Page 30 of Mayhem and Minnie

Twice.

Blood pours.

Not enough.

I grab him by the hair, pull him back, and slam his face into the mirror again.

Shards of glass fall to the ground. Some are embedded in his ugly-ass face.

I slam him again.

One shard penetrates his eyeball.

More blood.

Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.

There are horrified gasps flying around, together with cries for help. But they’re all drowned out by a rage unlike any I’ve ever felt.

I let his body fall to the ground. Limp. Fucker has no tolerance for pain.

He’s barely moving.

But oh, I’m far from done.

Assessing the different-sized shards of glass, I pick up a long and thin one from the ground.

Straddling the bastard, I cut through his jeans until I reach his underwear.

Fuck. This is gross as fuck.

I should be wearing gloves.

I shouldn’t have blood on my hands.

I shouldn’t have blood anywhere near me, nor should I have had to touch his slimy-ass hair with my fingers.

A ton of bleach won’t be able to wash away the disgusting slime from this lowlife.

The disgust is there. But so is the rage.

And the rage wins.

I grab the motherfucker’s genitals through his briefs and jab the sharp end of the glass into his groin. Bringing it down toward his bulge, I make a succession of rapid cuts until I feel the flesh peel off.

More blood soaks the material.

It soaks my hands.

Fuck. I hate this.

But I fucking hate this guy more.

I put more strength into my cuts until there’s nothing left to cut.

There are no more sounds coming from the man. He’s out.

Weak fucker.

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