Bad as Fuck by Jason Armstrong Page B

to watch her spit in my mouth again and have the physical evidence that it wasn't just a dream I had the night before.  But instead she began picking her nose slowly and methodically and flicking the boogers into my mouth.  Over and over again she would deposit one into my mouth and return to her nose to get another one.  The horror I felt bordered on an existential meltdown.  Suddenly I could taste the dried snot in my mouth and throat and began to gag.  As I threw up I was sure I could taste the boogers I had involuntarily swallowed in the night and that just made me vomit even harder.
    That day at work I could focus on nothing else.  I spent every moment when my supervisor wasn't watching to try to some research about what I was going through.  But this situation was so odd that I didn't know what to Google.  So I just wandered the internet aimlessly and eventually began to find hints that she was somehow connected to the JFK assassination.  This was getting out of control.  I couldn't go on like this; I wasn't thinking clearly in my exhaustion. 
    So I did what any man would do.  I got myself a mannequin.  Don't ask how; I've got a guy.  The plan was to catch her in the act and confront her from a safe distance.  I mean, what was her problem?  Why couldn't she just come out and tell me what her problem was?  How immature.  I wouldn't act like that. 
    That night I didn't even try to hit on her.  In the back of my mind I had hoped that would work to my advantage and make her want what she couldn't have.  She didn't;  instead she said she wanted me to watch P.S. I Love You with her.  This, perhaps, was almost more shocking than anything else.  This woman obviously had it out for me.  But what kind of sociopath would look me dead in the eye and expect me to watch a chick flick with her?
    “Didn't you just watch that last week?”
    She menacingly fluffed up the pillows on our bed to make herself more comfortable.  “Yeah, but you wouldn't watch it with me.  I thought maybe we could spend some time together.”
    I didn't know what she was trying to pull but I certainly wasn't going to fall for it.  “Uh, no, sorry.  I've got some stuff to do.”
    “Oh, okay.”  She looked like she wanted to say something else but didn't.  Instead she stared straight ahead at the FBI warning on the screen as if I had already left the room.  So I left and went into the kitchen and made myself a pot of coffee into which I mixed a handful of caffeine pills; a sort of un-
    roofie to make sure I would be on my guard later that night.
    About halfway through the movie she fell asleep.  So I began to set up the room to execute my plan.  I slipped the dummy into my spot in the bed and pulled the comfort over my fake self.  In her sleep, she rolled over and threw her arm over it and couldn't tell the difference.  That kind of hurt my feelings but I needed to stay focused on what was important.  So I went to the other side of the room and sat in the chair.  I put on a pair of night vision goggles I had also bought that day and in my hand I gripped the can of pepper spray that I got out of her purse. 
    I was too wired to sleep but I was so tired that my mind began to dream despite my being awake.  After three days without a good nights rest my mind had definitely begun to play tricks on me.  And at three, like clockwork, she once again sat up like a woman possessed.  I sat up straight in our chair and gripped the pepper spray, ready for action.  This time instead of straddling me she began punching the dummy which she thought was me over and over again in the groin.  Once again I was shocked into inaction and simply sat there stupefied.  After about five minutes of punching me in the balls she got up and walked out into the hallway. 
    Enough was enough.  I jumped up and confronted her there.
    “I got you!  What the hell do you think you're doing?”
    But she didn't respond.  Like a robot she continued