Member-only story
I Got Away With Murder
… Or So I Thought
I stood in the kitchen at the counter where I made his coffee every morning, the weapon in my right hand. It was still dangling on my side dripping blood onto my hardwood floor.
I was in a trance. I couldn’t think straight. Of course I wasn’t thinking straight. I just killed the man I loved.
I dropped the hammer and with a big boom, it hit the wood floor and I walked away, down the hall. Leaving him in the kitchen alone, and finally I felt free.
For the first time in years I could breathe. I didn’t feel evil. I didn’t feel sad. I didn’t even feel bad for taking his last breath in such a belligerent and brutal way.
I didn’t feel like a killer. I felt like I was finally alive. Fuck, maybe I was evil.
Let’s back up so you understand.
10 years ago, I met him and my whole life changed. At first, I thought for the better. The first 2 years was like a fairytale, or so I thought.
My family tried to warn me about 1 year in, but I didn’t listen. I never saw it. I didn’t want to. I was so in love.
I didn’t see the toxicity in loving someone too much. How could that be a bad thing? He loved me and I loved him to death. But what I didn’t realize was how dangerous love could really be.
