Crime Transgender Fiction

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.

Seven years. We’ve been married seven years. Did I not know before we were married that my then fiancé was an attention whore? He’s always yapping and looking for opportunities to insert himself into conversations. And I am left with the pressure of his overbearing presence and his inevitable foot in the mouth moments. It happens when you talk as much as he does.

           My name is Carol and I am obviously married. My husband is Devin. The very thing that attracted me to him now grates at my nerves. His affable nature, his divine buttocks, his brilliant mind, and his quick wit. All of that has stirred up something in me. I can’t explain it. I lust after him at the same time that I resent him. One day sitting at my kitchen table chewing the fat while Devin was at work, my little brother—probably can’t call 27 little, but you get my drift— said that Devin stole my shine because I am supposed to be the one who wins the room, who moves the crowd. My little bro is not known for disseminating wisdom but this little gem hit me smack in the middle of the forehead.

Anyway, Billy did have me ruminating even more about Devin’s annoying charm that everyone seemed to eat up like a bunch of lap dogs. Couldn’t they see through the performance? Devin likes the stage. What a ham! He is not the same person at home as he is when we are in front of people and sometimes I want to shout, “This is not real! He is not as good as he has convinced you morons he is!” But I didn’t and instead let my…I let my annoyance roil like a pot of water on a hot stove. I am smart and I am charming and I am genuine! It is not a performance. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!

My cell mate and I had a disagreement yesterday. She claimed that she was the hottest piece on the cell block. I told her I was the queen of inducing intense orgasms, plural, and she wouldn’t acknowledge my point. I know that I was right though and I didn’t want to let it go. We got a little physical and she said that word to me. She called me a narcissist and it was like a trigger that had been pulled to launch me from the barrel of my madness. Now I am in solitary waiting for my breakfast to arrive. I have time to think in solitary and I remember they called me the Green-Eyed Monster because of the story of why I killed my husband. But I’m not a monster. I’m inmate 18794 – 068.

Billy came through with knowledge that captured all the churning feelings inside. I was Billy’s hero growing up, his big sister. My therapist says that my relationship with Billy is unhealthy for me because Billy is my enabler and I have an easy time manipulating him. Kind of like a puppet I guess, but that is a bunch of BS! We have been like peas in a pod most of our lives. That is until recently.

Back then I could always count on Billy in a pinch and while this wasn’t exactly a pinch, I was in a very confusing place. And, after that day I was clear. I flipped through my mental catalog of all the times my friends gathered around Devin to hear one of the stories he concocted with an ease that both flustered me and had my friends hanging on his every word like he was Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!

Anyway, the next morning I couldn’t help myself and I began to unload this newfound clarity on Devin before he left for work. Somewhere in our tirades he called me a narcissist and while I didn’t really know what that meant, I knew it didn’t mean anything complimentary and I murdered him. I didn’t even bother looking the word up on Google. His condescending face said it all. Yes, you heard me correctly, I rubbed my backside up against him when he came home and played real sweet. I convinced him that I wanted to get naughty, and I produced a pair of handcuffs that I got Billy to let me borrow. I cuffed one of Devin’s arms to the bed post and tied his other arm and his legs with my stockings. I’ll never forget, as I was tying him up the house had a distinctive smell of chicken pot pie, Devin’s favorite, which I had made for his dinner to spotlight my sweetness. It was working and Mr. Clever was buying it.

When I had him secured, I didn’t even bother to pretend that my intentions were for sexual pleasure. Instead, I punched him in his balls hard and grabbed a pillow which I smashed over his face and leaned on with all my weight. He squirmed, flailed, and tried to scream but the fluffy pillow acted as a muffler. It was exhilarating! After what seemed like forever, all movement stopped. I had learned watching Devin’s stupid Mixed Martial Arts on television that they could choke one another unconscious and then wake up shortly after. So, I decided I would just rest there, all my weight continuing to bear down on his face.

I lost track of how much time passed after he stopped struggling, but after I was satisfied he was dead I got up. I looked at him and then walked out of the room almost zombie-like but I remember grabbing his top sales territory awards, softball league trophies, toastmasters plaques and dumping the lot of them in the kitchen trash can with a clatter. I made a pot of coffee and got myself a cup, not black the way Devin drank it but with sugar and cream. I sat down to drink it and as I sipped I crossed my legs, picked up my phone and dialed 911.

When I was growing up my boyfriend in high school, was a musical theater geek. I swear he was everything back then. We would sit in the classes we had together, our desks turned toward one another and just stare into each other’s souls. Even way back then, he didn’t care that I was a girl with a cock…trapped in a boy’s body. I miss him. The first to see me, Carol, not Carl. He adored me and he wrote a song for me. He called it, Carol with the Green Eyes.

August 05, 2022 19:42

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