The Shuddering Truth

Judgment! You are a special case beyond my comprehension, so it's best you buckle up, as I know when you're fibbing.
You are leaving work when you spot a woman walking in the middle of the road, with the nearby driver spiraling out of control from the effects of his narcotics. Will you save that poor woman and obtain the most brutal injury you will ever get, or will you stand by the sidelines and watch her die? Which will you choose?
You SAY you will bite the bullet and save her? I say we should pick the brains of truth's two-plated scale! Judgment, now.
You chose to save the woman from her life-ending fate by pushing her out of the way of the oncoming car. Your legs are broken, and your feet are shattered. The woman rushes you to the hospital, and WEIRDLY enough, she not only pays for your hospital bill, but purchases prosthetic legs so you can move again. Her father is a rich businessman with plenty of street smarts. You both happily get married, and you live with her for a time that is inevitable. It was worth it, wasn't it? It's nice to see your future change when you make the right choice, doesn't it?
Fooled you. Change exists. Change proves your delusory mind further than you think.
You take advantage of her kindness. You want more. More and more and more. You're a dog foaming from its lips, starving of true happiness. The biggest lie that burrows in your head groundhog-style, is the myth that you'll become happy when you get what you want.
You end up wanting sex. Your drive is unquenchable. She tells you no, but you don't know what that word means like an entitled worm would. You thrust inside of her, far enough to where her poor body is gashing and lacerating from how hard you've stretched her apart. She's not a toy, you know. She's not your Stretch Armstrong, but you're too stupid to see that.
You hit her when you don't get your way, like a little baby. You bawl your eyes out and say you're sorry, then you do exactly what you were sorry for again. And again, and again. You brag to your friends about how much she lets you touch her. "Let" is quite the cock and bull. It's more like "reject." She ends up strung by the neck against her ceiling fan, her head a ghostly white.
And THEN you're sorry. Just then you are. Those aren't "I'm crying because I lost my wife" tears. Those are tears that say "I fear the next world."
Looks like everyone in the halls heard me. Too bad they know my inconvenience to them is insignificant. They heard what I said about you too. You twisted earth crawler, you. Not my fault, it's your choice! You have to live with it.
Oh, and one more thing. The nurse is lonely. You'll be her teething boot soon enough. Enjoy it while it lasts, though. It'll be the last fun thing in your benefit before the events transpire.
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