Compatible Monsters - 3

He can tell she's not really asleep,

Her breathing shallow, but deliberate.

She's injured - he can smell her blood from here,

Along with Chuck the orderly's cologne.

He'll be here soon, so best to work fast;

The first thing to be done is gain her trust, 

Show her that they're in this together,

And show her how to weaponize her rage. 

"I know you're not asleep," his voice whispers,

"And that's alright - you don't have to answer.

I know you don't trust me, little one,

But there are bigger threats in here than I;

Chuck the orderly (I call him Charles)

Has an appetite for helpless, broken girls.

I saw him look at you the other day;

He plans to have his way with your body."

"I saw that look too," she whispers back.

"Good," he mutters, "then you understand,

I wouldn't tell you this without a point:

Chuck's a predator, but so are you. 

I'll tell him you knocked yourself out cold,

And that I will look the other way.

He'll unlock your cell, tiptoe inside,

And you can scratch out both his rapist eyes."

She doesn't speak, but ponders carefully;

Orderlies don't carry guns, but still,

Something doesn't sit well in her gut.

A long pause, then: "What's in it for you?"

The softest laugh floats through the dark cell block.

"I don't like rapists," he remarks, aloof.

"I've wanted to kill him for some time,

But truthfully, I think you need it more."

Whistling while rolling down the hall,

Chuck and his cart rumble through the doors.

"Morning, sweethearts -- time to eat breakfast."

"Hello Charles -- I trust you're doing well;

Sadly, I'll be eating by myself,

As it seems the girl's knocked herself out."

"What a shame," Chuck says, with little grin,

"We hadn't got to know each other yet."

Chuck tries to hide his predatory grin,

But this inmate knows it all too well;

He could smell the sin all over him.

"Yes," he muses, "poor thing's quite a mess.

I expect she'll be asleep for quite awhile --

Doesn't she look peaceful, lying there?

And so pretty -- what an utter shame

She's lost her mind, and some memory, too."

"That is a shame," says Chuck with hungry eyes,

"She looks deadly -- I like badass girls.

I bet a night with her would be intense.

Too bad she's a nutjob, am I right?"

"Oh yes," the monster says, "she's quite insane,

Barely conscious, to tell you the truth --

I doubt she can tell what's real or not, 

I don't even think she knows her name."

Chuck's heard everything he needs to know.

Glancing at her limp form on the bed,

Licks his lips and fumbles with his keys;

"I should prolly check her anyway,

Besides, I owe her for this bitemark, yeah?"

"Absolutely," monster says, grinning.

"Believe me, Charles -- I understand you, friend. 

"If you like, I'll turn the other way.

She listens to them speak, and doesn't move;

Trying not to grin, she bites her tongue

So hard her eyes are flooded with her tears.

She hears the pervert playing with his keys, 

The squealing of the cell door's rusty hinge,

Smells his body odour, hides a gag, 

Does her best to slow her own heartbeat,

And steels herself for what she needs to do.

Giant keyring hangs from open door;

Chuck takes a deep breath, closes his eyes,

And when he opens them, they're cold and blank.

Staring at her, he grabs her shoulders,

Flips her over, licks his lips, and smiles.

"You're gonna pay for biting me, lil' bitch."

He loosens the straightjacket, pulls it free,

And takes ten sharpened fingers to the face.

Lying back and listening happily,

The monster revels in death's symphony.

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