Love & Hate

PC: Elitedaily.com

Silence woke her. As she laid on the floor, saliva drooping from her mouth, she realized it had gotten darker. She must have passed out for an hour or so. She sub-consciously touched her forehead. There was no blood this time but she knew it would bruise. The glass had hit her pretty hard, after all. Hits, Bruises and cover-ups were just another day in this household.

As she got bearings of the time and place, she started to look around. Few yards away in the next room, she saw a heap of limbs passed out on the floor. Upon closer inspection, she could smell the concoction of alcohol, vomit and sweat. The view was jarring but she wasn't repulsed. The emotion that overcame her was pity. Pity at the man who was her husband. Pity at the man she once loved.

As she looked back, she didn't know where exactly she she went wrong with her life. Born to a privileged family, she was smart and beautiful. No wonder, she had caught an athlete's eye. He was pretty good-looking and she liked how his eyes twinkled when he talked about Tennis. This was a man who loved his career more than anything in his life. That should've been a red flag, if any. But how could she blame someone for being passionate about their work? Things clicked and they'd gotten married 2 years after they first started seeing each other. They were in love and beyond happy. In Retrospect, she should've seen it coming because when was life ever fair? One night, while returning from a cocktail party together, they'd gotten into a car accident. Having to lose one thing that he loved the most, he was never the same again.
He was never much of a drinker before but that had quickly changed. Whiskey for breakfast, 10 cans of beer before noon was becoming the norm so soon, she had no idea how to put a stop to it. The situation had spun out of control and the day he hit her first time was the day it was all over for her.
After that, it felt weird waking up next to him. She was caged in her own home, prisoner to her own memories.

Standing up, she moved towards the man. She carried him, cleaned him up and put him to bed. She had given up on him years ago so now the task felt menial, almost robotic. She sat in the chair beside the bed looking at his face. She couldn't see how that face had looked charming to her before. She heaved a sigh. And the man suddenly stirred in his bed.

"..a glass of water", he slurred.

She went to the kitchen to get him water. She wanted to cry but the tears wouldn't come. She wanted to slap him awake from the mess he had them in but she seemed to have no energy. As she was filling up the water, her eyes suddenly flew to the knife that sat on the countertop. She had thought about it a million times but could never go through with it. Maybe today was the day, she thought and pocketed it.

She went back to the room and handed him the glass of water with shaky hands. She felt nervous standing so close to him.
He sat up halfway, his sluggish body restraining him, and took the glass. As he took a sip, she knew something was wrong.

"What is wrong with you? I asked for a cold glass of water. Do you not listen to me. Bitch", he bellowed.

And just like that the glass dropped and shattered into a million pieces.

This was it. She took out the knife and right then, she could see the fear in his eyes. She decided she liked having him fear her for a change.

"No, honey....no..please. don't..You don't want to do this...", he whispered.

And just at that instant, the misery that ate her alive was too much to take. She looked into his eyes and with as much force as she could muster, she stabbed herself in the stomach, painting the million fragmented pieces of glass a vivid red. She fell to her knees and knew right then that she would never make it. The pain was intense and beyond anything she had ever imagined. But it would cease eventually.... it had to cease.

Just a couple more moments and she could run away.

Run, run, run and never look back.

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