Mary was running down the hall. Her hands were tied, so when she stumbled and fell, her face hit the floor and her nose started bleeding again. It hadn't bled since I hit her a couple of hours ago. When she fell down I had to turn her over and try to calm her. I hate the screaming desperate type. Why can't they be more like Matthew. A couple of minutes ago Matthew was sitting on his usual blood stained chair, and it was his turn, and he knew it (he always comes after Virginia). Matt didn't even look at me, he just sat there, eyes fixed on the floor, waiting for me to do my thing. Matt the Patient, that's what I call him. He never opens his mouth - only to spit blood, never to say one fucking word.
So there I was holding Mary down, telling her everything will be alright, but she just kept screaming. I hit her a couple of times, nothing. She only stopped her bitching and moaning when I shot Virginia. She was her best friend. It's funny. If they're hitting or cutting me, I probably wouldn't scream, but if someone shot my best friend, I guess I would. Maybe Matthew would scream if I shot his best friend. But he says he doesn't have any friends. I think he's like me. The point is, ever since that day, Mary never cried, screamed, bitched or moaned again. Silent Mary, sitting next to Matthew, had become a sharpener for my knife, a target for my gun, a cheek for my kisses, a hole for my cock. And that's when Matt started acting funny: looking up, speaking up, calling me names, telling me to leave her alone.
What had change? He was always my favorite one. What happened? Did he miss Virginia? Did he not like the way I made love to Mary? I wanted to know. So one day I was inside Mary, and she just laid there, hands tied behind her back, face down on the floor, looking at a distant point on the wall, and Matthew started yelling, telling me to stop, telling me to let him go. I even got the feeling he was threatening me, a clear warning that if I didn't stop and set him free he would hurt me, he would actually kill me. So I had to know. I needed to know. I stopped. I stood up, and with a gun in one hand and a knife in the other, I cut the ropes holding his arms and his legs. His eyes were those of a madman. As soon as he started getting up and rubbing his wrists, I took a few steps back and silently looked at him, this raging beast of a man. He looked at me, then looked at Mary, got down, and started raping her. Just then, she began screaming.
God, how I hate all the bitching and moaning in the world.
I shot Matt.
I kicked his body off of Mary, and she became dear old Silent Mary again.
Poor old Matt. I think he really was like me.
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