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Striker knocks on the front door of the palace, the icy structure ringing the sound out. Stella has called him over again and was being very vague about why. He’ll find out soon enough as a maid imp opens the door. “Hey there,” he says to her. “The lady called for me.” The maid nods, clearly knowing already that Striker was invited over, before she happens to glance down. On Striker’s belt there’s a long length of blessed rope hanging from one side, and a sheathe with his angelic knife on the other, not to mention a few non angelic ones around the back and a couple normal revolvers holstered on his thighs. “Don’t you worry about that, now,” Striker says to her. She looks back up at him without saying anything. He nods his head back over his shoulder and says, “make sure my horse is taken care of.”
The imp looks around him at Bombproof who’s standing at the bottom of the steps. She gives Striker one last glance over before simply nodding and stepping aside. He tips his hat to her and says, “thanks,” before setting off into the palace. He’s been to this ridiculous place enough that he doesn’t need any help finding his way to Stella’s room. The Goetia likes her sexual favors. He’s not entirely sure if that’s what’s going on this time. She asked him to bring the rope and knife and other weapons without saying why. Seems a lot like kidnapping supplies but last time she had him do that she just told him about it, none of this vagueness bullshit, so he can only assume this is something sexual. He kinda hopes so. On the way over he couldn’t help getting a little excited at the prospect.
Whatever, standing here and wondering isn’t gonna bring him an answer. So he steps up and knocks his knuckles against the door. “Finally,” he hears as a faint grumble. Then, louder, “enter.”
He opens the door and steps inside the room. The lighting is moodier so it takes his eyes a second to adjust. Stella is standing on the other side past the bed, arms crossed. “Evenin’, ma’am,” Striker greets as he closes the door behind him.
She doesn’t return the greeting, instead just asking, “did you bring the items?”
Striker sighs before holding up the rope and his holy knife. “Got a few regular things, too,” he mentions.
Stella regards his haul before nodding. “Good,” is all she says.
“Good for what, exactly,” Striker probes, sheathing the knife and putting the rope on his belt.
“I want you to rape me.”
Striker is taken aback. “What?”
“You heard me.” Her voice is defiant.
He did hear, that’s why he’s so surprised. “Are we talkin’ like, whaddya call it, C-N-C?” he questions dubiously. They’ve already kinda done that before, or at least Stella likes to yell at him to get off of her a lot.
Stella stalks a little closer around the bed, some sort of fire in her eyes. “No, I want the real thing,” she states.
Striker is still struggling to process. That’s not the sort of request you tend to hear. Does she even really mean it? “So, what, I’m just turned loose? No safeword or anything?”
“No safewords, no tapping signals, none of that traffic light bullshit, I want the real. Goddamn. Thing.” She’s even closer to him now, towering over him and radiating an intense, terrifying energy. “I want you to hurt me, violate me, ignore any demands, any pleading. I want you to rape me until you are satisfied and only stop once you are.” She’s so scary as she says it you wouldn’t think she’s asking to be the one getting hurt.
Striker regards her a moment. “I just get to do anything I want?” His eyes slide to his array of knives as he says it.
Stella gives him a curt nod. “The only thing you are not allowed to do is kill me. If you do, you won’t be living very long, either.” That’s probably a credible enough threat. Striker doesn’t know specifically what Stella’s brother can do but he doesn’t really want to find out.
“Alright,” he finally accepts. “How’s this gonna work, exactly?”
Simply, as though she were explaining how they were going to install a new door, Stella answers, “you are going to step outside for a moment and then enter the room and tie me up. I will scream and yell but you are not to stop until are finished. When you are, untie me and leave. You can come back in a little after.”
Striker realizes now that Stella’s rigid demeanor is her trying to hide her emotions. She wants this, and wants it bad. He doesn’t entirely understand her side of it but he doesn’t really need to. He just needs to understand his own, and his own is that he would very much like to do this. He points to the door over his shoulder. “So, we goin’ right now?”
“What else would we be doing?” Stella asks dryly and a little annoyedly.
“TIme to prepare, I don’t know.” Striker just can still hardly believe she’s asking him to do this.
Stella just straightens her dress and sits on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been prepared all day, and you’re the sort of criminal who enjoys all this torturing and pain and whatnot.”
Striker can’t really argue with that. Still seems a little presumptuous of her to just assume he would be immediately down to rape her without any prior inclination, but she isn’t wrong. He tips his hat to her. “Be seeing you shortly, then.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stella dismisses, huffing and turning away. Effectively starting this roleplay, if it can still be considered that.
So, he turns and walks out of the room. Gently opening and closing the door to set the scene. He leans against the wall outside, to allow both of them to fully settle into this. None of the house worker imps are around at the moment, but he does wonder if they’re aware of what Stella invited him over for. He’s not going to be aiming to keep her particularly quiet.
His thoughts drift to that now and he looks at his equipment again. Even if Stella wanted to change her mind, all he has to do is get this rope around her. She could still use her notable physical strength but he’s not weak himself and the angelic blade alone should do a lot to keep her down. Just like her husband. That was a lot of fun once he got the bird to shut up. Thinking about that and turning it on Stella really has his pants feeling tighter. Hearing her scream, drawing her blood… hopefully he can get her to cry. She’s such a cunt all the time, this is an incredibly golden opportunity to put her in her place.
He glances to the door now. No reason to wait too long. He takes the blessed rope in his hands, lengthening it so he can form a lasso. He won’t waste any time getting her wrapped up. Stepping away from the wall, he turns and stands in front of the door. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Time to rape this bitch.
He slams his shoulder into the door, opening it with a bang and kicking it back closed behind him. Stella’s head whips around to look at him. She starts to screech, “what the hell do you think you’re-“
“Shut the fuck up,” Striker cuts her off, immediately swinging the lasso and tossing it around her. Her arms are bound tightly to her sides before she has any time to react. Instinctively she goes to stand up but Striker takes one of his smaller, regular knives and throws it right into her thigh right above the knee.
She yelps and her attempted movement results in her falling on her side. “That fucking hurt,” she yells at him, looking down at he blade and the black blood leaking from her leg.
“Oh, I’m sorry, let me help you, then,” Striker says mockingly before he stalks up to her and kicks the knife in deeper. “There, now it should really fuckin’ hurt.”
Stella cries out again and her breathing is already ragged. “You’re not getting away with this,” she spits at him angrily. “My brother-”
She’s cut off again as Striker yanks her up with the rope into a brutal right hook directly to the right half of her face, sending her crashing back onto the bed. Genuine shock flares in her eyes along with the pain, even if it’s quickly replaced by angry defiance again. “Your brother ain’t doin’ shit for you, bitch,” he spits back at her. “You’re all mine.” He approaches her to start properly tying her up with the rope. At the same time his tail grabs the knife from her thigh and tears it out, taking some feathers with it. Stella screams and tries to jerk her body away from him but he just pulls out the holy knife and holds it near one of her eyes. “I’d be more careful if I were you,” he threatens her. She freezes in place on her side, eye flicking back and forth from the knifepoint and him. He goes back to tying her and at the same time starts cutting through the fabric of her dress with the knife in his tail, making sure it cuts her here and there as it goes along.
Her arms are bound so tight behind her back that trying to move them at all would probably hurt. Satisfied, Striker sits back up and grabs the knife from his tail. “What’s this now?” he says as he pulls her dress apart. She doesn’t have any undergarments on beneath it. He yanks her up into a sitting position so he can lean around from behind her to place a hand on her bare tit. “Seems you’re a dirty little slut, aren’t ya?” She growls at him but he still has the knife pointed at her eye. He gropes her chest while his tail snakes around to her front to press against her cloaca. “You were just asking for this,” he accuses in a low, triumphant voice. “You wanted me here, or maybe for one of those little butler imps out there to snap and have their way with you. Or maybe,” he gets closer to her ear and drops his voice down. “You wanted your brother to-”
“How fucking dare you!” Stella shouts at him, anger momentarily keeping her from worrying about the knife. She slams her side into his head and tries to fall the other way, grabbing at one of his regular knives with her tied up hands.
It takes a second for Striker to reorient himself but Stella can’t manage anything in that time. He takes the knife she’s grabbing for and stabs it straight through the middle of one of her hands. She yells in pain again but he’s not done. He takes the angelic one and slashes at her arms. Both as punishment and to cut through the dress sleeves so he can tear the whole thing off of her easier, leaving her naked and bleeding on the bed. Striker just readjusts his clothing before leaning overtop her again. “That’s no way for a lady to act, now is it?” He taunts her smoothly.
When he doesn’t get a response back he learns a little farther forward. She’s trying not to cry, and failing. Her makeup is starting to run as angry tears fall. When she notices him looking she tries to swivel her head away but he grabs her by her back head feathers and pulls her upright. She lets out an involuntary, “fuck!” from the harsh treatment.
Seeing her crying sparks an even more passionate fire in Striker. All the blood rushing to his dick has him so hard his clothes are almost uncomfortably tight. Not quite time for that yet, though. “Look at that, you’re ruining your eyeliner,” he comments cruelly. “How about some positive reinforcement?”
Swiftly he takes position right behind her, head around her side while he continues to hold hers up. In his other hand he keeps the holy blade near her stomach. His tail grabs a stouter knife from a sheath behind himself and he whisks it to Stella’s front to press the butt of the handle against her cloaca. She recoils in horror, saying, “no, stop, stop,” only to be met with the tip of the angelic one drawing a touch of blood from her stomach.
“I didn’t ask you to move,” he says in a low growl. He starts to jack the knife handle in and out of her, rough and hard.
Squeaks of pain escape her which get exacerbated by her squirming back and forth into the knife which only burns and stabs her more. “Stop it, stop it, stop it!” she screeches, trying to lunge backwards.
Striker keeps her in place with a rough shove. “Clearly this isn’t enough incentive,” he says, annoyed. He lifts the holy knife higher to hold the flat side against one of her breasts, tilted just enough that any movement will mean it cuts her. “There’s a shortage of perfect breasts in the world,” he starts to taunt. “It’d be a pity to damage yours, now wouldn’t it?”
Pretty much immediately Stella cries, “let go!” and tries to jerk her head free of Striker’s grip, cutting her chest on the knife in the process, causing her to yelp and physically react and cut herself even more.
That might’ve continued if Striker didn’t suddenly yank her head back and lift the knife way up, flipping it around in his grip so he can slam the handle into her face, cracking against the lower part of her eye socket. She crashes down into the bed, getting the wind knocked out of her. “Is it that hard to fuckin’ listen!?” Striker yells at her. “I was bein’ kind to ya, clearly I shouldn’t be.” He slashes her cheek with the angelic blade while pulling the handle of the other one out of her cloaca. He sheathes it only to have his tail pull a revolver from its holster. Stella barely has time to get her breath back to cry out from the other attacks before Striker fires a bullet clean through her leg. Even less time before his tail is shoving the barrel of that gun into her cloaca. “Go ahead, test me again, bitch,” he threatens her. The angry defiance is starting to fade from Stella’s eyes as she cries and takes ragged, stuttery breaths. She’s almost actually scared. That idea really excites him. So he leans in closer and presses the gun in deeper. Voice low, he says, “you have no idea what other bullets are in this thing. For all you know, the next one is holy.”
That does it. Raw fear sparks in Stella’s eyes and the defiance is totally gone. Striker’s grin widens evilly and he just slowly pulls the hammer back on the revolver. Click. The Goetia’s terror flares up and she goes, “no, no, stop, please, please don’t.” Her voice is weak.
“Oh ho, a ‘please’ now,” Striker comments. He’s breaking her, and that is giving an almost intoxicating high. “Too little too late.” With a mighty cleave he stabs the angelic blade deep into her flesh next to her left shoulder. The cry of pain isn’t followed by any protests, just tears. Before she was keeping the crying as quiet as she could but that’s falling away now. Her face is an absolute mess with the cut cheek and the running mascara that doesn’t quite hide the big black eye. It’s finally time.
Slowly and sinisterly Striker starts undoing his belt. It’s a relief to finally unrestrict his hard cock from the tightness. Stella doesn’t realize what he’s doing until it’s actually free from his pants. “Please, no,” she whimpers.
That earns a smack to the handle of the blade still buried near her shoulder which makes her cry harder. Striker doesn’t even reprimand her verbally, that’s all he needed to do. With his dick out he grabs the Goetia by the back of her head again in order to pull her face right up to it. “Lick,” he commands. Any sense of resistance within Stella is gone. She leans forward, vaguely attempting to lick his cock, but her crying and shuddery breathing make her entirely ineffective. Striker sighs annoyedly. “I have to do everything myself, huh?” Then he grabs Stella’s mouth to force his dick into it. She chokes and splutters but he doesn’t stop.
After ramming into her face a few times he pulls out. That was just to get his dick a little wet, he wasn’t gonna get much pleasure out of it. Aside from the twisted enjoyment of watching Stella gag and cry from it, at least. He throws her head down to the bed and slides back to the end of her torso. He forces her legs apart and pulls the gun out of her cloaca. It’s slick, meaning she’s very wet right now. Whether that’s because she is in fact really enjoying this or just because it happens automatically from the stimulation, he’s definitely using it against her. “Now looky here,” he says as he holds up the revolver where they both can see it. “All that screamin’ and cryin’ and you’ve secretly liked it the whole time. You’re just a little attention whore. Regular one, too.”
Stella looks away as she cries a little harder and almost hyperventilates. “Please… stop…” she says in a tiny, pathetic voice.
“No,” Striker says simply as he holsters the gun. He lifts one of her legs up and gets lined up with her cloaca. After a brief pause to cruelly laugh, he slams into her as roughly as he can. She screams in pain from it, and it was honestly a little painful for him too, but that hardly matters so long as it hurts her worse. He starts thrusting roughly right away; he actually has to work a bit for it to be rough because she’s so wet that it would otherwise be rather pleasant for her. “Look how perfect I fit,” he comments. “You were made to take imp dick.”
Her crying turns to full on uncontrolled sobbing. Even worse for her is the moans that are forced out of her from the pleasure her body is forcing on her as he slams into her. It just makes her sob harder, a glorious mix of sound. Music to Striker’s ears. He laughs some more at her and says, “keep singing, songbird. Just like that.” The amount of power he feels in this moment is incredible. The sense of pleasure from having this much control is almost more than the amount from the actual physical act of raping her. Together they add up so much it almost makes his head spin.
After a little bit of this he decides to add a few more noises to her song. With the end of his tail free from having to hold any gun or knife he trails it along her body to one of her many stab wounds. He teases it with the tip a little bit before jamming it inside. Her screeches of pain are much weaker than before but that has an amount of appeal to it, too. Every time he pulls back after thrusting into her he stabs his tail into the wound, like two ends of a piston. In and out, in and out, forcing cries of pain and unwanted moans in between the deliciously horrible sobs.
Eventually he gets a little tired of using his tail so much so he pulls it out, blood dripping from it. He makes sure Stella is looking at him when he brings it to his mouth to lick it clean, swiping his tongue around his lips. A heavy, racking sob escapes her and she closes her eyes and looks away. “Oh no you don’t,” Striker grunts before quickly grabbing a revolver and firing it an inch from Stella’s head. That gets her eyes open quick and she looks at him again, terrified. He passes the gun to his tail so he can hold it under her chin. “You look at me while I do this to you.” He pulls the hammer back until it clicks. The fear and pain in Stella’s gaze is so deep and so raw. It’s a look he’s never seen from her before, and one he hopes he can see many times over again.
His pace picks up as he gets closer and closer to climax. He thrusts any amount harder that he can, the bed shaking beneath them. A sort of manic energy starts to overtake him and his claws start digging into where he’s gripping her. “You ready to get another egg raped into you, you dumb cunt?” he taunts, voice as cruel as ever. “A bastard imp kid, how’re you gonna explain that to your daughter? Or to the other Goetia? You’re gonna lose it all, all because you couldn’t handle just one imp.” Stella’s eyes scrunch up and she starts wailing, an utterly pitiful sound made all the worse by how it warbles as she’s thrust into. “Every day when you see your kid you’ll be reminded of this,” Striker keeps going, having to fight through pleasure to keep his voice steady. “Hell, maybe that won’t even be the only one. It’s not like you can stop me from doing this again, and again, and again!” He pistol whips her in the face, right against her black eye. She just keeps wailing and wailing, getting both louder and stuttery as she uses up more and more of her air. Still Striker isn’t done, himself getting louder as he says, “but you like it, don’t you? You want to be an imp baby factory, just a nasty little whore taking as much cock as you can, you pathetic bitch.”
Her wailing reaches a fever pitch before getting cut off by choking sobs as her air runs out. She coughs and splutters and has to take horrible, painful breaths to try and get any of it back only to forcefully sob and lose it again. It’s its song that excites Striker, a sign he’s hurt her even more. He decides to make it worse by knocking the gun against the handle of the angelic knife still embedded in her. Her crying out in pain is so weak at this point. She’s even run out of tears, it seems.
He almost isn’t even registering any of that as he feels his orgasm start to approach. He speeds his pace up more and more as it does, ramming into her shuddering body with intense force. His tail reholsters the gun again so he can focus entirely on himself. Briefly Stella stops being a person to him, becoming just an object he’s using to get off. It just feels so damn good to thrust into her without any care for her and her body.
Finally his body starts to tense and then- “grahhhhh” he groans out as he slams into her hard one last time as he starts to cum, flooding her cloaca. He was more pent up than he thought, or this whole thing got him even more excited than he thought.
He breathes hard for a little bit, gathering himself. He becomes cognizant of Stella below him again and looks down at her. She’s looking away from him, still letting out a quiet sob every once in a while. He just smirks as he pulls out of her, wiping his dick clean on her feathers.
After that he stands up off the bed to get fully dressed again. Stella is a broken mess in front of him, an extreme contrast from how she usually is. He regards his handiwork, the various wounds all over her body, the blood they let out turning her feathers black. From here it sure seems like a job well done.
Now it’s time to fully end it. He leans back onto the bed, first reaching for the holy knife. Stella flinches away from him, a sad little movement, showcasing how thoroughly afraid of him she’s ended up. He grabs the handle and pulls, more gently than before, just enough to get it out without extra pain. It still makes her sob extra hard.
Same story with the knife through one of her hands. He also uses that one to cut the blessed rope, finally freeing her. She quickly moves her arms to the front in a defensive stance, curling herself up a little. She still doesn’t look at him.
With his items gathered back, that’s all Striker needed. It’s an odd feeling now to step away from the bed and leave her there. He isn’t entirely sure how the aftermath of this will go. What will happen when he steps outside? She asked him to do this, but what if she regrets that? He was far too caught up in enjoying himself to worry about that idea before, but it lingers in his head now. He heads to the door; only way to find out what happens is to let it happen. He casts one last glance at her quietly sobbing form on the bed before he steps out, shutting the door behind him.
He doesn’t notice the maid imp from earlier until she suddenly asks, “are you finished, then?”
His head whips around quickly in surprise. “Uh, yeah,” he says a bit uncertainly. He didn’t expect anyone else to be out here.
She nods in affirmation and says, “I’ll get the others,” before scurrying off down the hall. Striker doesn’t really know what to make of it, but it makes a lot more sense a few minutes later when a small procession of house worker imps appear with things like medical supplies and towels and new bedsheets, even a hospital IV with a blood bag ready to go and a big carton of ice cream.
The imps file into the room, leaving Striker alone in the hall. He’s not sure what to do now. Should he walk back in yet? She did say beforehand that he could come back in a little after, has it been long enough? Should he wait for the house workers to finish tending to her?
His questions are answered when the maid imp pokes her head out. “The lady would like to see you,” she says.
“Alrighty, then,” Striker replies, stepping away from the wall to once again head into the room.
The lights are on all the way now. Stella is sat up as she’s being tended to. She doesn’t have a replacement dress but they have gotten her a small top and shorts for modesty. The imps seem rather efficient and there’s plenty of them so her wounds all appear cleaned and plenty are bandaged already, some of the more severe ones being stitched up. Even her mascara is cleaned up.
When she’s finished being hooked up to the IV she notices Striker. An expression he can’t quite read flashes across her face. She waves a hand to get the imps to stop. “He can finish up,” she tells them. Dismissed, they all bow before filing out of the room, taking the dirty towels and bedsheets with them.
Now they’re alone in the room again. Striker stays standing where he is, which lightly exasperates Stella. “Well come here,” she says, beckoning.
That finally gets him to relax. Those are not the actions and words of someone who regrets her choices. Or at least, not of someone who is going to take it out on him. So he does approach her, seeing which wounds still need bandaged. “I did quite a number on ya,” he comments.
“That you did,” she replies simply. He’s impressed she’s acting so normally around him considering the state she was in and how she was reacting to him hardly any time ago.
She’s betrayed by a slight flinch as he reaches for her with a bandage. Clearly she was both very mentally prepared going into this and also Striker was able to really wear her down. That seems like a successful job to him. She did ask him to break her.
He gently wraps the bandage around the arm the other imps hadn’t gotten to yet. “I take it that went to your liking?” He can assume all he wants but he’d like to actually hear it from her.
“Oh yes,” she answers. “Very much so. I’m going to be thinking about this for a long, long time.”
“Until the next time, perhaps?” he questions. Now he starts to bandage around her stomach.
She nods. “That holy blade leaves wounds that will take a long time to heal from, but I would very much like to do that again.”
There’s something a little funny to him about her enthusiasm, and also about the fact that for whatever reason she isn’t being a huge bitch to him right now. Maybe wooziness, maybe whatever painkillers they gave her, whatever. He’ll take it. “Anything you’d like different next time?” he asks as he finishes with the stomach bandage.
“You should hit me more,” she says. Indicating her prominent black eye, she explains, “this was very nice, you should do more of it all over.”
Striker nods as he picks up a large single spot bandage. “I could do that, got some knuckle dusters I can bring that would make that hurt more, too.” He gestures to her to bend down so he can bandage the cut on her cheek.
She obliges as she says, “good, good.” She grimaces slightly as he applies the bandage. Then she sits back up and goes on with, “you should use my face more as well, you don’t only have to rape my cloaca.”
“Fair enough,” Striker responds. “Not sure I wanted to risk you throwing up all over me.”
Stella scoffs at him. “You think I can’t control myself like that? I asked you to rape me, not be considerate.”
There a little of the bitchy attitude is back. Striker decides to keep to himself that that wasn’t him being considerate of her, seems pointless to argue. “I can do that, too,” is all he says. Now, also, with those last few wounds taken care of, he isn’t sure what to do. “So, should I…?” He points over his shoulder at the door.
“No,” Stella answers firmly. “Stay here with me.” She shifts back on the bed so that she’s sitting against the pillows along the headboard.
The invitation is clear so Striker clambers to the other side to sit next to her. On her other other side is the large ice cream carton which she grabs and opens up. It’s just plain vanilla, but after all the energy Striker just expended that seems delectable as can be. He accepts the spoon she offers him and both of them take a scoop. His is exactly as tasty as he was expecting, and she seems to feel similarly. She lets out a shaky, relieving exhale after eating hers. Clearly, despite how she’s acting, the pain of the experience isn’t gone yet. Maybe once the bulk of it has faded she’ll be back to her usual self. In the meantime he’ll gladly enjoy her as she is now. Even if it is a little odd feeling to be sitting here enjoying ice cream with her after torturing and raping her.
That isn’t the only odd feeling. She put a lot of trust in him for this. He really could have killed her. Even with the threat of her brother and maybe others among the Goetia, that wouldn’t physically stop him from killing her. That could’ve been it. Yet, she trusted him not to do it. Even invited him back in after to bandage her and tell him about what he can do next time. She’s such a cunt all the time, and yet maybe, just maybe, she likes him a little bit. Like actually likes having him around, not just for sex things.
Very briefly the thought enters his mind that he might reciprocate those feelings and he catches himself smiling a little bit. He banishes that quickly. He is not about to start unpacking conflicting Goetia related feelings right now. Just enjoy the moment as it is without any wider thoughts. So, he grabs another spoonful of ice cream and does just that.
Quietly they enjoy the treat. When they’re about halfway done with the carton Striker becomes aware of Stella starting to slump over. He looks up at her to see that exhaustion is starting to settle in pretty fast and hard. He takes his last bite of ice cream before turning and sliding off the bed. “You need rest,” he says as he walks around to her side to take the carton from her.
“You don’t have to tell me what to do,” she replies, a hint of annoyance in there but largely she just sounds very tired, and she already starts laying down. Her eyes flutter closed and her breathing gets deeper and longer.
Striker assumes she didn’t literally fall asleep just like that but it’s coming quick for her. Briefly he sets the carton down. Then, gently, he slides the blanket from underneath her so he can tuck her in. He probably didn’t need to do that but it wouldn’t have felt right.
As he gazes at her he feels a little bit of something deep inside of himself. What is that, affection? He grumbles lightly at himself and mutters, “don’t be a dumbass.” Then he picks up the ice cream and spoons and starts to leave.
At the door he switches the lights off before opening it, stepping forward but finding himself pausing to give one last glance over his shoulder. She’s almost serene now on the bed. A totally different contrast from how he’s seen her even just today. He catches himself as he’s about to start smiling again. He’s gotta work on that, apparently.
Turning his head back around, he exits the room and gently closes the door. Time to let her sleep.