Twelve
I stood over his body clutching the knife, my whole body shaking, He lay motionless before me, his upper torso covered in blood, and for once it was not mine.
Twelve times I stabbed him. Each plunge of the knife representing a miserable year of our loveless, violent marriage. I wanted to get out, but with nowhere to go, no-one to care, there had been no option but to stay. I'd hoped the demon drink would finally cause his demise. Sadly it hadn't . There wasn’t any family left, those that still remained on this earth despaired of his bullying ways, and my reluctance to do anything, They left me to fight my own battles, but fight back I never did. Any friends I once had, were warned off by him. They never returned. New ones were impossible to make.
I hadn’t snapped either. Nothing in particular happened that made me realise that enough was enough. This was planned. The drip, drip, drip of mental and physical abuse had worn away at my bruised body and soul. I wasn’t perhaps thinking straight. I just thanked God that I never had his children. This being his choice, of course. The one time, when I did have a life growing inside me, the beating was so brutal I was unrecognisable. The nurses were so kind that night. Mind you they always were, they knew me by first name.
I know that I will probably go to prison, I don’t really care. It has to be better than the life I have. I’ve seen court room dramas with stories like mine. The prosecution will say it was cold and calculated. Ground down diazepam to drug him, then the violent savage stabbings. The Defence of course will argue that I had suffered years of bullying. They will bring forth countless witnesses, doctors and psychiatric reports.
'What the hell are you staring at you stupid cow?'
His bellowing, vicious voice brings me out of my daydream, and back to reality. My reality.
'Nothing, ' I nervously answer, 'I was just about to make you a cup of coffee.'
He grunted at me, and continued watching sport on TV. I went through into the kitchen, and put on the kettle. Reaching up into the cupboard, I bought down his favourite mug, and the coffee. My pills were next to the coffee. I looked at them, and shut the cupboard door. Opening the drawer for a teaspoon, I saw the large kitchen knife...
(c) Ragna Brent 2008