Let's Play

Right now, as I stand here with this gun in my hand, aiming for the left temple of my so-called husband's head, I think of nothing but how wonderful it would feel and how beautiful it would look to see that silver bullet slice through his brain. Damaging tissue, veins and memories. To see his worthless body slowly fall forward, his head making a soft tap against the hardwood floors. I would watch silently as his blood spilled onto the floor, creating a pool of crimson liquid.

Then I would wipe the gun of any prints, slip it into his hand and be free. Hell, it was his gun anyways. But, even though all that seemed so damn simple, I couldn't do it. I was prepared, I had everything mapped out. My finger was ready and on the trigger, slowly applying pressure as time went on.

Then, though, I did the most damaging thing I could do to myself. I looked into his eyes. Those beautiful pools of blue, shining with fresh tears. My hand started to shake. Shit...I was losing it! No! This couldn't happen!

I had to get away and re-gather myself, I was really losing it. My glare kept steady as I watched him but, when he least expected it; I released my finger from the trigger and hacked up the worst wad of spit I could, letting it land on his lips.

With a growl I turned and strode away, tucking the gun into the pocket of my leather coat.

"Damn...How could I let that throw me off? Such an idiot..." My voice was sharp with anger.

My husband hadn't done anything particularly 'bad'. He never cheated, hardly ever lied and always kept his overachieving promises. Believe me, I know. Most women would think 'I know all of this because I trust him with all my heart. I love him and that should be enough...' but that doesn't quite do it for me.

I hired a private investigator to keep track of any events that my dear husband decided to take part in. He went to clubs with worker buddies and ever visited stripper bars with large groups of people. Never once did I see him eyeballing one of the scantily clad females nor did I ever witness a single drop of alcohol hit his lips.

I suppose, in all textbook definitions, that this man is the perfect specimen of what a husband should be.

I don't believe one bit of all this crap.

I hate those damn stereotypes.

Even though my sweet husband isn't guilty of any of the usual 'crimes', I know that he isn't perfect. Not at all. There is a major flaw with his entire self. His whole existence is disgusting and foul.

'But why? How is this possible?' Someone naïve would ask this. Yes, quite naïve, indeed.

Sure, this man may seem is great - absolutely wonderful, in fact! - physically. Mentally, there is no one person that is worse.

We chatted one day. We were sitting at one of the circular tables in the house, casually sipping teas while learning more about one another. As we talked, he would smile sweetly, honestly, too and listen to each of my words as if I were drooling gold. In two words, I thought, 'That's gross."

So, like he listened to me, I listened to him. He said "I love you." And it translated into my mind as "You're disgusting!"

Do I have a complex? Well, who knows...

He and I continued to talk for a few hours. Whenever he said any love-filled words, I would automatically know what the hidden meaning was. 'Love' would equal 'Hate'. 'Fun' would be the same as 'Uninteresting'.

It was almost as if he truly wanted to spout these words but would, instead, hold back and bite his tongue. Perhaps I even imagined a trickle of blood trail from the corner of his mouth to the end of his chin, dripping lazily onto the table below?

Either way, I knew this man was despicable, gross and utterly...icky!

One day, when I knew he was on his way home from work, which is the same path that he always travels, I gave his cell phone a little ring and gave him the place to meet me.

An underground, cement walled basement of sorts would suffice. And -wouldn't you know it? -it worked quite well.

Like a good boy, he came at the time asked, with the items that I have requested. Such a good little boy scout I have here!

I walked up to him like any 'normal husband-loving' wife would do and gave him a tight hug, holding him closely for longer than usual. Then I pulled back, provided him with a sweet smile and held my hands outwards, waiting for my requested treasures.

Again, being so good and obedient, he placed a small gun in my right hand and folded piece of paper in the left. I turned around, quietly read the few words scribbled on the paper and chuckled.

Smiling the way I usually do with these events, I tucked the paper into the pocket of my leather jacket and took a deep breath. And, with that breath and the energy that came with it, I whipped around, harshly smacking the butt of the gun into my husband's mouth.

Like any stunned and in pain person, he fell to his knees, screaming the best he could with a harmed jaw. Visibly shaking, his hands cupped around his mouth, which dripped dark red.

Ah, yes, there is was, the line of blood that I had imagined earlier. It was amazing how graceful and beautiful that little stream of liquid could look in the pale moonlight.

His eyes were watering, the tears just about to seep over the rim. I suppose you could say that he was truly pathetic, which was what I was thinking anyways, but I bet that hurt quite a bit. Perhaps I'd be crying and moaning with pain, too?

So, as instructed from that little piece of paper earlier, I glared down at this pitiful man. No mercy in my eyes, none at all.

I was incredibly tempted to pull the trigger of that gun now. The gun, of which, I had centered with his forehead not too long ago. Perfect angle, perfect aim and, altogether, a very perfect situation.

Somehow, between my mind envisioning the silver bullet scraping through his crimson innards and his shining blue eyes, I began thinking about how fun and interesting this was becoming.

I'd never done this before. It was all quite new. This man, of mine, had introduced me to such an intriguing way of things. I suppose I can say I'm enjoying it.

Using the spit within the back of my throat, I drooled a line of saliva and mucus onto his lips. It all seemed to be in slow motion. He flinched when the liquid touched the entrance to his mouth. I can guess that it made him feel quite disgusting, as it should.

I turned away sharply, ready to make my exit. I tucked the gun into the pocket of my leather jacket and hunched slightly, falling into my 'I just did something naughty' role.

Just as I approached the door, I felt a presence behind me. No doubt, my husband. There came a soft tap on my shoulder and the sound of him clearing his throat.

Obediently, I turned around and met him eye to eye. His lips that were swimming in my spit and his blood were now clean and curved into a soft smile. The eyes that were on the verge of crying were now dry and sparkling with excitement.

Softly, my husband pulled me into a hug, sneaking his hand into the pocket with the small piece of paper. He pulled it out, read the writing and laughed.

What a strange reaction.

Being the forward man that I know he is, he reached forward, cupped his hands around my face and pulled me forward then placed a soft, quick kiss to my lips.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"N-No problem..."

His eyes narrowed and he pressed his forehead to my own. "But let's try not to get so disgusting next time, okay?"

I nodded. He smiled once more. "I really like it when we can experiment with off-the-wall roleplays."

And, with that, we both laughed. Wholeheartedly, in fact.