that’s how it will always
be,” he said fondly.
I said
nothing.
“Would you
like to read it?”
I
considered reading it. I wasn’t sure if I should or not. It would probably be a
good insight into the mind of a maniac, but did I want to see that? Wasn’t it bad enough knowing what I knew about him already?
Did I really want a behind-the-scenes look at the workings of a monster?
“Yes,” I
said.
“Well you
can’t,” he snapped.
“Why not?”
“I don’t
want you to read it until it’s finished. I’d like it to be a surprise to you.”
“Why the
hell would you ask me to read it if you weren’t going to let me?” I asked
angrily.
“I just
wanted to know that you wanted to read it. And now I know,” he said smiling. He
put the stack of papers on the floor by his feet, out of my sight and reach,
but not out of my mind.
I couldn’t
help myself. “I hope you get a paper cut from those papers and it gets
infected.”
He laughed.
“I’m sure you do, Nicole.”
A while
later, I asked, “Do you have a television?”
“No.
They’re nonsensical and impractical. They waste a lot of valuable time.”
“They
don’t waste time. People waste time watching the stupid crap they put on TV.
But there’s a lot of good stuff on there too. Lots of
educational programs. For example, and this should interest you, there
are several shows devoted to serial killers.”
“Is that
so?” he asked, obviously amused with me. I’d thought I was treading on some
thin ice making such a statement in such a crass way, but it seemed to only
entertain him.
“Yeah. And not just serial killers. Psychopaths, schizophrenics,
delusional people, pretty much all kinds of whack jobs.”
He
chuckled. “Maybe I should invest in a television after all.”
“You
should.”
He looked
at me with enough affection to turn my stomach, and then asked, “Did you watch
a lot of television?”
I winced
at the way he referred to me in the past tense, and said, “Not a lot.”
Shuffling
the cards, he asked, “What kind of programs did you watch? Soap
operas?”
“No,” I
snapped. “I hate soap operas. Talk about a waste of time.”
“I’m
sorry, Nicole. I just assumed since you were a woman, you’d watch those types
of programs.”
“You
shouldn’t assume things about people.”
“No?”
“No. You
don’t buy a book based solely on the cover, do you?”
He nodded.
“You’re right, Nicole. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve known a lot of women who
watched that type of thing.”
“Was one
of them your wife?”
Quickly,
he stood, reached across the table, and slapped me hard, bringing tears to my
eyes. I’d never been slapped before. It hurt like hell. It felt like dozens of
pins stinging my face.
I know he
saw the shock on my face as I rubbed my left cheek with my free hand.
“I’m
sorry, Nicole. I shouldn’t have done that,” he said as he sat down in his chair
again.
For a
while, all I could do was look at him, shocked. I shouldn’t be surprised, of
course. He was a psychopath. I should be expecting anything at anytime. But I
hadn’t seen that coming.
“I’m sorry.
Let’s just forget that ever happened, shall we? It’s your turn,” he said,
indicating the cards.
“You can
kiss my ass if you think I’m going to play with you after that.”
“Nicole,
please.”
“No. I’m
not in the mood to play cards anymore.” I tried to cross my arms over my chest
in a childish manner, but with my right arm shackled to the underside of the
table, I could only cross my left arm. That probably looked at least half as
stupid as it felt, so I relaxed my left arm, letting my hand fall to my lap limply.
Maybe I
was crazy for talking back to him the way I was. I know he liked it when I did,
but I also knew there was a very thin line that I couldn’t see but knew I
didn’t want to cross. It would take him from amused by me to furious at me in
the blink of an eye. But I didn’t care at the moment. I was
be,” he said fondly.
I said
nothing.
“Would you
like to read it?”
I
considered reading it. I wasn’t sure if I should or not. It would probably be a
good insight into the mind of a maniac, but did I want to see that? Wasn’t it bad enough knowing what I knew about him already?
Did I really want a behind-the-scenes look at the workings of a monster?
“Yes,” I
said.
“Well you
can’t,” he snapped.
“Why not?”
“I don’t
want you to read it until it’s finished. I’d like it to be a surprise to you.”
“Why the
hell would you ask me to read it if you weren’t going to let me?” I asked
angrily.
“I just
wanted to know that you wanted to read it. And now I know,” he said smiling. He
put the stack of papers on the floor by his feet, out of my sight and reach,
but not out of my mind.
I couldn’t
help myself. “I hope you get a paper cut from those papers and it gets
infected.”
He laughed.
“I’m sure you do, Nicole.”
A while
later, I asked, “Do you have a television?”
“No.
They’re nonsensical and impractical. They waste a lot of valuable time.”
“They
don’t waste time. People waste time watching the stupid crap they put on TV.
But there’s a lot of good stuff on there too. Lots of
educational programs. For example, and this should interest you, there
are several shows devoted to serial killers.”
“Is that
so?” he asked, obviously amused with me. I’d thought I was treading on some
thin ice making such a statement in such a crass way, but it seemed to only
entertain him.
“Yeah. And not just serial killers. Psychopaths, schizophrenics,
delusional people, pretty much all kinds of whack jobs.”
He
chuckled. “Maybe I should invest in a television after all.”
“You
should.”
He looked
at me with enough affection to turn my stomach, and then asked, “Did you watch
a lot of television?”
I winced
at the way he referred to me in the past tense, and said, “Not a lot.”
Shuffling
the cards, he asked, “What kind of programs did you watch? Soap
operas?”
“No,” I
snapped. “I hate soap operas. Talk about a waste of time.”
“I’m
sorry, Nicole. I just assumed since you were a woman, you’d watch those types
of programs.”
“You
shouldn’t assume things about people.”
“No?”
“No. You
don’t buy a book based solely on the cover, do you?”
He nodded.
“You’re right, Nicole. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve known a lot of women who
watched that type of thing.”
“Was one
of them your wife?”
Quickly,
he stood, reached across the table, and slapped me hard, bringing tears to my
eyes. I’d never been slapped before. It hurt like hell. It felt like dozens of
pins stinging my face.
I know he
saw the shock on my face as I rubbed my left cheek with my free hand.
“I’m
sorry, Nicole. I shouldn’t have done that,” he said as he sat down in his chair
again.
For a
while, all I could do was look at him, shocked. I shouldn’t be surprised, of
course. He was a psychopath. I should be expecting anything at anytime. But I
hadn’t seen that coming.
“I’m sorry.
Let’s just forget that ever happened, shall we? It’s your turn,” he said,
indicating the cards.
“You can
kiss my ass if you think I’m going to play with you after that.”
“Nicole,
please.”
“No. I’m
not in the mood to play cards anymore.” I tried to cross my arms over my chest
in a childish manner, but with my right arm shackled to the underside of the
table, I could only cross my left arm. That probably looked at least half as
stupid as it felt, so I relaxed my left arm, letting my hand fall to my lap limply.
Maybe I
was crazy for talking back to him the way I was. I know he liked it when I did,
but I also knew there was a very thin line that I couldn’t see but knew I
didn’t want to cross. It would take him from amused by me to furious at me in
the blink of an eye. But I didn’t care at the moment. I was
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