Juliette moaned. Her eyes were glazed over. Her skin, white and pasty. And her red hair, over the course of the week had gotten slightly dull. Never-the-less she was a striking woman.
She was bound to a white rocker; his mother’s old rocking chair. He did so enjoy it when mother had invited him into her lap to place his head upon her bosom.
Juliette’s throat was dry as she cried. She’d spotted him.
“What do you want from me?” she whimpered, “Why are you doing this?”
“I’m doing this for us, Juliette!” he smiled lovingly.
Her eyes widened with fear. He didn’t like the fear. He wanted her to love him.
“My name is Jenni…”
“It’s JULIETTE!” he screamed, spittle showering the floor, “JULIETTE, JULIETTE, JULIETTE,” he quaked with anger. Shook with rage as his eyes saw only her face and a film of white. She cowered and screamed before she was racked with sobs of anguish.
“I’m sorry,” he rushed to her side, stroking her hair, “Sorry, sorry, sorry,”
He offered her some cheese.
And he saw the love as he ate it.