Reality Can Suck It

She had fantasized a hundred times a day about killing him. Glorious fantasies, she could see, smell and almost touch. Almost but not quite. She could taste her reality and it sucked. The only way out was her daydreams. Most of which involved pretty inventive ways of offing her psychotic husband. Obviously she didn’t always feel this way. The glorious beginning was well, glorious. Now she was trapped in the middle and praying for the end. She wasn’t consumed by her daydreams, most days. She still had to do all the things expected of her or pay the price. It had been about a week since his last outburst. That’s what he liked to call them. She just called it normal. But it wasn’t normal. It shouldn’t be normal. What was normal? Just keeping herself alive. And planning his death.

He had threatened to kill himself often when she would leave him. He never did. And she always came back. Well, he’d go get her and force her back. There wasn’t anywhere she could go without him finding her. It was like she had a microchip inside her and he was watching her every move. He was, she just didn’t know how. He wasn’t particularly smart. He seemed smarter in the beginning. Clearly, she was just dumber. But, she wasn’t dumb. Not at all. She didn’t see the signs. Lots of them. The drinking, the drugs, the temper. Oh, what a temper. And the rage. So much rage. Well, she had rage now. Lots of it. And when and if the time called for it, she knew she would fight for her life. Would he fight for his own miserable life? She was about to find out.

This particular fantasy was one she had often. She would buy a gun. She hated guns. But, this called for a gun. She wasn’t going to shoot him. No, he was going to shoot her. An end to it all. That’s all she wanted. She could kill herself but then he would wallow in self pity. Move onto some other unsuspecting woman and never really suffer. He would kill her whether he liked it or not. This was not up for debate, at least in her fantasy. It was a very detailed fantasy. And here’s how it went down:

She would have to squirrel away enough money to buy a gun. Now, this took some time because he kept track of every penny. Well, almost every penny. But, she did it. Hid the money in the laundry room. The last place he would look or even ever go. In almost 10 years, he had never set foot in there. So, it was a pretty safe place. Now, buying the gun would prove to be more of a challenge. But, it’s her fantasy so it all worked out. Permits, the whole nine yards. In her fantasy, he doesn’t know a thing about all of this because he’s an idiot. She’s the perfect wife, nothing to suspect here. Drink your beer, take your drugs, everything is normal. Yes, very normal. This is where her plan got good. One night he would come home, nothing would be done. No dinner, no housecleaning, no beer purchased, all his shows erased. Somebody’s gonna get it. And his head would explode. He would yell and scream and hit and punch and kick and belittle and insult and scratch and yell some more. He would teach her a lesson she would never forget. And when it was all over, she would go get the gun. Hold it to her head and cry. He hated it when she would cry. He wouldn’t question where she got the gun. He would tell her to “blow her stupid head off!” When she wouldn’t, he would get angrier and angrier. She would cry harder. Then, he would grab the gun and do it himself because she couldn’t do anything right. She could feel the barrel on her temple. Oh, brilliant plan. If only he would just pull the trigger. Then, he did something she didn’t expect. Held it to his own head. Sweet reality. She heard the bang, smelled the smoke, touched the gun and tasted his blood.

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