And each man kills the thing he loves
~Oscar Wilde
TRIGGERS: PHYSICAL VIOLENCE, DEATH
Mark stared at his wife of five years with disdain, holding the gun loosely in his right hand. “I gave you everything. Wasn’t it enough? Was I such a terrible husband you had to fuck one of my friends? Bitch.” He downed the two fingers of Scotch he had poured, pouring another.
April tried to respond but couldn’t, the gag in her mouth preventing her from answering. Her wrists were bound behind her back while her feet were tied together. Originally, she had been sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, but Mark got tired of picking her body up off the floor with every punch. She was now lying on her back on the couch, allowing Mark to hit her without her falling.
He had always had an anger management problem, but finding April having an affair with his longtime friend Jeff sent him into an uncontrollable rage.
April and Jeff were having sex one day when Mark came home unexpectedly because he had forgotten something for work. He stood silently at the foot of the bed for who knows how long, watching them. Only after their orgasms did they notice Mark standing there, his expression cold and dark.
It happened so fast April initially wasn’t sure what occurred. But when she saw Jeff lying still with his head at an unnatural angle, she began screaming.
With a flip of his wrists, Mark snapped the surprised Jeff’s neck, killing him instantly. Mark moved so quickly and stealthily Jeff had no time to react before he died.
His body still lay positioned the way he died on April and Mark’s bed. Mark refused to let her cover Jeff’s naked body, forcing her to sit, still naked, staring at her dead lover for almost two hours while he taunted her.
“Mark, honey, please calm down. Please stop this,” begged April.
He punched her under her ribcage, pushing all the air out of her lungs.
“How dare you call me honey and tell me to calm down, you two-timing slut?” he roared. “Shut your disgusting mouth. I can’t believe I let you kiss me. Did you at least brush your teeth or shower between your time with him and me, you filthy whore?” He backhanded her across the face, splitting her lip. Blood poured out and pooled in a puddle on the suede couch. “Look what you did to my couch, you pig!” He backhanded her again. “Might as well make it count,” hitting her a third time, breaking the cartilage in her nose. Blood spurted everywhere, enraging Mark even more.
“You bitch! You’re staying in here, cleaning the mess you’re making. So I suggest you find a way to stop the bleeding.”
April moaned, inhaling more blood than air, choking. She was having trouble breathing. She gagged, blood still pouring from her nose, impeding her breathing.
“You got your STD-infested blood all over my new suit, you stupid bitch. I’ll have to take it to the dry cleaners tomorrow morning. It would make a good mourning suit, I think. Not too flashy and tastefully expensive. It would be ironic to wear the suit I wore to kill you to your funeral. Don’t you agree?” asked Mark. “It’ll be our little secret.”
April whimpered in fear. She knew then she would die that night. The only question was how much more pain Mark planned to inflict upon her before finally putting her out of her misery.
He pulled her into a sitting position by her hair, leaning down to whisper, “I know you know I plan to kill you tonight, bitch. But first, I’m going to make you sorry you cheated on me.” He let go of her hair, and April fell sideways, unable to use her hands to steady herself.
“Preparing yourself for me? I like that. You could have been a useful slut. Pity,” said Mark, holding April’s legs as far apart as possible, slamming into her.
April screamed in agony, feeling her body practically torn in two. The next few hours were a blur of excruciating pain, April praying the torture would end.
“Please. Stop.”
Mark smiled at April wickedly, “You know there’s only one way I’m going to stop, don’t you?”
April moaned. “Please. No. Don’t. I…love…you.”
“You love me? You love me? If you loved me, you wouldn’t have had an affair with a friend of mine, you whore!” Mark’s voice rose. “You don’t love me! Don’t say that!” he roared.
“A…mistake. Big. So…sorry. I…love…you. Please. Forgive…me.”
“Marrying you was a mistake, bitch.”
The last thing April saw before her world went black was the gun pointed at her face.
Copyright © 2025 Robin Christine Honigsberg
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