The Ultimate Cruelty

She hasn’t moved in seconds, struck at your bare thighs in minutes, or clawed at your choking forearm in the time between.

And yet still you hold onto her tightly.

Your breasts and hers bouncing gently as you raise and then lower your bodies once and then again. Testing her frailty, to make sure she is out — not in part, but fully.

So that when you lay her down to the carpeted floor, you have the time needed to go to your shower and get both warm water and shampoo. So that there in the middle of the battlefield where you and your enemy struggled for so long, you can wash her hair.

The woman who hates you to the point of nausea. Loathes you to the point of recoiling at your very touch.

It is a gesture that would mean almost nothing to any other person, but to you and she — it is the ultimate cruelty.

The perfect punishment.

A moment of peace between the two, where one is so weak that she cannot even resist an offered and unwanted mercy.

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