look in his eyes that she's hurt his feelings. He usually leaves the room afterwards -- muttering a phrase that she hears twelve to thirty-five times a day:
"I... I need to wash my hands, Sharona."
Whenever he says that, something just twinges inside of her. The same thing that twinges when she watches those depressing romances on late-night TV... The feeling that she needs some chocolate and a good cry. It's almost like she's on a subconscious guilt trip -- but, of course, she's not. She doesn't have a reason to feel guilty, he does. Adrian and his stupid obsessive-compulsive disorder... which he can't help...
God, she's a witch with a capital "B".
...And the twisted part she doesn't have a real reason. After all, she could find a better job, move to a better place, get Benjy into a better school, and work with someone that she could get along with...
But the truth is, when she really thinks about it, it sounds boring. She might have more money and get more days off, but she'd never get to investigate crimes again. There might be a bigger house somewhere, but she and Benjy are doing great where they are, anyway. There's the possibility that the perfect boss is out there waiting for her, but Adrian wouldn't be calling her at all hours of the night. Or in the morning. Or when she is down the block, parking her car.
"Sharona... I really need you here right now," he says, static added to his voice due to the connection between his beige telephone and her cell.
"I know, Adrian, I'm just parking the damn car."
"Well -- well don't hit the curb..."
She sighs in exasperation. "I won't hit the curb."
"Yes you will. You said that... You said it last time, and you --"
There's a thump and a sickening crunch as she feels the back end of her station wagon slam into the sidewalk.
"-- hit the curb." he finishes, and she knows that he's smiling to himself as he looks out the window.
Damn. she thinks. He always knows when I'm gonna screw up...