It doesn't matter what she says, anymore. Nothing can piss him off now. He's riding on the thrilling high of someone else's pain, and it's only made better by how much he hates her, how proud she always is. He steps back to examine his handiwork, just watching and listening. What is more delicious? The sight- blood painting her tight little body red, arm hanging limply at her side, bent and mangled strangely? Or the sound- the heaving breath, the stifled sobs, the moans of pain? It's all a beautiful show for him to drink in, to bask in.

His whole body feels warm and wonderful. His... Dick is twitching. Waking up. He ignores it. Pushes any sexual thoughts away aggressively. But it's not even thoughts, it's an automatic response from his body. It begins to disturb him, irritate him. No. Not for this girl. Disgusting. Revolting.

"Well. I suppose it's time for your boyfriend to clean up my mess. He'll have such fun with that. Until next time."

With that, he begins to disassociate, his face and eyes going blank. It seems to take a long time, him just standing there, swaying slightly.