Salsa music blasts on, her head jerks up in surprise. She hears the familiar rhythmical steps of him dancing alone. There are no lights on in the living room. There's no cajoling voice trying to coax her out to join him. There's nothing to do but wait. She dozes fitfully. His hostile presence wakes her. How long has he been there? Dread fills her being. His black eyes look crazed and unfocused.
"Please, it's all a misunderstanding," she starts again. "Put yourself in my shoes? Why can't you equate what you did to my situation?"
He doesn't seem to hear or see her. He's holding something protectively close to his body. He's concealing it just enough in his jacket for her to catch a glimpse of shiny metal. He pauses in the doorway, mumbling to himself.
A quiet sob escapes and she strains against the blue synthetic ropes that keep her tied against the iron wrought headboard. A gentle tug forward, it gives slightly, now leaning back. No! Too hard. It thumps against the wall. Frightened green eyes look into his instantly hyper-focused ones. His animalistic grin widens as he approaches the plastic covered bed. The jacket falls open a little more. She can see the curved handle. A fearful whimper slips out. His deep laugh revels in her terror. Frantically tugging harder, the ropes burning into her flesh, he feeds her nightmare with his slow, methodical advance. Her mind flees, giving into pure panic mode, yanking and jerking at her restraints. The paint rubs off; the drywall is exposed, flaking off in bigger and bigger chunks with her mindless bashing. The man-made fibers splintering her flesh. Screaming accompanies the frenzied behavior. Blood seeps out, changing the rope's bright color, a disgusting purple.
He rushes over and restrains her. He attempts covering her mouth to quiet the shrieks. The weapon slips out from the coat, lands in-between her legs. He's instantly murmuring the usual sweet nothings, apologies for bringing all this on herself, kissing her face. "Mi amor, I'm so sorry. This is your fault. Oh mi reyna. You must be punished."
Her stillness does nothing to deter him. Abrupt calmness takes over, for a crimson hand has slipped free. The knife is there, pressed against his arousal. Swallowing the revulsion, she forces herself to kiss him back. Both his hands go into her hair, caressing and pulling. "If only you would obey me, these things would not have to happen. How many times must I continue to teach you?" Her neck arched back, exposed, showing finger-shaped bruises. He tenderly traces each one. "Oh my stubborn one..."
Her hand works toward the weapon. With an Amazonian cry she jams it up. He shudders, falls forward. The entire dead weight of pure muscles crushes her. Her triumph watches him die, slowly bleeding out. The tormentor that will soon be no more...eventually.