“Let me go!”
“No, you don’t deserve to live after what you did to me!”
I slam his face into the laptop again, and blood cakes the keys from his broken nose.
“Stop, please, stop. I’m begging you. I have a kid.”
“And what did I have?!” I scream.
“I’m sorry. He paid me to do it. I didn’t want to, but he threatened to hurt my family.”
“I don’t fucking care!” I yell back. “You fucking knew what you were doing was wrong, and you did it anyway!”
I punch him in the face so hard that it knocks out his teeth.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
“Sorry won’t get me back what you took from me!”
I pick up his scalpel from one of the small tables next to the operating table and stick it into his fucking eye.
He screams out loud and thrusts his body at me, but I sidestep as he squirts blood all over himself. “My eye, my eye! You stabbed my fucking eye!”
“An eye for an eye,” I growl.
He tries to swipe at me, but rips out his own patient’s breathing tube instead, causing a spasm in the man, whose machines go off. The beeping is annoying, but Carlo’s full body-slams are even more annoying as he tries to get away. I shove him forward until he falls on one of the medicine-filled tables, and I wrap the patient’s wires all around his body to seal him in.
Who needs rope when you’ve got surgical tools?
“How does it feel to be tied to a fucking table, huh?”
I grab the biggest needle I can find and shove it into his arm over and over again until he yelps.
“How does it feel to be stabbed while you’re helpless?”
“Rasputin” by Boney M. starts playing on the radio through the speakers, and I just love the vibes.
I pick up a scalpel and pierce Carlo’s chest with it.
“How does it feel to lose your fucking life?”
“Please, help me!” he screams, probably at those nurses who are locked in the supplies closet.
“They’re not going to help you,” I hiss as I inch closer to his one functioning eye. “Everyone hates greedy, old White men.”
I stab him in the other eye too so he can’t see me in all my glory anymore.
I don’t want him to witness me.
He doesn’t deserve it after what he put me through.
Someone bursts through the door, and I turn around with a knife in my hand, ready to throw it at my assailant, but his voice makes me stop mid-throw.
“Thank God I found you.”
Flabbergasted that he’s here, I mutter, “Xavier?”
Atreus
