I hate saying I love you. You don’t deserve my love. I thought you did in the beginning but now, it’s just words to appease you. I’m dependent on you and it was so damn foolish of me. I can’t believe it sometimes, I look in the window just to see my fucked up reflection, the one you’ve beaten into me, I look so I can see what I’ve done to myself by saying I love you that first time. I bonded myself to you and you’re a monster.
You say you’re sorry and you love me but believe me you don’t love me, not in that way. That way that lovers love. The soft, gentle, I want to take care of you love. You love me in that I want to own you my precious kind of way.
In the beginning I didn’t see it and then I was in too deep. I thought I could change you, I thought I could fix you and you, you fucked with my head, you cried, you said everyone always leaves you and you know I fought with myself I thought, I said to myself I have to be strong for this boy, this man. He needs me. Everyone leaves him, I have to prove I love him. I have to stay.
So I did and now look at me. Look at me you cocksucker I scream as I hit him in the face with the hammer again. It’s been the tenth, maybe fifteenth time I’ve hit him and sure I started out weak but I’m getting stronger as I hear the gurgling in his throat. He’s choking on his own blood and it makes me scream in joy.
This motherfucker right here. For ten years he has beaten me, savaged me, demeaned me, cheated me, stolen from me, and taken everything from me. Yesterday he killed our baby in my womb. As I lay on our living room floor bleeding from my nose crying for him to stop, that I was pregnant, he laughed gleefully and kicked me in the stomach twice. He let me lay there bleeding through my jean shorts for two hours before he came back in drunk apologizing, saying he loved me and that I made him do it. I shouldn’t talk about leaving, about him getting professional help. He could handle things and I shouldn’t run my mouth. He took me to the hospital and dropped me off outside like he always did. He expected me to take care of things so he wouldn’t get in trouble. This time I didn’t bother, I told them everything. I went through a DNC to remove my baby and they sent me home this afternoon.
I walked five miles back to our house to find him drunk and fucking Amanda from next door on our couch. I think anyone would have said he had it coming. Amanda had the decency to look nervous when she picked up her clothes and scooted around me at the door. I didn’t say a word. I went immediately to get his dinner ready. I knew what he expected.
He came in to the kitchen scratching his head and saying “honey, that wasn’t exactly what it looked like, I mean I figured you wouldn’t be able to have sex for a while so I thought…” and he trailed off and walked out of the kitchen expecting the conversation to be over. Oh it was over all right. Motherfucker was going to see just how over it really was.
I served his dinner and took a shower. I walked out to the garage handling all the tools to see which one I liked the best and there was my dad’s hammer. It was shining at me like a beacon. It called to me. It told me to end this bastard and I wanted it like a red hot fury. I picked it up and it fit my hand like I was born to kill with it.
I walked back into the kitchen whistling and swinging the yellow handled silver hammer, a smile lit my face when I saw him and he smiled back at me cocking his head. Perfect, yeah fucker, cock that head just right. I lifted the hammer and swung as hard as I could. I swung it sideways to get maximum coverage and heard bones crack and crunch and felt so goddamn satisfied I almost peed my pants.
His stunned look made me giggle and I did a little spin and hit him again. This time right in the nose. Oh god it was beautiful. His perfect face seemed to close in on itself and I heard some teeth go. My nipples got hard and I just didn’t stop after that. I remember at one point my arm got really sore and I tried switching but trying to swing a hammer with your opposite dominant hand is like trying to wipe your ass with the opposite one, it just doesn’t work the same. So I had to stop.
Looking down at my masterpiece I grinned. He was alive. Good. Now he knew what pain was like. I hope he lived through my trial. I hope I got off and he had to live through that knowledge that I was still out there. I picked up the phone and called the police, placed the receiver in his hand, and went to stare out the window. I had already decided, the only thing I would say on the matter is that I would like to keep my dad’s hammer.