And, on top of that, it rhymed

She waded through the pool of mud, shit, and fresh blood that surrounded him, hoping she wasn't too late, muttering words of encouragement, as if addressing him would restrain her sudden urges to puke.

What was left of one of his eyeballs looked directly into hers, making her scream in horror. Then he fainted.

She had never seen someone so fucked up in her whole life. He had been tied in the most undignified of postures, then beaten, gutted and sexually assaulted, though not necessarily in that order. There was something that looked like a huge semi-erect vegetable protruding from his arse, but it was so soiled she couldn't tell whether it was a carrot or a cucumber. And no-one would really care to know, she thought, while she pulled it out hard with both hands, trying not to look. She was sure this instant would become a regular in all her nightmares.

He was vomiting profusely. And yet, an aura of honour surrounded him, as if he took pride in revealing his tortured internals, as if there was a purpose for everything that had happened tonight, even in such a cruel act of butchery. She reminded herself this was the same Bergman-hating, Bogart-loving man who had left the Old Casino an hour ago, lit a cigarette, adjusted his lapels, and marched up the street with no specific destination. The same man who had beaten the crap out of a harmless opponent who, in his own words, had constituted no threat, just because he had happened to outwit him at an endless game of particularly vicious Monopoly. His excuse being, quite simply, that he couldn't stand apophthegms. He, who saw no light at the end of the tunnel of life and love, because he thought of it as a closed, eternal, circle. He, who had worrying persecutory delusions.

''Caesar, do you recognise me? Who did this to you?'' she asked.

He opened his eye sockets when she kissed his forehead.

''I am not Caesar in this life. The emperor is naked. Don't call the police. Please, just finish me off and run.”

She was furious. She would find the sonovabitch who had done this to Her Man and arrest him with her own hands. Or worse.

For a moment she pondered whether she should try to carry him to safety on her back. But, sadly, he was too heavy and she was not yet strong enough, after her ordeal, to carry such a burden. If he did survive, he would remain blind and, most probably, crippled for life.

“Kill me,” he pleaded.

She inadvertently stepped on his other eyeball, which made a squishing sound.

“No!” she screamed to him. “Never.” She took off her shirt and used it to protect the eyeball from further harm. Then she used her skirt and bra to secure the rest of the first eyeball to his head.

He would rather die than accept his blindness. He was a proud man. And she would give anything to save his life. She was a proud woman. What they admired in each other was their total disrespect for defeat.

She shivered as he took her hand in his, a perfect mixture of lust and grief.

Only then did she realise no-one had attacked him. She hadn't been able to untie his hands yet. The sick bastard had planned every move on the chessboard himself, and now he lay in a pool of his own blood, smiling because he had won. Or so he thought.

“For Chrisakes, Caesar, what have you done to yourself?” she cried.
“Kill me,” he dared.

She didn't even bother to reply this time. She dialled 911 on her slippery, blood-stained cell phone, already wondering whether he would accept her flowers in hospital or let her nurse him to health at all. Whether a blind man would ever learn to appreciate the fragrance, taste and touch of a seasonal bouquet. Whether, indeed, he had always been blind and, above all, whether it was utterly pointless to try to save the selfish prick again and again.

But, right now, what she definitely needed to do was to take a shower. And, probably, eat and fuck a little more healthily, and sleep, too.

So she turned around and slid away, still nauseous yet unscathed, relieved and, of course, completely naked, both spiritually and physically, as she had always preferred to be.

She looked back only once. It could be that he was grinning, toothlessly, at the sound of distant sirens.