I still keep up the act though, pretending to appreciate the compliment. They are so easy to manipulate. If they make even a simple compliment about you and you return the favor, you can almost guarantee that they will be fucking your brains out before the sun rises again. Some of them take a little more convincing than others, but for the most part they are all the same.

Except for the way they scream when you cut them. Every shout is delightfully different. I love the way they expect that some how through their pathetic excuse for compliments they have earned the free right to be inside me. They don’t ever see it coming either. Every grunt and moan leads up to one sweet final moment of ecstasy and pleasure followed by the most magnificent part of creation, death. I love to watch them stare as their body fails to find adjustment to the mixture of emotions which fill them in the last few seconds before their eyes become cold and the world around them is no longer theirs.

So I find myself watching them entwined, her body shaking harder with his every thrust and her lips letting out beautiful squeals of ecstasy the likes of which would make a violin envious of its perfect tune. A tune which should be mine and only mine. She was my instrument, and I played her in a way I am sure this creature would never be able to and in a way he was failing to now.

However, tonight this would be a sad, sad symphony. I know the reason she needs this man. Little does he realize, however, just how much he doesn’t need her, or the stress that she has brought into his life. You see, she is very sick now and doesn’t know it. Though she has the papers that say she is the picture of perfect health right now, she is truly the dark hand of death. She came to get her things last night and found that one of them seemed to be very sharp. Sharp as the knife she used to slice open my back. Sharp as the knife I used to prick my finger just enough before I helped her gauze up her heavily blood soaked palm. Without her my life is over. Her song will always be mine. I am the only one allowed to remember that beautiful serenade for the all happiness it is worth and now it will be the sweet voice of death to every man she will ever know.

Tonight she will cry as I feel her flesh against my fingertips. I will watch as the tears roll down her cheek as she tries to fight the ties that bind her to the hell I have made for her. Let’s see her pretend I’m not here now. She can just close her eyes and pretend the blood that trickles down her thigh is not her own. That the sensations she feels are not the last pricks of life escaping her perfect, soft skin. However, even in her imagination she can’t overcome the words which violate her ears over and over again. I cannot let her be free. I will not let her escape the box she unjustly trapped me inside of.

As she lies there, defiled, with the fluids for her body spread across her bed, her walls, herself, I drop to my knees in pain. I was sure that I would be free if I could only rid myself of the one who trapped me here. I want to be free. I need to be free, free from these pains, these thoughts, and these agonizing memories. Here though, with my captor before me I find no solace. There will be no escape. My body seizes up as I realize the only escape. My face collapses upon her chest and the last drops of life drip from my chest and from my eyes. This prison of pain was not of her design, it was my own. I would never be free of the cell until the warden was no more. As I feel the last of my essence fall to the floor, I feel the wall crumble around me. I have found my salvation.