They say revenge is a dish best served cold. But if you want it to be truly memorable, sprinkle it with flavor, craft it with care, and deliver it in a way they'll cherish. Blind-side them with the idea that this dish, the one crafted with more love than they deserve, shall be the one that hurts them the most in the end when they slice their tongue with something you buried deep within, hidden amongst the finesse...
* * *
I slammed the door behind me, quickly pressing my entire body weight against it as the racing footsteps from behind me drew nearer. My heart was pounding as my chest heaved. I struggled to catch my breath as I felt the heavy pounding of a fist against the door, giving my body a quick jolt forward. He was trying to force his way in.
My shaky hand fumbled for the door knob until I found the lock and turned it. I could hear him, my husband, screaming profanities at me as I struggled to keep my footing from the constant hard slamming against my back. He was going to break the door, I thought.
I could feel my throat swelling as tears started running down my cheeks. All I could do was think back at all the things I did wrong. Things I should've said but remained silent instead.
He came home after a long day at work. He was stressed, it was easy to tell. He was already upset as he walked through the front door. He threw his jacket on the couch as he briskly stepped from the living room to dining room table. I had just finished cooking and was hoping I could find a way to cheer him up. I started to ask him what was wrong, but before I got a word out he was complaining about the smell coming from the kitchen.
I told him I was making lasagna, which I'd always assumed was his favorite. He said it smelled burnt. I told him I may have gotten distracted for a moment and left it in a few minutes too long, but it would still taste the same. He didn't like that answer. He slammed his fist down on the dining room table, making the already-set silverware rattle. I jumped back a bit in fear. I was all too familiar with that look in his eye. And I knew exactly what was coming next. My ribs still ached from the last time.
He took a long step toward me and I jolted back, my back pressed against the kitchen counter.
"Why do you look so scared, honey?" he demanded, his voice booming.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about-" I stammered before another boom from a slammed fist interrupted my words.
"Great," he started, running his hand down his face. "First I nearly lose my job because of some asshole. Then I come home and my wife burns my food, now she acts like I'm the worst person in the world because I want to touch her?!"
"I-I-" I struggled to find my words. I was too afraid of what he might do. From times gone passed, he enjoyed chasing me around and hitting me until I 'learned my lesson', even when I never understood what I did wrong. Everything had to be perfect for him. And depending on the day, if one thing was out of line, it would be enough for him to explode and take it all out on me. I knew I was an easy target because he was always stronger and faster than me. I was powerless to fight him off once he got his hands on me.
He took another large step toward me, threatening to run. I took off toward the bedroom before he had a chance to do the same.
I slammed the door behind me, quickly pressing my entire body weight against it as the racing footsteps from behind me drew nearer.
I was sick of this. Sick of being afraid to exist inside a home I shared with someone who's supposed to love me, who's supposed to protect me. But now I needed protecting from him.
With my last bit of strength, I charged toward the dresser beside the door and used all my strength to scoot it in front of the door. It was far heavier than it looked, but the fact that it was moving at all gave me hope. I pressed my shoulder into it and pushed it harder. It didn't take long until it was in front of the door and I felt like I could breathe for a moment.
But the hope of it all was short-lived when the pounding on the door grew harder. I could see cracks starting to form where he had been punching. I had to think fast. My eyes darted around the room for something, anything to defend myself. I wasn't going to let myself get hurt again.
That's when I heard it. A voice in my head. It sounded like my voice, but its words were dripping with malice.
"There's a gun under his pillow," the voice spoke. "Grab it and show him who really has the power here."
My heart pounded against my chest as I started reaching for it. But I had to stop myself. What am I doing? I'm not that kind of person. He's the cruel one in this relationship. I can't stoop to his level.
"Why not?" the voice in my head hissed. "He's going to break through that door soon. What will happen when he does?"
I shook my head, trying to get these twisted thoughts out. But the heavy pounding and wood splitting and shouts of anger coming from the door only raised my anxiety higher and higher. The voice was right. I can't just wait around, I have to do something. This has to stop.
I reached for the gun under the pillow with a shaky hand. "Good girl," the voice said. "Now, get his ass!"
Without thinking, I held the gun high, pointed it directly at the door, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.
First, a deafening bang as the gun's recoil hit my hands. Then, silence.
Silence.
It was so quiet my ears started ringing. I heard him collapse on the other side of the door and my jaw dropped open in shock. The gun fell from my hand as tears streamed down my cheeks, threatening to blind me.
What have I done?
My shaky hand fumbled for the door knob until I found the lock and turned it. I could hear him, my husband, screaming profanities at me as I struggled to keep my footing from the constant hard slamming against my back. He was going to break the door, I thought.
I could feel my throat swelling as tears started running down my cheeks. All I could do was think back at all the things I did wrong. Things I should've said but remained silent instead.
He came home after a long day at work. He was stressed, it was easy to tell. He was already upset as he walked through the front door. He threw his jacket on the couch as he briskly stepped from the living room to dining room table. I had just finished cooking and was hoping I could find a way to cheer him up. I started to ask him what was wrong, but before I got a word out he was complaining about the smell coming from the kitchen.
I told him I was making lasagna, which I'd always assumed was his favorite. He said it smelled burnt. I told him I may have gotten distracted for a moment and left it in a few minutes too long, but it would still taste the same. He didn't like that answer. He slammed his fist down on the dining room table, making the already-set silverware rattle. I jumped back a bit in fear. I was all too familiar with that look in his eye. And I knew exactly what was coming next. My ribs still ached from the last time.
He took a long step toward me and I jolted back, my back pressed against the kitchen counter.
"Why do you look so scared, honey?" he demanded, his voice booming.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about-" I stammered before another boom from a slammed fist interrupted my words.
"Great," he started, running his hand down his face. "First I nearly lose my job because of some asshole. Then I come home and my wife burns my food, now she acts like I'm the worst person in the world because I want to touch her?!"
"I-I-" I struggled to find my words. I was too afraid of what he might do. From times gone passed, he enjoyed chasing me around and hitting me until I 'learned my lesson', even when I never understood what I did wrong. Everything had to be perfect for him. And depending on the day, if one thing was out of line, it would be enough for him to explode and take it all out on me. I knew I was an easy target because he was always stronger and faster than me. I was powerless to fight him off once he got his hands on me.
He took another large step toward me, threatening to run. I took off toward the bedroom before he had a chance to do the same.
I slammed the door behind me, quickly pressing my entire body weight against it as the racing footsteps from behind me drew nearer.
I was sick of this. Sick of being afraid to exist inside a home I shared with someone who's supposed to love me, who's supposed to protect me. But now I needed protecting from him.
With my last bit of strength, I charged toward the dresser beside the door and used all my strength to scoot it in front of the door. It was far heavier than it looked, but the fact that it was moving at all gave me hope. I pressed my shoulder into it and pushed it harder. It didn't take long until it was in front of the door and I felt like I could breathe for a moment.
But the hope of it all was short-lived when the pounding on the door grew harder. I could see cracks starting to form where he had been punching. I had to think fast. My eyes darted around the room for something, anything to defend myself. I wasn't going to let myself get hurt again.
That's when I heard it. A voice in my head. It sounded like my voice, but its words were dripping with malice.
"There's a gun under his pillow," the voice spoke. "Grab it and show him who really has the power here."
My heart pounded against my chest as I started reaching for it. But I had to stop myself. What am I doing? I'm not that kind of person. He's the cruel one in this relationship. I can't stoop to his level.
"Why not?" the voice in my head hissed. "He's going to break through that door soon. What will happen when he does?"
I shook my head, trying to get these twisted thoughts out. But the heavy pounding and wood splitting and shouts of anger coming from the door only raised my anxiety higher and higher. The voice was right. I can't just wait around, I have to do something. This has to stop.
I reached for the gun under the pillow with a shaky hand. "Good girl," the voice said. "Now, get his ass!"
Without thinking, I held the gun high, pointed it directly at the door, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.
First, a deafening bang as the gun's recoil hit my hands. Then, silence.
Silence.
It was so quiet my ears started ringing. I heard him collapse on the other side of the door and my jaw dropped open in shock. The gun fell from my hand as tears streamed down my cheeks, threatening to blind me.
What have I done?
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