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legs settled to a blissful level of constant agony. As his body relaxed, he scanned the room. Jenny sat in the old wooden chair in the far corner of the room. The chair was farther from his bedside each day. Her face was masked with horror. She had seen him slip into the nightmares many times. They came as often in the daytime as they did in the night. She had watched them from the same chair for months. The same chair that was now angled toward the door... her escape... just in case.

Jenny was there to keep an eye on him. She had loved Bobby before he left, and though her feelings had changed since then, it was still a kind of love. She knew there was nothing she could do to help him. But there was nobody else who would care for him the way she had. There was really nobody to care at all.
She watched as he reached to the bottle of whiskey that sat on his nightstand. It was on the left side. His right arm didn't work like it used to. Tears rolled down her white cheeks, as she watched him gargle with the liquor. He swished it around and spat in the direction of the wastebasket. A little splashed on the rim. Most of it just splattered the side of the nightstand and stained the worn out carpeting. He tilted the bottle up once more and emptied it down his throat. He drank like a man who had not seen water in a year. He dropped the empty bottle from his hand. It tumbled end over end before landing right side up in the garbage.
"Two points." He croaked while pawing at the nightstand. "Where are my butts?"
"To the left." The words barely passed her lips. She was not normally meek, but the months in this room had been difficult. This Bobby, who had returned from South America, frightened her. She loved him, but she barely knew him. The combination of guilt and fear kept her by his side during any free moment she could find.
She sat and watched Bobby drown himself in whiskey and nightmares. He lay in his childhood twin bed, elbows propped up. A Marlboro drooped from between two fingers. The smoldering ash grew too long and broke off. Jenny watched the hot ash hit his wrist and roll down his forearm.
"Agghh!" The ash burned a painful trail through the delicate hair on his forearm. Bobby slapped wildly with his bad arm. It was awkward, but he managed to crush the ember before he burned anything important. The sudden movement of his bad arm was just erratic enough to startle Jenny. She yelped like a hurt puppy and turned her feet toward the bedroom door. Her arms came

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