Chapter Twenty-Five: The Dog
There was contempt in his eyes as dipped his hand into a puddle of liquid red, sliding beneath his soles. The blood slickened the pads of his fingers as he rubbed them together. He dragged his wet thumb across his lips as his teeth raked the blood onto his tongue.
While captivating— the sight of it on his skin— his mouth twisted and he spit it out.
"Disgusting..." he eventually said to Carmen who lay eerily still on the ground. "I guess it's better this way. At least, I don't have to worry about you running off."
At least, she wasn't crying anymore.
Good.
He hated crying. Crying women. They were pathetic. It reminded him of himself.
"In order to love, we are born to hurt," he whispered. "And to be hurt." And, in many ways, love as rewarding in its graces, is like fate. And he loves his fate.
Adam didn't turn his eyes when he heard the cold shank of the door. Someone banged on it, shouting curses. The edges of his pant leg sucked up blood from the floor as he crouched low and braced himself.
Though he swiped the key from Nurse Miriam, it didn't make him the only with access to every door in this institutional purgatory.
"What have you done?" A man uttered darkly when the door slammed open.
The orderly accompanying the man had heavy, clumsy footsteps which traveled through the ground.
Now, Dr. Wynn talked in a mild voice.
"You're a fucking dog, Doe. And every mention of your existence is a crime."
Adam's hand was already gripping his revolver.