My Letter to Love

 Dear Love, 

I guess this is my confession. I’m in love. Head over heels and its a little bit pathetic but man, I’m in deep. And this is a confessional letter, because it’s not with my husband. I have long since stopped loving him. He doesn't treat me right and I sure as hell know it, but what am I gonna do? Divorce him? He wouldn't let me do that. So I’ve found my own way around it. I’m a smart girl. Always have been. 

Forgive me. I truly truly love him. He treats me right and loves me back. Oh! Let me tell you how we met. It was a lovely night and I was out getting the steak for dinner. I was strolling through the aisles, not really looking for anything, just finding a reason not to go home. And boy did I find one. A tall, dark haired and handsome reason. 

He was in the frozen goods aisle, peering into the freezer. In his hand was a box of frozen chicken. I swear it was fate. He looked up from the nutrition label on the box right as I walked by. One day, I should really go back and ask for the security tapes from right then. Just to show you the sparks in air from that quick glance at each other. Trust me, it was insane. I’ve never felt anything like it. I knew I wouldn't ever forget his face. And I could tell he wouldn't either. The frozen chicken box fell from his hands. He looked a little flustered as he bent down to pick it up. By the time he straightened, searching around for me, I had skirted real quick. 

“Wait,” he said, “wait, come back,” desperation laced his words as he spun around to find me.

I turned toward him with my most flirty smile. Batting eyelashes, puckered lips, hair flip and all. Honestly I was proud, because the effects were clearly written on his face. Hook, line and sinker. 

“Yes?” my voice unreasonably light and lovely.

“What’s your name?” he breathed. 

“Emma.” 

“I’m Wes.”

And that was the start of the best — or saddest —love story I’ve ever lived. Now let me explain why I’m not feeling all that guilty about this adultery. See, my husband is despicable. We met right after college and he had a stable job and I didn’t. I had a pretty face and he wanted one. For a little bit I thought that it would be okay. For a little bit, I thought I could love him. His money would make up for the bruises left in places only he would see. We had two children before he showed me who he really was. 

He hits my girls. His heavy hand on my children was the last straw. I can still remember the first night I woke up to their crying. It was damn near silent but if he thought that I wouldn't hear, he was gravely mistaken. I could barely make out the soft wails over my husbands snoring but I quickly swung my legs over the edge of our mattress and made my way up to their rooms. Sally and Ana were huddled on Ana’s bed and I took in the wrecked room. I took in the red marks on Sally’s cheeks and Ana’s swollen eyes. Sally’s night gown was pushed up to her waist and there were red marks there too. I almost killed him right then. But accidents take time to plan. 

He drinks, not because he wants to forget, but because he likes who he is when he can’t be bothered to care through the haze of alcohol. 

He is the villain in this story. He is the hate that drives people to war. He lives in darkness too terrible to see past and his shadow moves. He is the horror in the movies. He is an ugly shade of headache that I didn't realize would turn into a fatal illness. I hate him.

So forgive me; when I saw a way out, I took it. The moment I knew Wes’s name, I started thinking. Planning. Rearranging. I don't think I regret what I did. 

I met Wes late that same night we met and only talked. Honest, we only talked. At the local 24/7 diner, he sat across from me in the cracked vinyl booth. It stuck to the back of my thighs in the poorly air conditioned joint, but I didn't mind. We were the only ones there and I learned everything about Wes. In the month to come I’d learn about his baby girl, Louise. About his horrid wife, Courtney and how manipulative she was. I’d learn about how they met in college too, and moved down here from New Jersey when Wes had to complete his residency. How he felt trapped in this desolate town. 

He was the town doctor. When I say the, I mean the, as in one and only. Thats how middle-of-nowhere we were. I learned about his dreams. How similar we were. Both destined caged birds waiting for a way out. 

By the time the sun peeked over flat, never ending land that surrounded us, we had talked through the night. We rushed to get back to our realities and on our way out the waitress gave us a knowing look. Right outside the diner, I gazed into his eyes and made a promise. 

I will never go back. 

There, with the pink light from the sunrise bathing us in some sort of dream and the neon sign overhead quietly reminding us of the real world, I could see our future painted out like one of Van Gogh’s landscapes. Us, running away from this pit of the world and chasing dreams together. Us, making our family whole again with love. 

There. That was when the plan started unfolding. 

—

I went home and tried my hardest to conceal the dark circles dragging under my eyes. Pretended like every other day that this was normal. That I was happy. Except I was this time. So maybe it wasn't pretending so much as it was day dreaming. After my husband left for work, I took the kids to school and began. 

I started with a trip to the drug store. Bought some sleeping pills and pain killers. Told the clerk that it was that time of month and needed the extra help. I couldn't be too careful. Even the wind in this hell hole talks. Afterward, I walked to the grocery store and bought a carton of strawberries. Then I drove to the beauty parlor and bought a new makeup kit. One with lots of reds and purples. Last minute I threw a pair of very large sunglasses in my cart. Like the one’s big shot celebrities wear. 

On the way home I let myself think and hope. I could see the small apartment I’d rent when I made it to New York. I thought of all the freedom, the life thrumming in every corner of the city. As it sunk in, I could finally breathe. 

For the next month I snuck out in the dead of night and met with Wes in our usual diner. For the next month I ran the same errands. Sleeping pills and strawberries. The makeup was to be saved for the grand finale since the real bruises were telling enough, and the painkillers were flushed down the toilet as soon as I got home that first day I let myself dream. 

As soon as I knew that Wes was mine, I set the plan in motion. 

—

I made dinner as usual. I set the table. I even picked some wild flowers from the backyard and put them in a nice vase. When I heard the front door slam, I made myself busy and assumed my role as the obedient wife he had come to expect. Let me tell you, he really is too stupid.

“What’s for dinner?” he barked out.

Keeping my eyes down and my frame tight, I said “I made your favorite; mashed potatoes and chicken fried steak.”

He grunted in acknowledgment. What a pig. He went into our bedroom. I called the kids in for dinner. Sally and Ana. The only good things to come from our marriage. They came in obediently and sat at their usual seats. He was still occupied with whatever was in the bedroom, so I slipped them both a strawberry. Their eyes widened as they took them and greedily bit into them.

“Hurry,” I hissed.

I took the stems from them and threw them in the garbage disposal just as he walked out in a wife beater and slacks. How fitting. He sat at the head of the table and I hastened to dish out the mashed potatoes. 

“Emma, where the fuck is my beer,” he spit in my face. 

“Oh, sorry honey. Let me go get it.” 

In the kitchen, I pulled out a beer from the fridge. He usually drinks one every 20 minutes, so I needed to be careful with the pill to alcohol ratio. I opened the bottle. Inside the overhead cabinet, there was the small bottle of sleeping pills. I took shook one out of the capsule and smashed it with the heel of my palm and carefully swept it into beer. Expertly capping it, I took it out to him. 

“Took you long enough,” he grumbled. 

I watched as he took a massive swig from the bottle and I sat down in my seat. It was a quiet dinner, like every other dinner we've ever had. Tense and quiet. 

The night went on as planned, me slipping sleeping pills into every other beer and watching as he fell dead asleep. Perfect. I slipped into the master bedroom and dug out the new makeup kit from the depths of the closet and got to work. In that hour before meeting with Wes, I transformed my face. My arms. My legs. Perfect.

The sunglasses on my face did the job. Half my face obscured. I’ll tell you, I didn't think this plan would work out as well as it did. There must be someone up there looking after me. Ha. As if. 

—

So as I walked into our diner an hour later than usual, the concern on Wes’s was immediate. He was already pacing grooves into the diners cheap black and white tile when I arrived. Why is she wearing sunglasses an hour past midnight? I imagined his thought process. He hurried to my side, panic and misplaced worry emanating off his tense posture. He took my face into his hands, questions tangled with worry written in his eyes. I even forced a flinch when his thumb brushed against my cheek. He gently pushed up my sunglasses to see the damage. My handiwork. I swear, in another life I could win Oscars.

“Emma,” he gasped.

I couldn't look him in the eye. It hurt, lying to him. While he may have been mine in the short month I had known him, he’d also managed to capture my heart. Then he saw the dark purple crawling up my arms and legs. 

“Emma,” he repeated. “Emma, did he do this to you?”

I kept my eyes trained on the ground. I hoped that was answer enough.

“Emma,” anger invading his words. Finally. “I’m going to kill him.”

At this I looked up with a shake of my head. “No, Wes. It’s nothing.” I tried to pull my sunglasses down, but he grabbed them off my head. 

“Emma this is not nothing! You can’t keep letting him treat you like this.” 

“Wes, this isn't any of your business. Stay out of it.” I made sure that my eyes pleaded something different. 

“This is my business. Emma, I love you. You are my business,” tears rimmed his eyes. 

“I love you too,” I whispered. The worst part? I meant it. 

“This ends tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

That night was probably the hardest. I knew I had to lie. I knew I had to. But I couldn't look at him without being reminded of what I was going to do. What needed to be done. It was starting to become questionable, whether or not I could go through with my plan. But it didn't matter. The end was coming soon. 

—

The next morning was the same as any. I made sure that he saw the bruises. I made sure to touch them up while he was still asleep. He wouldn't remember doing any of it, because he didn't do any of it. But he didn't doubt that he did, which is just as bad if you ask me. 

It was a Saturday so he stayed in his lounge clothes, watched T.V. and drank. And drank. I told him I was going to run some errands. He didn't respond. I gave the girls two more strawberries each after breakfast. I only had one errand to make. 

At the drug store, I removed my sunglasses to get a closer look at the pain killer label, revealing the heavy purple layered on top of greens and yellows. I heard the murmurs of the clerk. At the counter, I asked for a refill. 

“Ma’am, you got your prescription filled out just last week. It was meant to last three months.” he said with a look of askance. 

“I know,” I said with a pointed sort of glare. My voice cold. 

“Of course ma’am.” 

Checking my watch, I hauled ass back to the house. Wes was already there, in his car on the curb. I smiled a sad sort of smile and waved at him. He got out, slamming his car door with unnecessary force, which only stood testament to the nerves he refused to show. He held my hand as I unlocked the front door and walked in. I lead him up the stairs to Sally’s room. Before opening her door I turned to Wes with sincere regret for what I was about to do.

“I’m sorry,” were my only words.

Confusion crossed his face as I opened the place pink door. Inside, Sally sat at her desk, coloring. On the bed lay my husband. Dead. Perfect.

Wes stood in shock as I pulled out my phone and dialed the police. 

“Help! My husband is dead!” My voice high-pitched and panicked. I started sobbing. I really laid it on thick. “Operator, he's dead! What do I do! What do I-” I dropped the phone. You could hear the voice on the other line scrambling for a location, an address. She’d figure it out soon enough. 

“Sally sweetie, why don't you go into the den,” I cooed at her. She left without a word. “And take Ana with you.”

I tore my gaze from the corpse laying on Sally’s princess comforter and turned on Wes with unrepentant determination “Wes, I’m sorry. This needed to happen.” My voice cracked with guilt but not enough to stop my next words. “I’m sorry Wes. I never loved you.” Police sirens wailed in the distance, approaching our street. 

“Emma, what have you done.” The expression on his face broke my resolve, but only for a moment before I said what needed to be said. Before the weight of my words sunk in.

“Run Wes. This is your chance. Take Louise with you.” He ran. That was the last time I ever saw him. 

I couldn't afford to mourn what could have been. I waited a beat. Two. I hurried down the stairs after him, and caught the sounds of his tires screeching down the pavement. I grabbed my oven mitt and a heavy cast iron pan and returned to his body. 

Now, the easy part. I brought down the pan on his skull. Crack. I brought it down on his arm. Crack. I brought it down on his stomach. His chest. His knees. His legs. Everything was red. I dropped the pan and shoved the mitt down the front of my dress. 

There was pounding on the front door. I barely registered that Wes must have locked it behind him to buy me time. Kneeling down next to his body, I smeared blood over my front and resumed my wailing. 

The wood door splintered apart, scattering any pieces of regret. I laid my head on his concave chest. Heavy steps climbed up the stairs. I smiled for what I had accomplished. 

They burst into the room and beheld the scene. Blood on the walls, the red stained pan on the floor. The radio spewing words and white noise. I couldn't hear it. The lifelessness of my husbands face was victory enough. 

I smiled. 

—

My husband is severely allergic to strawberries. I knew he’d kiss them like that. I knew he’d touch them like that when I wasn't around, but I knew. I fed my girls strawberries everyday and set up the perfect trap. I was just waiting for someone like Wes to take the fall. 

The police took me to the station and questioned me. My fake bruises still intact, it was clear that he was the one at fault. That he was the one who raped my girls and beat me. They asked about what had happened earlier that day and I lied. I said I went on a few errands with the girls and came back to his body. The diner waitress testified that Wes threatened to kill him for what he had done. The drug store clerk testified that my husband beat me. 

When the police released me in forged hysterics, I went home, and I told Sally and Ana to pack. Only take the most important things. We left that night before the autopsy results could incriminate someone other than Wes. 

I do not regret killing him. He deserved it. I only ask for forgiveness because of what I did to Wes. I loved him, but I loved my girls more. I still feel the tears sliding from their cheeks down my shoulders as I held them after that first time. I’m a smart girl. I wouldn't let that monster get away with it. And I didn’t. 

I want to thank you as well, Love. For giving me the strength I needed to protect them from him. And I want to say I’m sorry, for betraying you so extremely. But I deserved better than what I had, and so did Sally and Ana. 

Yours truly, 

Emma