Amy was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the icepack to her cheek, when Chino appeared in the doorway. She didn’t look up — she didn’t want him to see she was interested in what he was doing with his eyes. The robe was on the floor, bloody side up. Would he see that she was pushing him? She tried to fill her lungs, but heaved a deep shuttering sigh. Perfect, she though. She was wearing panties now — two pairs. They were long past any possible misunderstanding. If he got that close to her, he would already know exactly how she felt about him getting any closer.

“Amy?”

She shook her head — gingerly, as if she could hear the cracked glass grinding on the inside — before she looked up. Her face was blotched now, her make-up gone, washed off. She would be bleeding like Saint Theresa, a human pincushion, if she could will it. Chino’s eyes dropped for a moment to the cleavage of her nightgown. He could see the curve of her breasts. The better to deceive you, asshole, she thought. She averted her eyes, trying to keep her thoughts blank so he could read what he wanted into her expression. She had been calling up every unhappy memory in her life, starting with the death of her grandmother, and holding her breath in the process to throw her diaphragm into spasms. If she had any luck, she would begin sobbing uncontrollably as soon as she tried to talk.

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry? You tried to humiliate me in front of men who must obey me. Don’t you understand? I command them. I cannot allow them to see me jump whenever a woman shrieks because she says she wants something now.”

“That was it? That was the chance I didn’t know I was taking?”

“That was it.”

“I was — I was having fun. I was t-trying to be funny.”

His hands dropped to his sides helplessly. “Oh, you’re not going to do that, are you?”

“What?”

“What you’re doing. You’re crying like a schoolgirl. It is beneath you!”

She sniffed. “I wasn’t shrieking. And you’re telling me what’s beneath me? You hit me!”

“Anger I can deal with. Smoldering rage. Betrayel. A plot against my life. But not this mewling. I thought you were made of stronger stuff.”

“Do you want me to knit a bomb and put it under your morning paper? I can’t win with you!”

“Ah, well, I’m smarter than you. I see that clearly now.”

“I thought you didn’t have conviction in your own wickedness.”

“That was different. Anyway, sometimes I surprise myself.”

“I’m happy to hear it. You’re going to kill us in front of those television cameras, aren’t you?”

“Him, not you.”