“You didn’t miss it,” she says.
“You love Christmas. We had some nice ones.”
“Yeah, before you made her afraid of her own shadow, making her wanna be a turtle hiding in a shell. You’re not done paying for it, either.”
“How you feel about that, Vi?” He jerks a thumb in my direction. “You feel like watching him beat me up? Hey, remember that time we fucked on the floor in front of our first Christmas tree? What’s up this year? You spending it in here with me? We’re gonna be back together in time for the new year. Mark my words, babe.”
He’s angling to get a bullet in his brain, he really is.
She continues cubing the lasagna, but her hands are shaking.
If I had a gun in my hand, it’d be tempting to end this. Flex my finger just like I did with Max. As easy as that. The gun is in the toolbox Violet’s sitting on.
“No? You gonna watch Kill kill me? Ha. Kill kills Ray. Movie at eleven. Knew she’d find out eventually. Hoping and prayin’ for this, man. She’s a sweet girl, our Violet. She won’t be down for this. See, I know her way better than you do.”
I pull disposable gloves on, then roughly rip the bandages off his wrists. He reacts with a hiss, so I yank his forearms forward, glaring into his eyes. And he’s caught in my glare for a minute before he starts laughing again.
I spray his wrists with disinfectant, then after applying a layer of antibiotic cream, I wrap them up with new bandages. I look over the fucker’s face and that large cut on his cheekbone is scabbed over good, no longer looks infected. His lip is less swollen today. I pass him a face wipe.
“Wash your face, Ass-wipe.”
He takes it and rubs it up and down his face.
The bruising outlining the bandages on his wrists are fading. He’s finally come to terms that he can’t pull his way out of his restraint, which gets alternated between his left and right wrist and gives him just enough length to get to his toilet-bucket a few feet away.
I take his bucket of piss and shit and walk past Violet to the utility sink on the other side of the wall, then slowly pour the contents of the bucket down, looking the other way to avoid the stench.
I set the bucket in the big sink and pour cleanser into it and then take the spare clean bucket from last time back in and put it in the same spot with another roll of toilet paper.
I’m working on changing his knee bandage when I hear her sniffle. I glance over my shoulder at her sitting there on the tool chest, holding onto the plate of lasagna, shoulders bouncing as she tries to stifle the sobs. It’s all cut into little bites for the fucker, so I step over to the doorway and reach out. She hands it to me with the bottle of water, not looking up, but choking on a sob. I hand her back the fork and knife and take the plate to the side of his bed.
“No fork? C’mon, gimme the fork, Kill.”
I ignore him.
“No fork?”
“Want a fork in yer eye?” I ask.
He laughs. “Ooh. Your lasagna, babe? Been dreaming about this. Hope this isn’t a dream right now. Hope you didn’t put fuckin’ ricotta in it.” He picks up a piece and examines it. “God damn it, Violet…” He growls at the plate.
The fucking idiot.
“You done?” I ask Violet. “You wanna go upstairs? I’ll be there in a minute.”
She frowns at me and then her eyes are on him again. And then they bounce to the wall by the door and widen.
I follow her gaze. She’s staring at the nail on the wall and what’s dangling from it. The heart necklace I got out of the pawn shop, the one she was gonna throw out because Raymond gave it to her, telling her she had his heart.
Her eyes slide over to him again and I know she’s taking stock of how unwell he looks. He’s lost weight. He’s been beat up repeatedly. He’s wearing just a pair of black basketball shorts and a grey wifebeater. His blond hair is greasy, sticking up everywhere. He smells wretched. His knee is wrapped. And one look at him and it’s obvious that his mind cracked ages ago. Solitary confinement, living in the dark and filth, and ongoing physical pain will do that.
He stuffs some lasagna into his mouth and talks around it. “Of course she’s done. She’s seen enough. Go upstairs, Vi. Go and wait to climb on his cock like the cum slut you are. I heard the way you moan for him. Traitorous whore.”
I haul back and belt him in the mouth.