Unnecessary.

He shuddered for breath, sputtering a red tinged water from his lips. He clung to the edges of the bathtub. Silence was emanating from the walls, that is to say but the drip that echoed from the spigot. He felt fucked. The cause of which lay naked on his bed in the adjacent room. Her ratted hair was sprawled among pillows. Her mouth was pursed, letting air gently pass in and out. He lay himself into the lukewarm and murky water; he peered at her above the porcelain rim and watched her slumped body rise and fall.

He tempestuously lifted himself and the act made his watery mess violently rush around him. The sounds struck the sleeping girl and she turned supine. He approached her and flicked his hand in front of her mouth to feel the heat of her breath. He dressed and made glances at her, to see if she was awake yet. He wondered if it was too hot, so he pulled the chain of the fan above him. It was fast and the rattle and sway of it disrupted the rhythm the spigot had achieved.

"Hey. Hey you. Get up," he spoke firmly, but quietly. He flung his collar up and wrapped his black tie around his neck. The girl managed a few moans that sounded like "leave me alone." He grew irritable, turned for the mirror and frowned in it. He paused, then darted his eyes back and forth, looking...looking for something. He quickly began in one direction, but came back to the mirror to finish the task of his tie. He turned to scan the entirety of his apartment floor. It was a pale cranberry color, dark among the drawn shades. He snatched the curtains and drew them open, letting the 9 a.m. sunshine flood in.

"Fuck you. Let me lay here some, huh?" She threw a pillow over her face. With his newly lit apartment, he now could see where he'd stowed his gun. He lifted from the dresser, examined the revolver and cocked.

"Hey, what the fuck are you-" ...her voice trailed into the dissipating explosion that filled the bedroom. The blood absorbed by the sheets around her slowly grew in circumference and trickled to the floor beneath. Stupid bitch had it coming, he thought. He brought her here, he loved her here, but he slowly began to hate her here for the stupid shit she would do. All he could think is how dirty she made him feel and how utterly disgusted he'd become by her. He remembered scrubbing, scrubbing and scrubbing his flesh till it turned raw and pink. The layers of filth fell from his skin, but beneath her dirt lingered still.

It was, however, an unnerving euphoric feeling, albeit surpassingly such cause for hate. Not unlike a soft velvet, cool and soothing in one way, but rows of sharpened needles in the other. He let his eyelids fall and eyes roll up as he remembered the taste and sweet perfume that would send him spiraling into a world of calm.

He almost felt regret pulling out of the driveway, but then he remembered he had too many other things to feel.