I hated him, I loved him, I wanted him like no other. These were the thoughts I obsessed about every single day. Because today -yet again- he was whispering on the phone, while he thought I was sleeping-those sweet nothings that used to make my heart sing, were now the sexy murmurs given to another women. Soon he would know what I felt about this. Unfortunately, he would not be around long enough to regret this.
These were the visions that I played with every day for I knew he was cheating, I felt it in every fiber of my being. From the beating of my heart, to the roaring in my head. I knew it and he knew I knew it. Hence the quiet, soft-spoken words, the lack of eye contact and for weeks now the phone calls -of mine-, which he unfortunately, could never answer, would just miss it, or so he said.
On the darkest day for me, the one where I could find nothing more to care about, I found a website about the perfect crimes. Unsolved murders. The things that were done that had never been linked to a killer. I found a reason to live again. I was planning my husband's murder, the day when he would regret he'd ever been born.
So I followed him one night -on one his secret visits to her- and got the proof I could no longer deny. Shrubbery rattled and eyes bleak and filled with rage watched him kissing the woman in a way that he had never done in our own marriage. His mouth locked with the woman's and his hands slid up and down her body. Soon heated murmurs and moans drifted towards me from the woman's open doorway. They were no better than dogs in heat. I shook in a combination of anger, disgust and a longing for what I'd not had in my own marriage.
Fingernails cut into my palms. I continued watching like a voyeur, anger and pain washing over me, hot, yet cold in a unending cycle that could not be quenched. Gleaming metal, winking from an overhead streetlight sliced into my leg. I did not feel the pain or even notice until I thought I'd peed on myself and realized it was the flow of warm blood running down into my shoe.
Shrubbery sprang back into place and misplaced air settled in once more. I walked in a coma, noises faded in and out. I was the walking dead. Almost. I dreamed of him that night, as I lay alone in my cold bed and in that dream, he screamed and screamed looking at me with empty eye sockets for I'd carved out what he'd looked at another women with, the very eyes that never noticed his own wife, the one who loved him with her entire being.
to be continued...........