Page 133 - The Houseguest

DAY SEVEN
I withheld dinner from Rachel the night prior and skipped breakfast on Day Seven, as well. I wasn’t in the mood to prepare anything for her and she needed to be brought down from her high horse. Who the hell did she think she was, challenging me like that? I’m the one holding the cards, here. As far as she knew, I could extinguish her entire existence with a quarter inch move of my finger. It was as though she was anticipating the bullet passing through her brain, even looking forward to it happening. Scrutinizing the incident in my mind, I decided she had been telling the truth; she had no fear of dying. What did she have to live for anyway? Though that fact did remove a large majority of pleasure from the completion of my schematic, it wasn’t going to stop me. Pain was pain. Though she had detached from life enough to avoid emotional pain, she couldn’t stop her body from feeling physical pain.
I went out to retrieve the metal snips from our gardening shed, where I was reminded of many other tools I’d acquired that could prove useful in my latest endeavor. I walked into the Inspiration Room and unchained one of Rachel’s hands. She was calm and unresponsive, so I removed the gag and tape from her mouth. “Are you ready to cooperate today?” I inquired rather politely, as I sat beside her on the bed instead of my usual chair. She didn’t answer. “I thought you’d learn by now that I expect a response from you when I ask a question,” I warned. As soon as the words made their way out of my mouth, she spat in my face. Her projectile saliva reached my bottom lip and I sprung up in reaction to my revulsion. I grabbed the blanket to wipe my lip and ran to the bathroom to rinse my mouth.
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life