The days are long and the nights are cold. I don’t want to be alone. I’ll say anything to make you come back. I’ll do anything to make you want to stay this time. Baby please come home.
But you know, when he came home finally I stood there in the kitchen by the door, in a fighting stance, body rigid, afraid of losing control and I whispered low, almost a growl “where the fuck have you been?” I was angry, I was jealous, I was hurt. He’d been gone two weeks this time. He’d never stayed gone that long before. I’d heard rumors in town about where he’d shacked up and which woman he was currently fucking and I’d just had enough.
We’d always had a tenuous relationship, he and I. One minute we were so in love the stars from the sky fell upon us to dance in our happiness. In the next, the Devil himself would have a front row seat at our epic fights. We were violent and we said things you should cut your tongue and ears off for. During our break-ups we would see other people and fuck other people, mostly to make each other jealous. But that was love, right? This is what lovers do. I mean it’s what our parents taught us, it’s what society taught us. We love, we fight, we break up, we make up, we repeat. We’re allowed to use pejoratives with each other, we’re allowed to hit one another, we’re allowed to fuck around on each other. Oh we don’t hurt each other, not really right? I mean we know we love each other, right? We’d eventually settle down and have kids. We were just young right now and getting through our problems, just some glitches. We’d get married and have a family and this stuff would just be a memory we’d laugh at.
Every time the cops came I got angry. I loved him. Of course I didn’t want to put him in jail. I mean I was just as much at fault as he was. Most of the time I pushed him harder when we fought just so he’d prove his love to me. I liked to tell him I was leaving and see him get emotional as I packed a bag and walked out on him. I loved that feeling just as much as he did, that’s why we did it to each other, it was a rush. Misery, giving misery to each other gave us each a rush. We were always trying to one up each other when the screaming started.
Sometimes he was possessive. There were times he’d be so possessive of me he’d ask every time I got up from a chair “where are you going?” I’d say something smart to piss him off of course, “I’m going to the bathroom motherfucker, what? Do you think I have an elaborate escape plan at that end of the house?” Then other times he couldn’t be assed about where I was or what I was doing. He didn’t care. For me though, I just didn’t care all the time. I didn’t have a jealous or possessive bone in my body.
This time though, fuck, this time was different. I don’t know, something in me snapped. I looked at him standing there all cocky with his perfect chin up, grin on his face. I know he expected me to burst into tears and open my arms. He expected me to run to him. He wanted me to tell him how much I missed him, how much I needed him. That was all true right up until this very moment. Some force hit me. It said “get out”. Now, I didn’t know if it meant literally or figuratively but I wasn’t waiting to find out. It scared the hell out of me.
I didn’t pack any bags, I didn’t take anything with me expect the clothes on my back, my purse, my phone, and my car. I didn’t say a word to him. I just turned around and walked out. I practically ran if you want to know the truth. This voice inside me just kept repeating over and over “get out, get out, get out”.
When the Sheriff finally pushed his way into the house an hour later the scene was pretty gruesome. My blood covered a good portion of the kitchen table and floor where I now lay dying. My chest heaving making that death rattle with every inward pull. The medics surrounded me immediately but I knew it was no use, I was going finally. I was getting out. He was already gone. I’d made sure of it.
He hit me in the head and body several times with his old high school baseball bat before I was able to get the knife in the kitchen dish strainer. I swear to you I thought I heard him laughing every time he heard a bone snap. I let him punch me in the face a few times and then I wrapped my arms around him in a lovers embrace sweeping him off his feet onto the cold linoleum floor with me. I kissed him one last time and plunged that knife’s silver blade deep into the side of his neck. It’s not an easy thing, did you know that? Stabbing someone, it’s not easy and pulling the knife out to stab them again is even more difficult, it requires a great deal of strength and I just didn’t have it. So I said fuck it and left it there embedded in his neck.
Something was wrong with my head and I knew I was dying out. I should have listened to that little voice. I couldn’t even ask him why now. It all happened so fucking fast. I had started walking out and he was on me. Screaming he’d never let me go. Did he hear the voice too?
Maybe it was better this way. This way we were finally leaving the pain behind. We were having our Romeo and Juliet moment. This way, we weren’t going to repeat the cycle with our children. We wouldn’t infect the world with this parasitical version of what love should be like. I could feel my hot tears sliding down mixing with my blood in my hair. I wasn’t afraid. I whispered out my confession to the Sheriff letting my tears fall where they may. My head was pounding. I closed my eyes one last time and I finally got out.