A Matter of Time

Something funny about time is how much people exaggerate it. We share pictures on social media of how we're having the best time with our friends at a bar, only to post two hours later about how we never want to see that group again for the rest of time. How much time you spent with a partner, only to throw it away in favor of a new beauty or beau that catches your eye in the moment. You sit and wonder and watch was time passes you by, and you watch your face grow old and your friends and family move on, that you never truly understand what it means to be out of time.

Staring down the bullet that's a few seconds away from my face, time stops.

They said that your life would flash before your eyes moments before you died. They weren't wrong. I saw my dad lifting me above his head when I was a child and telling me I was going to go big places. I remember my mother calling us inside for dinner while my father laughed and kissed her on the cheek as we walked inside. I saw my first kiss at prom, Stanley Micals, and his too-grabby hands trying to get under my dress. I remember shoving the heel of my shoe into his foot and walking away before he could get any luckier.

I remember my first promotion at the firm. Signing on as an intern was great, sure, but you had to deal with all the big-shot men who wanted nothing more than to look at the pretty little intern who brought them donuts and coffee with a smile. It wasn't like I was allowed to work on the big cases, anyway. Pointing out how that one guy, someone who was another big shot whose hands would linger just a little too long on my back when I would grab files for another employee, was committing fraud by splitting a cute little "finder's fee" into his own bank statements was a coincidence.

I remember turning him in to the CEO that night. Being watched carefully by dark eyes as I explained what all had happened, what I had seen and heard in my time as an intern. Bursting into tears from the stress of trying to earn my place in a world where I would be turned away just for being born. I remembered how he stood and handed me his handkerchief to wipe away the tears. How soft the silk felt on my snotty face and how profusely I apologized when I realized I had gotten dollar store mascara all over it. I remember how hard he had laughed. Ben was always so handsome when he laughed.

I don't, however, remember when he went from Boss to Ben. When him offering me a job as his personal secretary turned to him offering me dinner at his place. When organizing his appointments turned into organizing dinner dates and movie nights. When watching him have meetings with the employees and taking notes turned into watching him get ready in the mirror and helping him tie his tie before pulling him in for a kiss. Ben was dangerous from the start, and every girl's fantasy- rich, handsome, and romantic. Ben wasn't without fault though.

Ben resented the power. Resented having to be in charge all the time, I guess. When we got married, I think I knew that he would never look at me that way again. When I married him, I quit the job to stay home all day and do wifely chores. I cleaned the house, and managed groceries and finances, all so he could come home to a nice bath and a wife willing to do anything for him. Evenings were quiet, and I began to resent it too. Money is nice, and it can buy happiness, but only so much. After all, it's better to cry in a Bently than on a bicycle.

I remember finding out about her. Taking care of the laundry and finding receipts for hotels in his pockets. Checking the bank accounts and seeing how many purchases he made at luxury stores and five-star hotels that he claimed were for business trips. Logging into his email was the final touch. I knew his phone password, but he had left his computer open once before running into the office. I saw everything.

I wasn't dying yet, but I felt time stop at that moment. Pictures, recordings, and videos of them together. Talking about how stupid I was, how much he wished he could be done with me, and how much he loved her. How ugly my face had gotten to him since we had been married, and how much her beautiful blonde hair was so much nice to see than my boring browl curls. How the wrinkles on my face reminded him of the beautiful young girl he had waiting for him at work.

Hearing the office door slam behind me and the cocking of a gun turned me to my senses. Here he was, my cheating S.O.B. husband, holding the m9 I had given him for his birthday, aimed directly at my head. Staring at the bullet, I realized... I'd lived a fine life. Rich, beautiful, successful.

But sometimes, a fine life isn't a happy one, and my time had run out long before I could do anything about it. It simply wasn't fair. How I wished I could go back and fix it all. How I'd use the information I know about cases now to earn my way to the top. How I'd step on every man who dared to get in my way. How I'd make Ben fall in love with me all over again, only to never give him the gun and start going to the shooting range myself. How I would smile at the blood running under my heels, blended in with the iconic red soles.

It's not fair. It isn't fair, it's not fair, it's not-

Bang.