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"An eye for an eye" is on a repeating loop in his mind as he struggles
to breathe, his face pressed flat on the cold porcelain, gagging on the
water and soapsuds that fill his nasal passages.
He thinks of her to block the pain from his rectum. Soon they will be
done with him, and he can go back to the privacy of his cell and
escape.
She is why he is here. She is why he must endure this assault on his
body every morning. It's all her fault. Bitch. Someday this will all
change. Deep down he knows he will get another chance with her.
There will be no mistakes.
He slips into a waking dream and the images reveal themselves. She
screams when he removes her fingernails with the scalpel and tweezers
he finds in her bathroom vanity; the bubbles in her bath water change
to a light pink from the blood as he methodically peels each nail from
her fingers. He ignores her pleading screams for mercy. No one has
ever shown him any. This frothy pink is favorite color, he thinks.
Her hair will go next.
He imagines it is down past her shoulders now. He can't fathom that
she might have cut it. He must be careful and not be too hasty in
removing her scalp. Too often here is where he fails, gets overexcited
and allows her to slip into unconsciousness and death. Can't have that.
She must witness his final defilement of her. Feel every pass of the
scalpel, have her eyes filled with her own blood, blinding her, as it
pours down her face and then fills her mouth. He can hear her final
sputtering breaths.
Yes. Some days he smiles.
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