She went back to the sink and picked up the lipstick stained glass. She turned the blue marked tap and filled it halfway to the top and took a big mouthful of the heavily fluoridated water. She stood with her feet either side of his head and began to slowly drip the water on to his face. Chinese water torture. She imagined the slow melt down of his mind, the poetic justice of the years of maltreatment she had suffered at his hand.
But she didn’t have days. She had to stick to the plan.
She dropped the glass on the man’s forehead, cracking but not smashing it and drawing out another screech of pain.
“I’m fucking bored of this honey. I’m gonna turn up the heat on this barbeque.”
She left the kitchen, taking care to close the door behind her.
The man began to whimper. If the burgers weren’t even on the grill yet, this was going to be a long night.
He wasn’t a stupid man. For all his faults and flaws, stupidity was not an accusation that would have stood up in a court of law, despite his record. Three years at Vanderbilt University and a cameo role as wide receiver for the Commodores, Vanderbilt’s football team, before his vices had got the better of him.
The Commodores Christmas blowout 2006. Big Ol’ titties and all the shooters you could shake your dick at. How he wished he had stayed in his dorm studying now – fate had pushed her specific big Ol’ titties in his face and the rest was painful history.
The muffled sound of her heels clicking on the laminate in the hallway was as torturous as anything that had happened to him so far. He was still wondering how he found himself laying in puddles of his own blood at 6’o clock on a humdrum Wednesday evening.
The door creaked as she opened it gently. Although his vision was blurred from the initial hit to the back of the head he had taken, he could very clearly make out a drill in her left hand and a box of screws in her right. This time she kicked the door forcefully to close it, again succeeding at startling the man.
“OK. Now remember the time you got drunk and mistook me for your sparring dummy and accidently on purpose tore my earlobe. Well tonight is your lucky night.”
The man began to writhe, like a fish that had just been caught and put on the slippery deck of a boat awaiting its inevitable fate. She had got to him good. He wanted to fight. He wanted to just stand up and reassert himself. Use his Jiu Jitsu training and choke the bitch out. But he couldn’t. Her control techniques were working and as she pulled the trigger of the drill, the man took an enormous gulp of saliva. She wasn’t playing games.