Why’d you do it?

He scratched her,

He spat on her,

And with clenched fists he punched her,

but not before those eyes he bore, left her battered with all of its examinations and impermissible longings.

Those hands of his trailed up her thighs, wandering in places even she was scared to touch.

Her moans were music to his ears, and the marks of her nails on his skin, seemed art to his eyes.

And so with her naked body wrangled in his,

her dignity soaking his sheets, he tainted the night with a sin, yet relived.

"Why'd you do it brother?"

Those were the words Timothy heard that morning he choked on the tea Lily had been kind enough to serve for breakfast.