Warnings: attempted rape, mind rape, violence. This is a cathartic fic, but it has to be horrible for a catharsis to come out of it.

Disclaimer: Don't own Alice Madness Returns.

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There's so much a man can handle before finally breaking. So much brewing and grooming until it becomes too much.

He gave her a little sedative to 'calm her hysteria'. Alice was having too many of those histrionic episodes of hers as of late as she dwelled in that wrecked mental haven, as it became more and more corrupted but still unyielding and stubborn and bitchy just like her - but it was no trouble. No trouble. It was what triggered it, after all. It was what triggered this whole thing, at long last.

She was a lost case. He couldn't destroy her memories, but he could destroy her, lock what little remained of her sanity in together with those wistful memories of hers she held so so so dear.

She was a lost case. She didn't have a buyer. Oh, no. She had been his own personal pet project for a while now, and finally, all his efforts and all his frustrations and rage would come to fruition.

She was confused. The word he had longed to hear so much, the little and simple word made perfect by the unresistence, finally made perfect with that note of helplessness: 'Doctor...', and oh Bumby felt the monster inside of him stirr in antecipation for finally, finally, being free to quench all its needs at last.

"You're finally mine, Alice."

He shoved her down to the bed. She struggled, oh she struggled just like he knew she would, like he wanted her to, but she was powerless in body as she should have been in mind. He locked her under his body and the way she screamed was music, and he basked in it and how it dropped to gasps and moans and sighs when his fists wrapped around her neckline, holding his cultivated little piece of madness between his hands as she drowned in herself.

"Yes, go to your wretched Wonderland, Alice," he whispered gently, releaving just a bit of pressure to get those green eyes back to focus, back to lusting for him.

"It was you... it was you all along."

"Shh... oh Alice," Bumbe sighed. "What good did any of those memories ever do to you? You can stay in them now, if they are so important to you."

He moved his hands down, pressing himself down, whispering his desires that had turned into frustrations, growing in harsher voice tones and more agressive holds as the monster got angrier from waiting for so long and more eager for finally getting what it wanted out of her. He pinned her down by the neck again with one hand as the other struggled with his belt when a hand suddenly clenched around his wrist.

He looked down at Alice, teeth gritted in irritation for her persistency, but he didn't see her. Not her hollow cheeks and dark bags under those green slutty eyes of hers, but blood. Blood was pouring from her eyes, no longer green and white, no longer pretending they didn't lust for him, but red, angry and dangerous and terrifying. Blood dropped from the corners of her lips, crossing lines over her dead white skin and pooling over her hair. She was so pale, so sickening pale, but she wasn't dead, she wasn't scared, she wasn't hurt, not like she was supposed to be. A freezing dread grabbed a hold of Bumby the very second before she opened her mouth. And she screamed, loud, horryifing, unreal.

Blood exploded from the sheet beneath her, hitting the walls with a disgusting wet sound, pushing Bumby backwards with sheer brutality but he didn't fall off the bed for some reason. The impact was so strong he couldn't even breathe, his lungs screamed against something invisible that pressed them against his ribs. He gasped for air, barely aware of the fact he was still somehow holding on his knees without knowing how. His frantic eyes flew everywhere, to all the blood, in confusion and horror to what had just happened in front of him. What had that bitch Alice done to him, had she drugged him?! What the fuck were these hallucinations, this messed up distortion? Had she poured her fucking insanity into him, like a disease, like she was a fucking disease?! Was this the twisted Wonderland she saw? But how could he see it? How could any of this be real? The bitch had drugged him! There could be no blood, it didn't made sense, where had it come from?

But the blood felt so real. He could see how it drenched the sheets under them, hear how it dripped from the bed and from the walls to the floor, feel how warm and fresh it was against his knees, how it soaked his shirt damp into his skin, how it tasted in his mouth. It was disgusting and overwhelming, the stench, made him gag and gasp for the air his lungs didn't seem to hold. This couldn't be real, but-

Alice raised her body. He was still over her, knees on each side of her legs, but she was facing him now, and he didn't feel in power anymore. His clenched teeth were more reflex than any remnant of annoyance, and they did not unclench even when he saw her hair floating around her head, black but grey and white alike, as if the very air had changed, had become lighter and heavier, as if she dominated the room now. Her teeth were clenched too, blood stained, and she twisted her arm, hard, viciously.

Something inside him twisted along with it.

Bumby had never felt pain - he could not have, because nothing had felt like this. He dropped his head down and saw.

Blood was over him as well. Splattered onto him by that unreal explosion, hiding which blood was his and which was not. But the knife stared back at him, glinting, sunk deep into his abdomen.

No. This can't be real.

Something told him it was.

He looked up again at her, at the monster now, and one that wasn't afraid of him anymore. His monster own quivered in pain, but he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe.

This can't be real.

Alice was insane. She fabricated an inner world to deal with the her trauma and the madness she always had in her to begin with. She hallucinated, she escaped into a distorted place created by her madness where her mind stored memories she was supposed to let go. It was the perfect way to twist her sanity further to the breaking point. It was an escapism.

Alice grit her teeth in rage, her eyes dripping blood but not crying, screaming hate.

This... this is not an escapism. This is real.

She tightend the hold on the blade and pushed it up.

In the end, all that was left was blood.

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Author's Note: Looking back at my other 2 Alice fics ('Paranoia' , 'Wrapped up just for me'), this feels like an end to a series.

This idea came up the night after I had an unpleasant time thinking back on things that were and that were trying to repeat themselves. Later on, the idea of envisioning myself as Hysteria Alice in a future possible cosplay made me feel quite well and quite powerful. Comfortable, let's say it. There's something about her white and red image that makes me feel good. So this came up as an artist outlet of the rage and hate, and how it would make Alice feel the same way in the most extreme situation.

I've finally writing it down now, far removed from that particular moment that triggered this back in November, because I'm starting to cleanse my to-write list and because I can't sleep.

Thanks for reading.