Down the drain…

“I know I should not have cheated, but what is he going to do?” she thought as she threw her keys on the table. After all, he was not giving her what she needed. The house was dark yet dim lights jumped in the distance.

“I left the shower running,” she heard her wimp of a husband yell, “I knew you would need it.”

He had caught her just a few hours before with the stupid hotel bellman at the hotel she worked at. At first he had first been forceful, but as she told him he would have to get out, he had begged her for another chance and left crying.

“Imagine, crying,” she said to herself. “This will be a fun night.”

She thought she smelled gasoline but it went away as she walked down the candlelit hallway into the bedroom. She stripped her clothes confidently still feeling the slight stickiness from her earlier encounter and anticipating the feel of their fantastic shower.

“At least he is good for something,” she thought as she considered the four shower heads that he had installed in their plush shower. The pressure was set so finely it almost stung when she took showers, but she liked it, she liked it a lot.

The candlelight continued, and she considered turning the lights on but knew this was some wimp way of getting her to stay with him. She wondered when he would show up. She heard the shower running, the tinkle of water hitting the glass and tile.

Smiling, she stepped into the steamy shower and the needle like pinpricks hit her at once, he had done a good job, and no matter where you stood, there was always water hitting you.
As she closed the shower door, she saw a shadow, heard a click, and then the sound of a drill.

“What are you doing wimp?” she yelled with a defiant tone.

She heard his voice, sullen, calm, powerful and direct. “Cleaning up my life.”

A moment later she heard a gas engine start. It sputtered to life, gasping at air then grabbed hold with mechanical fury. That is when the pain began. The needle like pinches from the shower became growling bites as they were propelled into her skin. She screamed, and turned to the door and pushed. She beat at the door and pressed her body on the glass. The door would not give, as she turned around the skin from her back was cut away by the high-pressure stream of water. She screamed again. “Let me out” she cried as she tried to block the jets only to feel the water rip into her more quickly.

“I am letting you out,” he said quietly, “You said our marriage was down the drain, but I think it will just be you going down the drain.”

Her skin flayed from her body as she slapped the door with her now blood covered hand. She felt light headed and as she turned, saw part of her arm fall to the tile with the ever-increasing pieces of flesh ripped from her body by the high-pressure jets. As she passed out, she asked herself if it was worth it, but the answer never came as she slumped to the floor, jets slowly reducing her flesh and even her bones to liquid, to be washed down the shower drain, gone forever.

Outside the door, her husband slumped against the sink and said simply, “Another marriage down the drain.” Then he got up and left the room as the shower continued to do its work.