Jade Fern Grove she said, "you ain't no son of mine for what you've done"

it's beautiful for a moment, just a fleeting moment. he savors it, breathing in every lovely deceitful syllable, and when it's gone it cuts deeply. his teeth tighten further, grip as crushing as the agony rippling through him at the loss. he's pushing him under before he realizes what he's doing, throwing all his weight into the action.
even as the realization strikes him, his grip doesn't loosen. he wants to let go— he's hurt this man enough, he's had his fun, it's time to let go. it doesn't cross his mind that he could kill him. he's never done it, so it won't happen, can't happen, right? but he's frozen, and seconds turn into minutes, and only when the struggling slows and then ceases does he loosen his grip, glossy-eyed and breathing hard.