A/N: WARNING: This gets pretty gory. If you don't like that sort of thing, don't read this.

I wrote this a while ago when I was in a really angry mood. Venting, I guess. Ugh.

His bloodcurdling shrieks reverberated around the sound-proof room, wrought with the realization of mortality. The terrified screams of impending pain were the result of his refusal to see the truth. She was torturing him in best of fashions, and no one at all was around to hear him scream.

She pulled out the burning needle and stabbed it yet again into his bleeding and mangled eye. Another scream echoed through the darkness. The lit candles all around the room reflected their light in her maniacal eyes. She set the needle down on the table next to her and picked up a semi-sharp steak knife. She wrestled his right hand out of the ropes that bound him to the chair he sat on. She carefully and deliberately held the knife edge to his index finger and ever so sweetly cut into his finger, sawing away at it, relishing his screams of pure terror. She soon tired of cutting at the finger and left it dangling by the thinnest piece of skin, spurting out blood at timed intervals to the beating of his heart.

"You thought you could get away with it, didn't you, you miserable sack of shit!" Caralyn shouted viciously. He flinched and whimpered as she spat on his face.

"You thought you could treat me like some worthless whore, and I wouldn't do a damn thing about it!" She backhanded him across his face, her hand coming away red with blood. Chris cried out when her hand made contact with the painful and deep gouges she had made on his face earlier.

"You pathetic weasel," she said quieter now. "You deserve everything I'm doing to you, right up until your sorry death, and you damn well know it."

She knelt down on the floor next to his ankles, a sharper knife now in her wicked, wicked hands. Chris tried to look down at where Caralyn had rolled up his pant leg and was now almost lovingly caressing his foot. He positively shook with the effort to stay calm, but to be honest with himself, he knew that he was going to die, no matter what happened there. Caralyn was insane; she was definitely going to kill him. But like she had said, he damn well did deserve it for what he did to her. He tried to talk to her, to try and reason some good judgment into her, but when he opened his mouth to speak, all that would come out was senseless sobbing.

"Christ," Caralyn said, disgusted by his behavior. "You can surely go around beating and fucking women at your own delight, but when it comes to a little torture and death, you break down like a little child. Absolutely useless piece of shit!"

She punctuated her words with a slice across the tender flesh at the back of his ankle. He screamed out again and again as she repeated the motion, shredding away at the skin, muscle, and blood vessels. She continued to vent her anger, hacking at his ankle and foot, cutting off toes and slicing through veins, blood simply spurting all over the place like crazy, as crazy as she was.

His shrill shrieking crescendoed, so loud in volume that it almost hurt Caralyn's ears to hear it. But she worried not; where they were, no one could hear him, not even if they were standing with their ear pressed to the wall.

"Shut up, you limp dick," she commanded him as she rose to eye level with him.

Caralyn stabbed a knife into his stomach as she repeated, "I said, shut up!"

She stabbed another knife into him as he continued to wail. Caralyn picked up a final knife from the table, ready to deliver the fatal strike.

"I said, SHUT UP!" she shouted as she brutally thrust the knife into his throat.

A strangled cry escaped his mouth as he choked and died. The silence that blanketed the room was heavy and palpable, punctuated only by the dripping of Chris' post-mortem blood and Carolyn's angry breathing. She closed her eyes and composed herself, blowing out an even breath.

She leaned in near to his sightless eyes and bruised face and said ever so pleasantly, "That's more like it, sweetie pie." And she turned and walked out, leaving the man's corpse tied to the chair, with a satisfying click, click, click.