“Listen, are you sure you hurt your leg?”“What? Yeah. Fine see for yourself.”She sighed and pushed my shorts up my leg. She found the actual bruise. The bloody bed had scratched me and my skin had peeled off. I’m used to stuff like this since I play football, but she didn’t know that!“See, I told you it’s on my thigh,” I said and I continued to press my dick.“I didn’t say you haven’t hurt yourself anywhere else,” she said. She quickly brushed my right hand aside and said, “Go on, show me.”“What! No -…”“It’s not something that … I haven’t seen before. You’re in pain, so it’s okay. I know you, you know me.”“Are you sure?”“Is it still hurting?”“Yes.”“Then let me see.”I pretended to wince in pain as I unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts. I knew my mom wouldn’t come down any time soon since she was definitely in the terrace. It’s probably why she hadn’t heard me fall. I unzipped my shorts and sat uncertainly.“Don’t act like a kid, Chirag,” she said. “Show me.”I was getting turned on big. "A month before she'd have laughed and mentioned her ticket to drive Formula One cars. A week ago she'd have at least mentioned it. Today ... she slowed down to five miles over the speed limit and left it at that.The driving was an anodyne for the pain she felt inside her; pain that had been growing for weeks and months. Her responses were rote and automatic, requiring minimal thought. It suited her.There was a minor flap when they stopped in Needles, California and Mr. Giles saw the gasoline prices. He was on his English high horse about "highway robbery" and price gouging. In a way it was familiar and comforting, and that was the problem. Familiar meant old memories bubbled to the surface. There were a lot of things she wished she could say to Mr. Glastonbury that she was never going to get to say.She glanced at the Watcher. He'd been pleased how polite she was, calling him Mr. Giles and all. What would he say if he found out she could care less what he thought? But it pulled her.
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