She wasn't going to let him get by with it again. He had taken her for granted for the last time.
She couldn't take another word out of him.
The embarrassment, the humiliation, the stress he caused her; it had finally reached a boiling point.
She couldn't remember a time when he did not do anything and everything in his power to make her miserable.
What she could remember, however, was how much she had given up because of him. She used to have a life; friends, career prospects, dates with real men, but he had seen fit to put an end to all of that.
It was as though his sole purpose in life was to make hers a living hell.
She couldn't just ditch him if she wanted to. What would everybody say? She couldn't tear down that perfect facade she had built to shield everyone around her from the truth. What would happen if they knew she had been deceiving them all along?
After all, he had them all fooled. His charm was undeniable. He had one of those smiles that could melt your heart. It was one of the things that drew her to him in the first place, but she knew now that it was just his way of manipulating her and everyone around him to get whatever he wanted.
Everyone thought he was the perfect gentleman, but no one would ever guess how horrible it was to live with him; how much he demanded of her, and how little he offered in return.
She had given it all up for him, but all he did was make her feel worthless and insignificant. It angered her even more to think that she had once considered ending her own life because of him. She could scarcely fathom how one person could have such a devastating impact on her psyche.
He was an insult to her intelligence. His annoying little habits would have been cute if he could just keep them under control, or maybe learn to live without them. But no. He was never going to change.
He was never going to look at her when she talked to him. He was never going to stop correcting her when she spoke. He was never going to stop obsessing over his stupid games. He was never going to grow up.
She cursed herself for not walking away when she had the chance. She was stuck. She would never be able to get away from him. She knew that if she let him he'd bleed her soul dry like a life sucking leech. She could not let it go on any longer.
She had to do something. The consequences didn't matter. How could her life possibly be any worse?
She caught a glimpse of her knife stand in the corner of her eye and felt a rush of guilt. She couldn't believe he had driven her to such depths.
She closed her eyes and steadied herself with both hands on the counter next to the sink. Her chest felt tight; her heart was racing. She could feel the heat rising up the back of her neck. Her scalp tingled and then began to itch as if she were about to break a sweat.
She tried to control her breathing. She had almost forgotten how to relax because of him. She couldn't let him control her like this. She had to fight it, sure, but she had to try to get calm first.
She almost wished she could gulp down a whole bottle of wine to dull her senses, but she wasn't about to relax her principles because of him. She had sworn to never be like her father; that old, uneducated, alcoholic bastard.
She shuddered to think about him. This wasn't helping.
She tried to remember a time before she felt so depressed. She couldn't.
She tried to think of something, anything, that might relax her nerves.
There was that cute guy in her college French class. She didn't really care that he couldn't score higher than an 85. He had smiled at her. She knew he had wanted to ask her out, but had ended up getting snatched up by that brain dead cheerleader bimbo. His loss.
It wasn't helping.
French. France. She had always wanted to go to France. She had dreamed about it since she was a little girl. The Eiffel Tower, the Champs Élysées, Versailles. But she knew she'd never see them in person. He would see to it that she'd never be able to fulfill any of her dreams.
All that time studying foreign languages. For what? To become someone's maid? The top student in all of her classes, a housewife?
Her arms began to ache. She had unknowingly clamped down so hard on the counter that her knuckles had turned white. This was definitely not helping.
She had to think of something calming.
Puppies? He'd probably never feed one.
Ice cream sundaes? He was allergic to dairy so she had stopped eating her favorite dessert because of him.
Romance? Not a chance.
Peaceful meadows? Nature? Walks in the park? Sunrises? Sunsets? All things she no longer enjoyed because of him.
She clenched her jaw. Nothing was helping.
She could hear the sound of the television in the living room. He was playing that stupid video game again. It was all he ever did.
The ungrateful jerk barely acknowledged her at all. He never once thanked her for all the work she did around the house; all the meals she prepared, all the laundry she did, all of the ironing, the vacuuming, the dusting, the mopping, the scraping, the scrubbing, the windows... she hated doing the windows.
He just sat there, staring at the screen, solving puzzles and shooting at bad guys as if his life depended on it; muttering, mumbling all the time.
He'd never amount to anything, and she hated herself for letting this happen to her, for being so stupid.
She balled up her fists and pounded the counter. The dirty glasses in the sink rattled loudly, and the coffee maker bubbled as if it had been startled.
She had forgotten to turn it off after her third cup.
Decaf. She loathed decaf, but she had tried to switch to it to calm her nerves. Of course it never worked, how could it? Switching to decaf didn't make him go away!
She could hear him talking to the screen. The freak. It was as if he thought it would help him play better. Angles, trajectories, ranges, endless statistics, details that no one could or should have known, besides possibly the complete losers who designed the stupid games, constantly spewing out of his mouth in that enraging monotonous voice of his.
She had tried to shut it off before, but he had completely lost his mind.
She hated him for making her bend to his will.
The sounds became more pronounced in her mind, as if he had turned up the volume, knowing how much it would upset her.
She couldn't take it any more. He was never going to leave and her life was always going to be a living hell as long as he was there.
She looked at the knives. Too messy. She didn't exactly like the sight of blood either.
Her apron strings. She couldn't be sure if she was strong enough to strangle him with them, or if they'd just snap.
There was rat poison under the sink, but she didn't know if it would make him sick enough, and besides, she wanted a solution now!
The iron frying pan. That had to be the ticket. He could have slipped in the bath tub and cracked his head.
She rehearsed her speech to the 911 operator in her mind.
"He was just lying there like that when I found him! There was nothing I could do!"
She knew she could be convincing. All she'd have to do is turn on those tears.
She opened the cabinet and pulled out the frying pan. She knew she'd have to make it quick; one hit was all it could take or they'd know she did it.
She slowly walked into the living room, holding the pan behind her back, trying her best to keep him from noticing her. As if he would break his concentration enough to do that anyway.
He was sitting on the couch, leaning forward, as he always did, as if he were trying to get into the screen. He'd never know what, or who hit him.
As she stood behind him she focused all of her anger, all of her shame, and all of her hatred on the back of his head.
She gripped the pan handle tightly with both hands and raised it up to her shoulder level.
This was it. She'd finally be free of him. She'd never have to wait on him hand and foot again. She'd never have to put up with his attitude, his moods, his incessant rambling, his allergies, his maddening idiosyncrasies, or his stupid video games ever again.
She'd be able to get back to living her life again.
One hit. That's all it was going to take. One hit, and then a quick move to the bathtub. She knew she was strong enough to drag him there. Undressing him would be easy, and all she'd have to do to make it look good was run the water and spill out some shampoo.
Too easy.
She lifted the pan and tensed her muscles like a baseball player about to hit a home run. She took a deep breath and focused every fiber of her being on the back of his head.
He didn't even know she was there. He couldn't look up from his game long enough to notice that she was right behind him, ready to end his life.
She smiled, knowing that she was doing the world a favor, and twisted her waist to get the most out of her swing.
Suddenly she heard the sound of keys turning in the front door lock. She froze, utterly terrified.
He turned away from the screen and looked at her with an innocent smile on his five year old face.
"Daddy's home, mommy."
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