Sheila had heard her mother’s over-dramatic screams in the past. Spoilt, shrill, nigh-inhuman screeches that were normally directed at the various passengers of Celia Torrance’s carousel of romance. Dirtbag boyfriends or fuck buddies who, more often than not, would either embarrass her publicly or invariably be caught stealing from the Torrance household in some manner.
Paul being the latest and longest lasting rider was neither a deadbeat or social oaf thus Sheila could assume one of two things:
1. Her mother’s legs have been spreading while Paul is gone at work
or
2. Celia was about to die.
Sheila assuming the latter, but almost hoping for the former, buried her face into her pillow and ventured back into sleep.
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