May 28, 2010


I should have listened to my mother and left him. His smile a drug that I couldn't resist. Through all the wrongs, it made the world seem grand. His pearly whites were my cocaine. The rugged embrace of his arms a blanket from this unruly and unjust society. When at my lowest,after the attack, he cradled and covered me in sweet emotions.

Those years are long gone, we are different people now. I'm still weak for his smile but deep inside I feel different. He has a new obsession; my pain is what he covets most of all. Women are naturally weak right? I need to suck it up and give him everything he desires, but deep down anguished screams express my inherent displeasure with the situation. His fists of anger hit deep and silent unnoticeable to the outside world. I'm sure some suspect what is happening but they are blind and deaf to my blank cries.

Tonight he will step through the door, remove his hat and unleash the smile that blinds my soul from his flaws. His footsteps echo through the hallway and I rush to finish preparing his food. The door knob turns and he opens the door, entering taking off his hat as he steps in. I set his plate down next to his cup of tea and rush to his side.

His smile flaring stark white fangs eager for flesh."Hello there darling."

This isn't reality,his fangs an illusion created by my conscience, a warning of the monster festering within his soul. What if he is a vile demon? How can someone weak as myself stop such a savage beast?

Reaching in close I greet him with a kiss trying to choke back the urge to vomit.

"Welcome home baby." I take his tweed jacket and hang it in the closet while he continues to the kitchen inspecting the cleanliness of the house along the way.

"How was your day?" Hoping to sidetrack his inspection I move to his side.

"Dinner is ready. We are having your favorite tonight."

On instinct he grabs the remote from the mahogany coffee table and turns it to the game finding the Saints losing to the Panthers seven to fourteen in the fourth quarter. The Saints running back fumbles the ball giving the Panthers possession.

Irate, he throws the remote across the room. " Shit!, can't those dumb fuck's do anything right! "

Like clockwork he moves to the table and slips into the chair. He quickly rearranges the fork and knife not satisfied with my placement and takes a sip of the tea. Throat moistened he begins to devour the steak piece by piece. I stare at his fangs tearing through the meat sending blood splattering on the table and his lips.

He wipes the excess sauce from the corner of his mouth and jumps up from his chair. "You Bitch!, Do you expect me to eat this burnt leather ? Damn you whore! "

His hands now around my neck squeezing, choking me.

"Dogs chew on leather. Am I a dog? Do I lick my balls and shit in the yard?" His fingers tearing through my skin draw blood releasing flashes of pain throughout my body sending signals telling me to shut down and die. In the dark abyss that is a sure death a stranger's voice bellows a blood curdling scream.

Between ragged breaths I struggle to free myself." Get your fucking hands off me! "

Screaming curses of rage he lifts me up and slams me against the wall driving his knee into my abdomen sending me to my knees.

Lifting me back to my feet his eyes burn with hatred. "You are dead bitch! "

A siren wails down the street distracting him for a moment giving me a small window of opportunity. With all my power I land a stiff right punch to his groin.

"Fuck off! I will not die. Not today and not by your hands. " He stumbles backwards
stunned and in pain. My hands search blindly for a weapon. Straws, plates, and a cup; all useless utensils of death. Finding our broken wedding photograph I take a shard of glass and grip it tight and blood pours out as it digs into my hands. Blind with fear and rage I lunge forward thrusting wildly trying to puncture his flesh. The shard digs deep into his shoulder sending him backwards to the floor.

Not wanting to give him a chance to recover I sit on his chest and remove the piece of glass from his shoulder and thrust it into his throat. His skin ripped and ragged around the extruding glass covered in his blood bubbling to the surface like freshly struck oil. Unlike oil diggers I am not rich but I am now free. He tries to speak but only gasps and blood continues to flow, within seconds his lifeless body lays staring at the ceiling.

Crawling to the bathroom the stranger begins to laugh. She... I enjoyed killing him and all the years of abuse replaced with pure maniacal bliss. I just killed a monster but did I create one in the process. Sitting on the edge of the tub covered in both of our blood i think of the future. I fear for the world, my family, and myself. Stripping down to nothing, nude, scared of what I have become.