'Welcome back, fat boy! How're the handles going? I see we didn't make it to the gym again last night. Too stoned? Or too f*cked over from the ciggies? How long did we last this time? A day. Wooo you're scary when you set your mind to something. I thought you were smart. Smart c*nts don't smoke, do they? Guess you do. Feel that throat. Mmmm. Closed up like a pathology specimen. Furry teeth, leather tongue, cracking headache. Feel it? Yesss sure you do! Here. Here. And… HERE!'

The split claws raked and Tom winced, his mind's eye filled with the aneurysm he was certain would burst one day soon. He covered his face and balled into the foetal position.

Sarah stirred and murmured drowsily. 'How are you, baby?'

'It's Monday! It's Monday!' taunted the Gebbeth in a singsong shriek. 'Five more days of cry-ing. Five more days of dy-ing. One whole week of try-ing, but to no avail, - Oi!'

'Good thanks, Sarah', said Tom automatically.

She caught the too-familiar tone and rolled her eyes. [Oh no. Please not today.]

'Fat stupid weak soft boring evil dumb bad crap nothing liar pervert sham hopeless bogus.'

'Shut up!' roared Tom inwardly. 'Shut UP!'

'Waste life poor effort no good bad seed sham life crap work no talent bull sh*t soft c*ck deedle idle deedle idle TRAMP TRAMP TRAMP!'

With each word, the Gebbeth gave Tom's brain a sharp hug, until tears sprang to his eyes.

'Time to get up motherf*cker!' it yelled. 'Today's the day we're going to ditch the girrrrrrrl friend!

**********

The morning was like any of the last hundred. At work, Sarah sipped her tea and dutifully wrote an email of support to the man she loved. Turning to her in-tray, she kept vigil for the flashing icon that would signal his response. As before, there was a long delay.

To be continued...