Every rose has its thorn

Merry Christmas Sammy

It was Christmas Day.

Lucy normally loved Christmas but this year she was bored.

Sam had spent the best part of Christmas Eve putting up a tree and decorating the cottage. He had even spent a couple of hours hand-making chocolate truffles with little cherries inside. He thought she would love them, but instead she threw them all over the kitchen. Even ground one of them into the cherub wallpaper and another into the living room carpet.

She hated her gifts, didn't want to garden, didn't want a back massage, didn't want to eat.

Sam was really worried. He had seen her happy, angry, mischievous and downright mean. But ill-humoured boredom was something new.  Something was going on.

"How about we put the TV on, watch a Christmas movie?" He suggested.

A light drizzle of rain pattered against the windows. That's not a good sign, he thought anxiously.

"I have another present for you honey, a special one that I was saving until this evening...I could go get it now if you like?" He went to leave the living room.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" she screamed at him.

He turned back just in time to see a foot-long steel rod appear in her hand. She threw it at him like a javelin. It pierced him just below the right shoulder and, with a massive thunk, it embedded deep into the wall, pinning him in place.

Sam went white with shock. Oh this is bad, this is so bad... He stared at the thick piece of metal sticking out of him, and at the blood beginning to flow down his t-shirt and arm.

He went to touch the rod with his left hand, test how solidly it was embedded.

"NOT ENOUGH!" she shrieked, and suddenly the rod began to super-heat and glow red. Sam jerked his hand back in white-hot agony.

"NOT ENOUGH!" she shrieked again and this time another rod appeared, went through his left thigh and into the wall.

Tears of pain rolled down Sam's face, as he pleaded with her, breathlessly, to stop, please, stop.

She turned her back on him, as warm blood dripped down from his thigh, pooling in his boot.

She sat down on the couch, facing away from him. "Put the TV on Sam", she said.

The remote control was in his jeans pocket. His right jeans pocket. He would need to use his mangled arm to get it out. "Lucy, please..." he begged.

"Put the TV on Sam" she said again.

The red-hot spear began to sizzle.

It took huge determination to somehow move his right hand into his jeans pocket and pull out the remote.

Everything whited out for a second, and the controller nearly slipped out of his blood soaked fingers.

He just managed to press the button before dropping the box to the floor.

As static appeared on the screen, Lucy piped up "I want to watch Lord of the Rings – put that on for me."

Sam blanched. That movie was over three hours long. Would she really leave him like this, trapped and in agony, for that whole time? Yes, of course she would.

Through sobs of distress, Sam concentrated hard to picture the start of the movie. He had seen it before, so it shouldn't be hard to summon onto the screen. But the pain was so intense it took him much longer than usual.

His shoulder was burning up, he was burning up, and rain began to lash hard against the window.

She watched the whole movie, including all the credits at the end. And then demanded to see the The Two Towers, followed by The Return of the King.

Sam faded in and out, but never quite lost consciousness during the eleven-and-a-half-hour trilogy. The rod stopped glowing after the first movie ended, but the unbearable throbbing in his arm and leg carried on.

As soon as the last credit rolled and static reappeared, she got up from the couch and went to face him. "You can turn it off now." Her cheeks were flushed, and her breathing was fast.

Standing in a huge pool of blood, and exhausted from shock and pain, Sam shuddered as he concentrated on turning the screen blank.

"Merry Christmas Sammy." She took away the rods with a wave of her hand and he dropped to the floor like a stone, gasping.

She bent down and stroked his face. "What a bloody mess in here. It's all soaking into your lovely hair..." She tutted. "Let's get you all cleaned up...."

She gently kissed his forehead, and for a second the agony blazed brighter than it had ever before.

Then relief, oh god sweet relief. His head swam drunkenly at the sudden absence of pain and the temporary high made him fearless.

"You utter, fucking bitch" he said.

He stood up, swaying slightly, and used his full height to tower above her.

"You ugly, miserable, hateful cunt."

He placed a hand against her chest and shoved her hard against the wall. He was on the verge of hysteria. "Why can't you just die and leave me the fuck alone?"

His face was close to hers. Way too close. Lucy leaned forward and kissed him hard on the mouth.

Sam's skull felt like it was being electrocuted. He spasmed in horror and flailed backwards, tripping over his own feet and landing on the floor.

She jumped astride him, sat on his chest, pinning him down.

"You're dammed right I'm a fucking bitch! And I will never, ever, leave you Sam." Her eyes blazed red. "You are mine. All mine. Mind, body and soul."

She leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. "This ugly, miserable, hateful cunt OWNS you."