Guilty Pleasure

I’ve been keeping a journal. We have been married for 12 years and 63 days. It all started with the big things: forgetting to buckle the car seat and having a minor accident, to the littlest of things like preparing chicken sandwiches instead of beef sandwiches.

It would start with a slap, then screaming, then another slap that led to a series of brutal pushing and beatings. Shortly after I having no less than five bruises on my face, I have no to listen to how sorry he is and how he would never lay a finger on me again.

I always forgive him.

I love him, besides my children need their parents. They will need the support from their dad — financially and otherwise.

I had to quit my job, I couldn’t keep lying to my colleagues about how I fell from the stairs or how my kids had a tragic pillow fight that ended up in only me getting bruised.

I’m tired of this sequence, but I love him. I always have and I always will. I have thoughts of retaliating sometimes. I’d shove him into the dishwasher and listen to all his bones crush into tiny bits, then I snap out of it.

This time around, he came back home a little later than usual. I served him his meal while listening to him complain about the temperature. I took his meal to the microwave and warmed it a little while ensuring it doesn’t get over cooked. I took it back to him, but he was not satisfied. He is never satisfied. I warmed it once more, but he kept whining about how hungry he was and how I needed to speed up the process. I can’t possibly speed up this process. But before I could collect my thoughts together, I felt a sharp pain on my back. He slapped me. I should be used to this pain by now. I’ve endured it for more than twelve years now.

He kept slapping and shoving me around the kitchen like pinata. I couldn’t take it anymore. As he pushed me towards the cutlery cabinet. I put my hand on the handle to ensure I don’t lose my grip and focus. As he turned around to start screaming on me, I opened the drawer, grabbed my favorite knife and waited for him to turn around. I wanted him to look into my eyes as I stab him. When he turned around, I pushed the knife deep in between his first and second rib. The look on his face was priceless. We’ve been married for twelve years and this is the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen him.

I kept stabbing him until I was sure he had stopped breathing. By the time I was done, I sat beside my beautiful husband and realized the whole house was quiet.

He was quiet.

This is the quietest my beautiful husband has ever been when he’s at home.

Hey there! I decided to do something different. I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please recommend it so more people could read it. Thank you!

P.S: I might do more of this type of articles, I had so much fun while writing. Also, this is purely a work of fiction.

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