I am so sick of this. We aren't even married anymore. Well, the state says we are but I wouldn't call this a marriage. We just live together, mostly to save money. We haven't kissed or had sex in months. Neither of yell anymore. We realized it's pointless. I know he's seeing someone. A woman that just joined the firm. Long dark hair, full lips, and makes him laugh. Something I haven't done for a long time now. I also know that once things with her get serious he'll be leaving. With all that money. The only money that will keep me under a roof and well fed. I could just ask for some of the money but he's so full of hate right now that he would just say, "You're kidding. I wouldn't have you a single cent, Ellen."
One afternoon while my "husband" was out with his mistress, I had nothing better to do besides flip through the channels. Ironically the television is one we bought at Circuit City years ago. After watching a few of those crime shows I realized I'm not much different than those women. Although I would never kill him just for money. But, god, does he make me angry. He always says that most idiotic things and none of them make sense. They usually end with him going on a three hour walk and me looking through old photo albums. Every time I turn the pages I see his arms wrapped around me in all the places we've traveled. Mexico, England, Rome, and the most recent (two years ago), Hawaii. He came in with two boarding passes saying, "Guess where we're going?"
"I don't know! You always start it like this and I never know."
"Well, try to guess this time. I'll give you a hint." He crouched down a little, put his arms out to the sides, and moved back and forth.
As I was laughing I guessed, "Something with a beach? I can't be Mexico." We only travel somewhere once. We figure once you've seen it, you've seen it. "I don't know, Mark. Where?"
"Hawaii! We're going to say in Waikiki! Can you believe it?"
I miss that enthusiasm especially directed at something concerning us. Now him and that girl are planning a trip somewhere. Probably Paris since it's the most romantic city in the world. Picturing them strolling through the crooked streets makes me overcome with this anger and hatred. I pick up the legal pad on my bedside table and uncap a pen. Burning is the first idea that comes out of my pen. It's most from being bored and always wanting to be creative. That's not the right choice though. Even if I hate him enough to kill him, I can't watch him burn. Also, he'll dye slowly.
Maybe stabbing. Of course we have all those knives mostly because I went through a cooking phase. I'll have to think about it more. Shooting is the next plan that comes along. But in the middle of writing it I realize we don't have a hidden gun inside a shoe box in the hall closet. I write down a few more ideas that range from drowning him in the tub to suffocating him with a ziploc bag. The only one that seems possible is stabbing. It's quick and I won't have to watch because where I stab it'll hurt him. Suddenly I hear the front door slam along with the rustling sound of him hanging his coat. I'm tempted to yell out that I'm in our "bedroom" but I resist. Once I hear his office door close I tiptoe down to eavesdrop. There's the sound of dialing and hushed tones.
"When can I see you?" Automatically I know who he's speaking with. We haven't seen each other since Sunday. I miss you." She must've said something because there was a pause before he replied with, "What? You can't be serious. You know I love you. I tell you all the time. Don't do this." And then there was silence. A few seconds late I could hear him make this frustrating groan. I tapped lightly on the door with the back of my hand. "Can I come in?" I creaked the door open to find him moving some papers around on his black desk. He stood up and smoothed his tie. "Ellen. I had no idea you were home. Where were you?"
Could he not be so obvious? "Upstairs. Taking a nap. I just woke up."
"Oh. Um okay. Well, I have work to do." He looked so incredibly uncomfortable. It's like he forgot the fight we had just last week where I found the ultimate cliche. Lipstick on his shirt collar. It was humiliating. I mean, I already knew about his woman but having proof made it all the more concrete. The lipstick was fuschia making me think she's some sort of hooker. Maybe she forgot fuschia was forgotten back in the eighties along with huge hair and acid wash jeans. Whatever the reason may be, I still hate her.
After eating three day old take out, taking a shower, and placing a knife beneath my pillow the bedroom door opened slowly. "Hey. Is it okay if I come in?" Once we had been fighting day and night for weeks he decided to sleep downstairs. Another cliche. He didn't wait for my response before coming to the edge of the bed. He pointed his finger at the bed. I nodded since I'm too shocked to do anything else. "I have some stuff I wanna say. Everything is so messed up. I ruined us." My mouth dropped open. This is too surreal. "I thought Bethany was the person for me but it's you." He looked over at me. The same look in his eyes as when he proposed.
"You can't be serious."
"Ellen. Don't be so stupid. You know I am." He placed his hands on my waist and pulled me on top of him. Despite how strong my hatred for him is, there's no denying how his touch still weakens me. For a few seconds as I look into his green eyes I see the old Mark. The one that called me just to say, I love you or I miss you. "I know you're feeling what I'm feeling. I know you so well." As he ran a finger down my face he kissed me. A deep, meaningful kiss that took everything to pull away from.
I whispered into his ear, "You don't know a damn thing about me"


To be continued...