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I stood there, piercing holes with my eyes on his body. I was not filled with lust, however, quite the opposite, but with controlled rage. Every comment that slid out of his smug mouth enraged me. Every move, every breath... I couldn’t hold back my anger any longer. Letting my animal instincts take over, I scanned the loft for hard, blunt objects. Maybe the lamp in the far corner? No, no, too messy. A kitchen knife? Mm- mm, too cliche for me. Hmmm. My gaze rested on his solid, wooden bat, which was propped up against the wooden coffee table aside his high school baseball team's picture. Still a messy option, but far more amusing.
“You know babe, I’m great at baseball. It's my strong arm. In school my team sucked, but I carried us on my back,” he said when he noticed me cross the room for the bat. He began to flex his large, sun-tanned bicep muscles. “I can show you a few moves if you’d like. Come here, I’ll...”
God, that felt good. I swung a second time, third, fourth and so on, his words ringing in my ears. I felt as if my true soul had left my body and I was standing there, watching the hellish scene with a large bowl of popcorn and stars in my eyes. I must have blacked out while pulverizing my now deceased lover. I must have become mesmerized by the velvet red splashes and drips staining the timbered bat. Never again will I have to listen to the arrogant tone in his voice squander on and on about his many “skills.” No one will. Ever. Again. That alone presented enough satisfaction to wipe all the guilt from my conscious. Once my fury softened, I felt no regret. I felt nothing at all, which is one condition I was all too familiar with. I owe that to the open vein lying beside me on the rug.
“I do hope those stains come out. Love that rug...”
My thoughts trailed off. Then I giggled, scaring myself and realizing the silence. Some people believe they don’t have it in them to take another person’s life. I believe you never know your limitations until they are presented to you. I begin to clean up my mess, all the while keeping a secret grin on my lips. I may be morally wrong, but boy it feels so good. I soak up the relief like I soak up the blood, slow and deliberate. It occurs to me that I never have to look into those self absorbed, self centered, inconsiderate, dirty brown eyes ever again.
I am so giddy, I decide it’s about time to celebrate. I take a small break from tidying up to pour myself a generous glass of red wine. I sip slow, drinking in the moment and noticing the obvious blood red color. As I finish removing the last of the blood from my favorite rug, I decide my celebration is not over. It is early morning in my favorite month of October, overcast fills the grey- blue sky with cotton candy clouds as day breaks through. I emerge onto my evergreen back patio, sit back, let my hair down and spark my pre-rolled joint. With every thick, appeasing inhale I feel better and better. The definition of insanity is to perform the same action over and over... I, my love, am not insane... But the question now remains hanging in the air like the soft stench of a corpse... Am I insane enough to perform my action over and over? Only time will tell.