Fragment #2 - Annie Wilkes

The heavy footsteps of Annie Wilkes plod down the hallway, leaving an air of distrust in her wake. My door is closed yet the offensive sentiment she drags behind her still manages to creep its way under my door, antagonising my core. I regard her with nothing but contempt, and truth be told, I am certain the feeling is mutual. Annie is my live-in land lord, she is completely one sided and is at best, unapproachable without reprieve.
It must be strange circumstances that compels a forty-something and single woman to share her home with five youths, the oldest of whom is probably not half her age. I wonder about her personal life and the skeletons that lurk in her closet. My thoughts immediately turning to the husband or fiancé she must have had. Definitely not a husband and definitely not a wise man, but whatever the case, he left her and this has scarred her for life leaving her unable to truly connect to any mature human being. Instead she occupies herself, working herself to exhaustion as a private nurse specialising in newborn children, effectively acting as a babysitter for the ultra rich and truly egocentric modern woman. In the company of these infants, capable of communicating only through dribbles, slurps and soiled nappies, she finds her solace. In this terrifying scenario I wonder with great fear what she must do and what she must say to these infants when they are alone. If I had children I would sooner leave mine tethered to a tree than placed in her trust. I am not a religious man, but God help us. I have to get out of here.
I pull on some pants and three layers of the warmest, least filthy clothes I can find scattered near the door and carefully make my way to the kitchen. The fluorescent bulb marking the end of the corridor flickers and hums, possessed with a mind of its own. Outside in the dark the moonlight dances with the wind, creating ripples in the pool, lapping at the pavement surrounding. I’ve got to calm myself down and find a way sleep, find a way to occupy my time. My thoughts turn to masturbation, no – I’ve got to ease up, it can’t be healthy. Tea, yes, some green tea will do just fine.
Standing in the kitchen I listen to a deathly silence settling upon the house. Not even a cricket chirps, there is only the sound of wind in the trees and the thoughts in my head. I enter an altered state, my senses become hyperactive, and every molecule of my being tunes itself to the task at hand. I wonder if this is what sensory deprivation is like and make a mental note to try it some time. The moonlight dances, the ripples lap and the trees are whispering stories as old as the ages. Suddenly my thoughts are shattered, my wired senses pummelling my brain with a surge of adrenaline and I jump a good foot in air, burning myself with spilt tea. The tea cup shatters on the wooden floor.
Fucking cat.
No longer capable of pronouncing a meow it cries again – OWWWW! Long, loud and alien. OWWW! This poor creature is one of Annie’s playthings, a demanding and dearly loved creature that consumes the time between soaps and sleep. Whilst the sound is alien, the translation is clear – ‘kill me’. It cries once more and I do nothing.
I gather my senses,