In many ways, Elle Driver was an old-fashioned girl. She made sure she was always perfectly dressed and made up, even when committing the unsavory art of murder. Like all her associates, she preferred traditional weapons, disdaining even O-Ren's sniper rifle for the respectable slice of a samurai sword. And for all her flirting with Bill, she had not gone to bed with him the night after the wedding party massacre- or any night. She'd blamed it on Beatrix, of course, saying that Bill was still sweet on her, too much for Elle's taste.
And of course, it was Beatrix's fault. It had been ever since Elle had first seen her. She'd been dressed in a white peasant skirt, which, when the light shone through it, had revealed the shape of Beatrix's legs. Her tight tank top had left even less to Elle's imagination, and she had averted her eyes- after all, she still had two at that point.
Beatrix was easy to blame for things. Even the loss of her eye. After all, Elle could never let herself be bested by that girl, who had gone through training that was said to be impossible. Beatrix was not a superhero, simply a bitch with enough patience to handle an old man, and Elle had set out to prove it. And when Pai Mei had taken her eye from her, it had been the fault of that girl it had once gazed at.
Hating her was easier than hating herself. It may no longer have been the dark ages, but there were some things a real woman, like Elle, could not do, and one of them was to want Beatrix Kiddo. It wasn't enough that bitch had to work with her, but she flaunted herself in a way that was unforgivable. Whenever she kissed Bill, she clung to his body like a whore, as if anyone else on earth wanted to see two goddamn morons practice foreplay in public.
Strangely enough, though she had dreamed about killing her so many times, the actual details of the assault on the church were hazy in Elle's mind, like a dream. She knew they had shot the boy first- in the chest, not the head, so that he could still watch his bride being beaten while he was dying. She knew she had stuck Beatrix, but where and when and how many times were forgotten. Afterwards, she knew she had kissed Bill, hard, on the lips that had once brushed Beatrix's.
She did remember the hospital, though. Particularly, she remembered driving the needle into her syringe, as the woman lay unconscious on the bed. Elle was no psychiatrist, but even she recognized what it had meant. And when the order had been called off, and she looked at her intended victim's sleeping body, she hated the chance that had been taken from her.
Even then, she hadn't wanted Bill to kill her, or anyone else. That was reserved for her, and her alone. And when she caved in and ordered the job done by Budd, it was only a matter of time before she regretted it. For a woman like Beatrix, the only way to be conquered was to die, and Elle was the only one who deserved to make it happen. No grotesque redneck in a cowboy hat and a beaten trailer should have ever laid their hands on her.
In the end, of course, Beatrix won. She always did. But when she tore out Elle's last remaining eye, she almost granted a blessing, although the Bride couldn't have known it.
For Elle no longer would be able to look at her beautiful enemy. And she would never again cry for her.