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There's a sharp gasp followed by Avery screaming, "You think it's so easy! Why don't you disappear, then?"
The ring of her sobs fills the room and I cover my ears.
56
-Angel
"Blah-blah blah. Blah, blah, blah. Blah de blah, blah-blah blah. Blah blah, blah, blah. Blah la blah, blah-blah blah. Blah blah, blah . . ."
The last three days have been hell. I'm paying in spades for speaking to her. Avery hasn't shut up since that night in my room.
"Blah-blah, blah. Blah de blah-blah blah. Blah, blah-blah blah, la blah, blah de blah, blah. Blah de la blah, blah-blah blah . . ."
She's constantly going! Babbling!
Not trying to communicate. No, she's trying to control me. She's trying to push me into reacting!
She's pushing.
Pushing further.
Pushing.
She won't stop until she gets what she wants.
"Blah-blah, blah. Blah la blah, blah, blah. Blah de blah, blah-blah blah. Blah. Blah de blah, la blah, blah de blah, blah. Blah la blah, blah, blah. Blah de la blah, blah-blah . . ."
I am at my breaking point.
I was never the violent one, but I've been dreaming of squeezing the life out of her.
A few hours ago, Doctor Punta informed me that I lost another two pounds and so he's made a formal request to commence forced feeding.
"Blah-blah, blah. Blah la blah, blah. Blah de blah, blah-blah blah. Blah-blah, blah, blah. Blah de blah, blah-blah blah. Blah, blah, blah-blah la blah, blah de blah . . ."
It is crushing me.
I've lost the only hand I had to play. I don't know what else to do.
"Blah, blah, blah-blah . . ."
They think I'm crazy now? If Avery doesn't stop . . . I'll go stark-raving bat-shit.
Staring at the tiled wall of the shower stall, I let the spray hit my head. It washes into my ears and I can't hear anything for one blessed second. Then her voice is back.
"Blurdy-blah-lah, blah, blah, blah . . ."
If I only had a gun.
She won't say anything meaningful and she won't fucking stop!
Determined to focus on anything but her grating voice, I note how the water isn't very hot. It's all Goldie-locks. Not too hot, not too cold, not just right, but okay. The sound of warm spray hitting and dripping helps soften the razor-edge of Avery's incessant pressure, but nothing can block her out.
"Blah-blah blah. Blah blah, blah, blah. Blah de blah, blah-blah blah. Blah blah, blah, blah. Blah la blah, blah-blah blah. Blah blah, blah . . ."
There's a sing-song tonality to her bullshit. As if she's delivering a meaningful monologue.
I step closer to the shower wall and wish, again, for a gun. I'd splatter her brains all over the plain white tiles. As my mind conjures the images, I think . . . wait.
