29. Marie
29
MARIE
…OR MAYBE JUST HORNY
B earing witness to Nico’s controlled brutality shouldn’t have been enticing. I definitely shouldn’t be wet and pressing my thighs together. I even wonder why I do it because it’s not giving me any relief.
Maybe there was never a way for me to escape violence like my family wanted. Maybe it’s a genetic trait to be turned on by it. Or because I’ve known what my family does, I’m de-sensitised. Whatever the reason, I observed Nico with fascination and self-righteousness as he rid the world of this man.
His eyes on me gave me cold shivers, the feeling of being unclean sticking to my skin like a disease. I’m glad he won’t be able to hurt anyone ever again. And I’m glad Nico got what he needed, too, replacing the face of this man with the enemy he wishes to kill over and over again for hurting his family.
I can echo the sentiment.
I’d never be able to do what Nico does. But if my family were hurt, if there was someone guilty I could punish for Lisa's death, I might. That’s the problem with how I feel. My family’s way of treating me has made me bitter, they’ve hurt me though they never wanted to. But I still love them, and I would do anything for them.
As for Lisa, that’s what cancer does. It takes from you and you have nowhere to put your pain, your grief, your hate has no where to go. There is no one to blame. Alcohol gives me someone to blame. Myself.
Something clatters to the floor and my attention is stolen again by the man who has my heart on overdrive. He’s focused, cleaning the space from blood where it disappears down the drain at the end of the room.
In his painter suit, he looks like a macabre angel of Death, the clinical version that probably gives grown men nightmares. Though none live to tell the tale. I watch riveted as he takes measured steps, using his favourite number to swipe the floor, disinfect all his tools, then disappear with the body before coming back. I’m fascinated, entranced. I can’t look away.