Dark Thoughts – Long slow ride to hatred

Eventually I would have to take action, just not now. As much as I wanted him out of my life, to kill him stood morally against everything I believed in. This was the worst of what he did to me. It was not just sabotaging my jobs so I was unable to go out and work, and have a life. It was not just that he would go as far as setting fire to all my shoes and hiding the car keys from me so I could not have a social life. As hard as all of that was I could take it in stride because I knew someday I would be rid of him.

I had developed a Stepford wife persona who did as she was told to avoid the back hand and the shoving into the wall with his large fatty hand around my throat. As bad as the pain was, as bad as the humiliation of hiding my face from strangers was (friends and family were no longer in my life at all except for special occasions like funerals), that was not what had welled up my hatred of him. I despised him, I even feared him, but I did not hate him for it.

My hatred came out of some visceral disgust that over time had developed in me. He rode my every nerve with his bodily habits, like belching, like never changing his sweaty clothes or bathing before we’d make love, forget made “love”, it was a quick self satisfying fuck these days, we had not ever made love. We were married before we knew how and he’d never bothered to learn. I did eventually find some other experience long ago when he worked on oil rigs in north Africa. He rode my nerves by slurping his coffee, with his snoring, and with his complete indifference to my existence as a human being. For that he would have to pay. As he was killing the very person I was, to kill him, today or tomorrow would be only self defence, not murder. The question was only, when would my last nerve snap.
Fat piece of filth. That’s what he was to me now. A big blob taking up space and oxygen in my already cramped world. He was suffocating me with his presence. Wherever I was I could sense him, breath away. Often he was just that, a breath away, all day. Not that he pined for me, oh no. He just couldn’t bear letting me feel free for even a moment. He hadn’t allowed me outside for over a week. I still had the hand print on my neck from trying to go out to the yard to feed the birds. Apparently the kitchen was not clean enough and he damned me back to scrubbing an already sterile floor.

The opposite reaction to mine, as I remained in this loveless marriage all I wanted to do was leave and change, everything. Not him, the more the marriage fell apart the more he wanted it at all costs to remain together. Nothing, he reminded me, was ever over until he said it was.

As I watched him shake a kidney damaging amount of salt onto his stew it was obvious what has to be done, mix a toxin in with the salt and let him poison himself. I had over the past months collected up a wide array of toxins from castor beans ready for crushing to Warfarin and strychnine. I was not sure what I could stand to watch. Poison is a bit slow, might take time. He might be sick for days or even months before succumbing to poison. Could I handle that?

As he grunted and too pains to rearrange his belly folds between courses, I made a decision. He had until his birthday to start the afterlife due to his sky-high cholesterol and the all-fat diet he was on, or, I would speed up his journey to hell. It wasn’t homicide, it was survival.