Insomnia Quickie I

They were fighting again. This latest farce started over a tin of cashew nuts. She had simply asked, as she had so many other times, that if he finished something in the house he replace it. That's it. Just appealed to his sense of common courtesy. This request lead to fierce retaliation. Him railing about her insensitivity to his needs and her selfishness. Soon they rant had moved far away from its origin as he complained about her grooming and friends. This she would not tolerate so after saying she'd had enough, she began to walk away hoping this time that he would let her. Her hope was dashed away quickly.

Grabbing her by the arm, he slammed her against a kitchen wall. This was his house as he loved to rage, and he would be damned if she were to be allowed to walk away from him while he was talking to her. She told him she just wanted to go into the other room and not fight. Well if the other room was what she wanted, he would be sure to give it to her. Twining his hands in her hair, he dragged her from one room to the next and thrust her into a chair. She knew what would happen next long before the first slap snapped her head back.

He paced as he lectured her, emphasizing each point with a resounding slap to the face. She sat in stoic silence accepting the pain, knowing that crying would only prolong the fury. She waited for him to simply tire himself out. His words became a meaningless drone and soon she did not bother to tense up when she saw his hand fast approaching. Still, this time was different. As the abuse wore on, she began to fade...

She washed her hands just so. She wanted them clean so as to not dirty the instruments but at the same time so as to not lose all of her covering. The lack of her chosen body paint bothered her immensely as she liked to be painted from head to toe when she was at home. No matter, soon she would be finished and allowed to repaint herself. She looked over at her husband and he managed a weak smile. Good, he was happy. Every time he seemed unhappy, she tried her best to change his mood. She walked over to the sink with the dirty tray and washed her utensils. First the hooks, then the clamps, then the needles and last, lovingly, the knives. When they were clean, dried and stored in the special rack she kept for them by the sink, she turned her attention to the pot bubbling on the stove.
"Look baby, I think your food is ready." she cooed to him sweetly and he answered "good," with a muffled sob. She spooned the thick liquid into the bowl, placed a spoon in the mix and walked over to him. Placing the concoction in front of him, she kissed him on the forehead before bending down to pick up the bowl of blood that had collected below his severed leg.

She was coming back, the sounds from the house rushing in on her. The drone of the television, the whir of the refrigerator motor in the next room, the rustle of the leaves outside of the window. He was completing a circuit and was coming around for the slap that was to punctuate whatever point he had made when she looked up at him and smiled. His hand faltered and fell to his side. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly. He backed away slowly, always facing her. She sat silently in the chair until he left, closing the front door softly behind him.

~

Days later he returned home. She couldn't contain her curiosity so she asked timidly what had caused him to stop and leave so suddenly.
"I saw Hell in your eyes."

Fin