“Kill me. Stab my heart with your knife and let me be spared of this life.”

I stood rooted in shock and terror. He advanced towards me with a manic look in his blood shot eyes. His shirt was perfectly tucked and pants perfectly creased and not one strand out of place in his perfectly groomed head. Yet, his eyes chilled my heart and those words struck me in the face.

“Go on, you can do it. All you have to do is raise that knife and I’ll do your work for you. I will embrace you with all my love and pull that blade right into my bosom, and we both will be spared of this farce of a marriage.”

The knife trembled in my hand as I raised my arm. My earlier threats to kill him now seemed hollow. My courage failed me and I backed away slowly, knife still high, until I felt the cabinet door behind me. I saw my reflection in the side-board mirror beside him. I would have been called a frail beauty by some, but all I saw were the livid hand marks across my cheek. I had been slicing the apples when he had grabbed me by my hair, turned me around and slapped me with those soft doughy hands. I had fallen with the knife still in my hands. Somehow, in the back of my mind I had realized that this would be the day. This would be the day that I would be rid of this monster. I struggled to my feet and warned him that if he would come any closer then I would kill him.

But now, I felt weak and small. I expected him to falter and get scared with my threats. But he seemed to not care. And this made me afraid. More afraid than the time he had burned the cigarette on my palm. More afraid than the time he poured hot coffee on my thigh. And more afraid than the time he had kicked my dog to death in front of me.

“What’s the matter? Are you frightened? Don’t be afraid darling, I’m here for you. If you can’t kill me then allow me to kill you. It will be over in a few of minutes, and I can get back to my drink. Stop crying and give me the knife. NOW!” He lunged forward unsteadily with a snarl.

I blacked out.

When I finally came to my senses I was on the ground with something hot and heavy upon me that made it difficult to breathe. I pushed the heavy weight off me away and scrambled backward. I looked down and saw my sari covered in blood. But I felt no pain. I saw my bloodied hand and then the bloodied knife and it finally dawned on me. This was not my blood. I looked at the prostrate figure of my husband and saw the small pool of blood collecting below his perfectly ironed shirt. He lay cheek down on his expensive carpet with his toupee slightly askew. I felt the burns in my palms and my thighs start fade. I had slain the monster. I was free at last.

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