To kill a monster

I was staring at the red splatter on my palms, mesmerized. Some of it were tiny red beads, droplets on my skin that gleamed in the sunlight like diamonds; others have quickly turned into dark stains soaking my leather band. The screams were a distant, muffled sound, as if coming through dirty earbuds. But the voice in my head was loud and clear. "Finish him! He deserves to lose all the red drops."

I closed my eyes, remembering, and a wave of hot fury washed over me. "Hello, I am Sarah", she said in a shaky voice. She held out her hand and smiled nervously, the corners of her mouth trembling. Her hand felt cold inside mine. Sarah was a redhead, with lovely brown eyes. A rare creature. “I am Liam's wife.”

His ... what?! I didn't hear the rest. I was flashing on us, cuddling on my bed, his smile, his soft kisses, his passion. Our little getaways. And then...the apologetic smile, the endless excuses – all the little things I kept ignoring. It was a classic trap. “I don’t want to fight. Can you please just end it? I need him at home, and this time, he got carried away more than usual.”

More than usual?! She offered me that trembling smile again and continued: “You have a kind heart, I can see it. It’d be best if we leave Liam out of this. I am used to his extracurriculars”, she sighed, “it’s the way he is. He has a penchant for women, but in the end, he always comes back to me and our children.”

Children?!  “To be frank, I am not big on all this sex stuff”, she uttered, somewhat embarrassed, then paused and continued: “And he needs it. A lot of it. When you love someone deeply, you see past their sins. And that’s the kind of love Liam and I have”, the corners of her mouth twitched once again. 

I have always considered myself an intelligent woman. But at that moment, I felt like a stupid, naive twenty-year-old bimbo, the type I used to make fun of to show off my intelligence. Yes, I felt so stupid. Stupid and used. I sure wasn’t just dickmatized. Everything about our relationship was serious. I pictured us growing old together, grandchildren and a golden retriever. My idyllic pastoral dream was shattered. What a joke.

I cried all night, but when he showed up in the morning, my eyes were dry. I plastered a smile on my face, opened the door and acted as if nothing happened. I moved through our usual routine mechanically, like a robot. I felt hollowed out.

"Hey, you! You’re awfully quiet today", he remarked, switching the box from one hand to the other and hugging me briefly with his free arm. We were walking down the street, past the promenaders who smiled at us, probably admiring the two lovebirds in front of them. It was a warm Sunday afternoon, and the outdoor seating areas of the numerous cafes were full; the pace of a cheerful crowd was slow, and even the cars seemed to stroll down the road idly. A perfect day for a get-together. I stifled the nausea and the rage. I was determined to keep up the act and wait for the right moment.

We turned into a narrow alley, the high brick walls on either side. It was a dark spot decorated with a couple of blue dumpsters. A dumpster was very fitting for a rotten bastard. I stopped walking. "What's wrong, Elly?" he smiled. That smile used to give me the infamous butterflies. "Nothing!" I was seething with anger and didn't bother stifling it anymore. "You swine! You're married!!" My voice echoed through the quiet, dark alley. His eyes widened in shock. I pushed him as hard as I could. He staggered back slightly, then took a step back, but suddenly, his right foot slipped on something, and he started falling. I ran up to him and pushed again, putting all my anger and pain into it. Then everything went black. I could only recall smashing, stomping and screaming.

Blood on my hands. I have blood on my hands. I jolted on the inside, panicking, but didn't move. My mind started racing. I needed to run. I needed to move, hide somewhere and wash the red splatter off. Get rid of the leather band. Then, I am going to pack a change of clothes, get my French passport and run. Suddenly, I felt calm and collected, as if somebody flipped a switch. That flight to Paris I was planning as a surprise had two opened seats. By the time they find his body in the dumpster, I’d be long gone. Wait…I killed him! He’s dead! I broke out in a cold sweat. And then, his screams tore the silence inside my head.

"Elly! What the hell?! It's a Grand Cru!!!" I snapped back into reality. The pungent smell of rotten bananas, mixed with the expensive aroma of Chardonnay, hit me. I looked around wildly. For a moment, my confused mind expected to see a man writhing in pain on a dirty pavement. What I saw instead was broken glass and small puddles of red wine. Red splatter decorating the brick wall. I turned and saw Liam’s retreating back. He was already at the end of the alley. Once again, I looked down at the broken bottle and spilled wine. The fancy cardboard box was crushed and soaked with wine. When I looked up, Liam was already gone.

The delicious images of slashing his neck with the broken bottle and smashing his head into the dumpster still danced in my head. But soon, the rage subsided, and all I felt was a mix of pain and disgust. I wasn’t a monster. And he wasn't worth it. Slowly, I turned around and started walking back into the sunny street, crunching shards under my shoes. I wiped my hands on my jeans and checked the phone. The flight to Paris still had one seat waiting for me. I pressed “Book Now.”