Story Time: Short Stories “I Wish You Never Came”

There is nothing good in what I am about to do.

He smiled a little. Her hair scent always made him smile, but not today. Today he looked down at her still-warm face and smiled at the horror of it, of the way the breeze picked up the dress on her legs, tickling the skin this way, that way, catching slightly on the blood drying on her hands.

There was nothing he could do now, not now she was dying and her eyes pleaded his name, pleading help me they said. How can I? he begs.

If they caught him and found him here, knees soaked with his children’s blood, they would not believe him. He would say it wasn’t me. She made me do it. I didn’t mean to. I had to. But because she is a woman and he is stronger than her, they would not believe him. And why should they?

No-one would think to look, but that face which seems so innocent in death was once filled with rage and hate. He could not stand to think that it was he who made her like this, so perhaps death is kinder for her, and perhaps for him.

But not the children. Not the children. Not the real innocents, the ones who made him stay and made her go slowly inwards, slowly turned her into this. He would not have minded being alone so much, as long as he knew they were safe.

He could not bear to look anymore. Could not bear to see the dress swaying slightly in the breeze, over her bare legs, bloody and sticky and smelling so strongly against the sweet smell of freedom that coursed through his veins…

“Are you fucking listening to me or what?” she screams. He jerks up from the sofa in a daze.

“What?” he asks innocently.

“You piece of shit. You never listen to me. I said what is your fucking problem huh?” He grits his teeth and holds in a breath.

“Just leave me alone.” he begs. He always hated to beg. He stands from the sofa and strides past the tiny woman, making her shrink back in surprise yet it is he who is recoiling, like a slapped child who just wanted to play. She gets in his face, pointing with her sharp nails to compensate for her shortness.

“You can’t just fucking walk away!” in her shrilly tone. “I asked you a question, why can’t you answer me?”

“Just leave me alone.” he whispers. She pushes him, trying to get him to do something. Anything. But he his broken, much like their marriage and he is lost to her, as though someone had taken her hostage, one who would so easily persuade her to talk to him like this.

“Come on you fucking -!” he pushes her away roughly.

“Just leave. me. alone.” he says with a steady eye and a steady voice. She looks at him, exasperated yet pleased – what exactly has she won?

“You tried to strangle me.” she whispers feebly, clutching at her throat. He looks her dead in the eye.

You fucking wish.

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