She waltzed into her master bathroom to draw herself a bath. She removed the blood stained clothes and sank into the hot, bubbly water. The suds around her began to fizzle and pop, taking her back to the Vilmart dinner she had with her husband just a week earlier.
Two champagne glasses sat half-filled on a white tablecloth that reached to the floor. Candles burned in the center of the table. She had been busy staring at the menu while her husband stared at her. Every once in a while she looked up and studied his disgusted scowl.
She finally closed her menu and said, “Are you really going to be mad at me forever?”
“Do you not realize what you’ve done?”
She looked around to see if anyone had noticed his angered tone, and leaned in towards the middle of the table. She whispered, “Nothing happened.”
“Yeah? And pigs fly.”
“Would you stop?”
He leaned in towards her. “No, I won’t. Do you know what it’s like getting a phone call from your best friend at two a.m. saying that he went out and saw your wife in the same club?”
“So I was having a girls night. Big whoop.”
“Girls night my ass. How long has this been going on? How many of those ‘late nights at work’ were actually spent at work?”
She had picked at the hem of her black cocktail dress, and rolled her eyes, avoiding his.
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” she said.
“All I want to know is why. What made you resort to that?”
“You’re being ridiculous right now. Can we please talk about this when we get home?”
“How? I have every right to feel this way. You crossed major boundary lines. And home? Only one of us is going home tonight, sweetheart, and it’s not you.”
“How many times do I have to say that I’m sorry?”
“‘Sorry’ doesn’t fix anything.”
She took a deep breath and reopened her menu. “Should I get the shrimp scampi or the steak?” she asked.
“This discussion isn’t over, Jenna.”
“I think I’ll go with the shrimp scampi. I’ve had a craving for seafood.”
Their server approached the table and asked, “Do we still need a minute or do we know what we want?”
She closed her menu and put it down. Smiling, Jenna said, “I know what I want. Do you, honey?”
“Don’t be such a bitch,” he had said, and she mimicked him in a high voice before slipping under the foamy water.
Jenna drained the dirty, red water and begin to dry herself off with a tan cashmere towel. She stood in front of the floor-length mirror. It was the middle of July, but she reached for the turtleneck anyway. Her left rib cage was pounding with pain from last night’s fiasco. Who knew that a drunken man would kick that hard?
She dried her blond hair and transformed her face with makeup. Jenna dressed, and checked one last time in the mirror to make sure she was fully ready for the day ahead. She looked normal, but there was something that was different. Something she hope only she could notice.
Jenna picked up the blood-dried CutCo carving knife as she glare down at the lifeless mass that had once been her husband. She had been straddling him as she watched the light fade from his eyes. That short, last breath had given her butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Jenna smiled, satisfied with her handiwork. It had been so easy. She couldn’t help but think how smoothly the serrated edge tore across his neck. He had not fought her, perhaps he had no feeling. Getting him drunk was always easy. All she had to do was put another beer or shot of Crown in front of him. Jenna had been planning it for months, but she never knew when the right time would be. After he forced himself on her last night, she knew the time had come.
Jenna knew her husband had been drunk enough to not hear her searching through the drawers in the kitchen. She had looked through every single drawer, searching for just the right knife. Jenna had used the carving knife on many different meats - the twenty-pound bird every Thanksgiving and the honey ham that was smoked last month - and came to the conclusion that it would be the best choice for the 150-pound man she was about to slaughter. She had slinked up the stairs, feeling the side of the wall for support. When she got to their bedroom, she stood in the doorway for a moment, thinking about how peaceful he always looked while sleeping. His mouth was always slightly opened and a faint snore could be heard. Jenna then went over to their bed and sat on his stomach with one of her legs on both sides of him. In a matter of minutes, he no longer breathed.
I just recently finished "The Book Thief" by Markus Zusak. I had no idea what this novel was going to be about going into it; all I knew was that our 10th grade English class study it. Right off the bat I noticed that our narrator was not your average Joe. The narrator is death. When I realized this I said to myself, "Oh this is going to be good." The novel is all about the Holocaust and it is shown from a German point of view. Leisel Meminger's mother gives her away to a foster German family. On the trip to this new family, Leisel's brother dies. So right from the start death is there. I'm not going to give you a synopsis of it, because I think you should read it for yourself. Just know that a German family hides a Jew in their basement for a while, and death is around every corner. That last line of the novel really got me though..."I am haunted by humans."
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