Death by poison, but was it justified?
|She held him for the last time, felt his breath as it left his body. "NO! You have to hold on Benji" She said as her tears mixed in the blood that escaped his lips. She knew he was gone... not just by the heaviness of his body in her lap, or pale color that now frosted his skin, but because the poison had done it job. She whispered in song that suited the moment, " I breathe you in again, just to feel you, underneath my skin, holding on to, the sweet escape, is alwasys laced with a familiar taste of poison." Her breath shuddered she knew he would NEVER make her feel pain again, his finger prints would never bruise her skin again. She stood and made her way for the cell phone in the other room. She thought about all the pain he had caused and let it over flow. Her tears streaked her face with mascara as she spoke to the police on the phone. She placed the phone down next to him and cradled his body with love until they arrived and pried her away from him sobbing and tearing at his body. To the police she was mad with sorrow, exactly what she wanted. The grief stricken wife, a sobbing, snot-ting mess. The coroners report would say that it was an overdose and that was fine with her. They had such a happy and wonderful outward marriage no one ever knew what he had done to her and so they would never know why she would do this to him.
Really, he had done this to him self. The constant belittling. He fucked her mind almost as well as he thought he fucked her. He tore apart so much of who she was, sometimes without every laying a finger on her. Though he wasn't apposed to grabbing her by her hair and pulling her in whatever direction he needed, or throwing her across the room like a rag doll. She had more hidden bruises than she had bare skin some days, but never the face. He never touched her face. Now he never would.
She walked through the front door of the house and looked towards the family room, the cleaners had done a good job or removing any evidence of his death from the floor. She looked up to the mantel where their wedding picture hung and she cringed at the sight of his hands on her. She wanted to tear off the wall, but she had to keep up appearances of the distraught wife, at least for awhile. Would it months or a year? It didn't matter, her life had hope now. She could not just survive but live. She smiled at him and she would do this every day when she came home, knowing he couldn't hurt her let her enjoy the fact that the photos were all that were left. She didn't care she didn't get the money from the insurance policy, she could breath and that was worth so much more to her than that money. She felt the freedom.
She could leave things undone and not be afraid of the tirade it would ensue. She could wear the sweats and baggy t-shirt and not worry about looking like a slob. She could do this. She grabbed the wine bottle and skipped the glass and drank it down. Something he never would have allowed. She drank it with all the care she had, none. She awoke on the couch and for a second forgot he was gone and anxiety over took her. She couldn't breath as she rolled from the couch falling to the floor, the hard wood was cold under her hands. She laid her face to the floor her breath slowing and steadying. She opened her eyes laying there where he had laid for the last time and looked up at their picture and smiled.