Authors: Bianca Sloane
With an agitated gait, she went to the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door. There was still a half bottle of Shiraz they’d had with the dinner she’d made for him last night. He’d raved about it—roast chicken, garlic green beans, whipped potatoes, an apple tart for dessert. How could she have known that would be their last meal together? Kelly clamped her hand around the bottle and shut the door. She placed it on the counter and stood for a moment with her eyes closed, her hand wrapped around the slippery coolness of the wine bottle. She opened her eyes, then methodically took down a wine glass and poured herself a drink. She took a hearty gulp, welcoming the familiar warmth as it filled her insides. She put the glass down and stared unseeing at the butcher-block table in the middle of the room, her eyes filling with tears once more.
S
he heard the door open. Slowly, her lids lifted as she waited for Mark. He closed the door, and she heard him drop his keys.
“Kelly! Kelly, baby, where are you?”
She continued to sip her wine, not saying anything. He came running into the kitchen, sweaty panic smeared across his face. When he appeared, her heart stopped. She could never get over how fine he was. All caramel-colored goodness with deep, chocolate brown eyes, perfect white teeth, and a lean, taut body. And he always smelled amazing, a sensual combination of Ivory soap, the cocoa butter he’d used religiously for years, and the faintest hint of Obsession cologne.
Be strong, girl. This is no time to get caught up.
“Baby, it’s not what you think—”
“Don’t bother, Mark,” she said as she picked up her wine glass. “I already know. You’ve been fucking some skank behind my back.”
“It’s not like that. Just let me explain.”
She looked up at him. “Don’t. Don’t say one goddamned word. You can tell everything to my lawyer.”
“Kelly, please look at me,” Mark said, pleading. She took a long swallow from her wine glass. She put the glass back down and looked at him.
“As you can see, I’ve already packed your things. I would appreciate it if you would get out of my house. Now.”
“Baby, this is our house—”
“The minute you brought your dirty business into our bedroom, this stopped being
our
house. Now leave.”
He shook his head. “Not until you let me explain—”
She cut him off. “I told you, I don’t want to know who she is, or how long—I don’t even know
why
you brought your dirty ass trick up into
my
house and fucked her in
my
bed.” Kelly’s hand dropped down on the table. “No, all I want is for you to get the hell out of my house—and make no mistake, Mark—this is
my
house, and I want you out of it.”
She picked up the wine glass again, wanting to drink this whole thing away. Mark licked his lips.
“Just let me explain—”
“Explain what? ‘Oh, baby, she doesn’t mean anything to me—’” Kelly stopped. “It is a she, isn’t it?”
He shrank back, stunned. “Oh, my God, Kelly. I can’t believe you would say that.”
She plunked the wine glass down so fast the liquid sloshed over the rim, angry as she was it seemed. “Don’t say what? That you’re a disgusting liar? A pig? That I’m sorry I wasted three years being married to you?”
His eyes glittered with tears. “You don’t mean that.”
She put her hand on her temple and closed her eyes. “You know what, Mark? Shut up. Just shut up.” She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “There’s nothing you can say. It’s over.”
He shook his head emphatically. “No, no, no. It will never be over with us. We belong together.”
She snorted. “Please, Mark. I don’t mean shit to you, you’ve shown me that.”
“Kelly—”
She picked up her wine glass and took another long swallow.
“Come on, Kel, talk to me.”
“Shut up, Mark.”
“I swear, if you’ll just let me explain—” he tried again.
She could take it no more. She slammed the wine glass onto the ceramic tile floor. Mark jumped back as bits of glass jumped up and went flying everywhere.
“Don’t you fucking explain anything to me! Our whole life together has been a lie!” She felt the tears again and struggled to stop from shaking.
“How could you do this?” she whispered, looking him square in the eye. “How could you be with some other woman and then come home and tell me how happy I make you, how I mean the world to you, then make love to me?” Kelly couldn’t stop the torrent of words from tumbling out of her mouth, and now her head was starting to hurt. Why wouldn’t he just leave?
“Was it just one woman, Mark? Multiple women? Just in Chicago, or do you have a woman in every city? God knows you travel enough. How many times in our bed?”
Mark held out his hand. “Please, let’s go talk in the living room so you don’t hurt yourself. There’s glass everywhere. Come on.”
“You don’t get to care about me anymore,” she sobbed.
He took a step towards her, and without even thinking, she grabbed a knife out of the block on the counter next to the wine bottle. Maybe if she scared him, he’d leave. He stopped short and held his hands up.
“Kel—”
“Mark, I swear to God…just get…the…fuck…OUT.”
“Okay, I will, but first, baby, just put the knife down. Please.”
“You have no idea how much you’ve hurt me,” she bawled, gripping the knife. “You’re such a bastard,” she whispered through her tears. Kelly closed her eyes, trying to contain the fury inside her. She hated him so much right now. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone to feel sorry for herself and cry and grieve in private?
She opened her eyes and saw he was still standing in front of her, a pained look on his face. Kelly waved the knife in his direction.
“Go,” she said.
“Kel, please, come on, let’s go in the living room before one of us gets hurt.”
She took a deep breath and shook her head, the black plastic handle of the knife sweaty in her palm.
Mark swallowed, and his own tears began their inevitable slide downward. “I never wanted this to happen. I was terrified this would happen,” he whispered.
“Oh, I’ll
bet
you never wanted me to find out. You’d have kept on screwing her if I hadn’t found out.”
He shook his head. “No. No!”
“So what was today, one last screw for the road?”
Mark pursed his lips and held out his hand again. “No.”
“Oh, planning to go at it again? When, tomorrow?”
“Just listen, for one minute, please. If you let me explain—”
Kelly waved the knife at him again. “I don’t want to talk to you. Don’t you get it? I just want to be left alone.”
Almost as fast as it had come, the fight oozed out of her, and all of a sudden, she felt tired. She placed the knife down on the butcher-block table in front of her, her hand resting on the handle. She placed her other hand over her eyes and began to cry again. She heard him coming toward her and, not wanting to feel his hands on her flesh, turned abruptly.
“Mark, just leave me the hell alone!” she screamed as she swung around, the knife still in her hand.
It was like a dream. No, more like a nightmare that would nestle deep within the recesses of her mind and play itself over and over again, like a DVD stuck on repeat. She saw herself spin around in a kind of half arc to stop Mark’s advance towards her; he was closer to her than she realized. How had she not realized how close he was? And Mark—so determined to get her to listen to his lies, to charm her, sweet talk her into taking him back—walking into the knife. They’d both gasped at the same time, locking eyes with each other at the moment of impact. Both their eyes glimmered with fear and shock.
She saw the blade slice into his stomach, felt the rip of his body as he came apart at her hand. She yanked on the knife, trying to dislodge it from her husband, succeeding only in twisting it further into him. He grunted. She wheezed. His face coiled into a distorted mass of lines and circles. She tried again. Her hands were so slippery. Soaked, in fact. The handle swam in her hands. She felt her feet shuffle a bit, knock into his. They danced, him moving forward one step, she moving back a step. They were welded together now, she unable to let go of the knife and he unable to disengage from the cold, hard clench of the blade.
He groaned and closed his eyes, a soft hiss escaping his lips. He looked at her again, tears and sweat sliding down his face. He shook his head, just a little.
He knew.
And so did she.
“Kelly,” he whispered.
I
t broke the spell.
Kelly plunged back into the horrible reality in front of her. For the first time, she looked down at what she had done. Blood was spurting out of the wound and soaking into his white t-shirt.
Crying, she finally wrenched the knife out of him and watched as Mark stumbled backwards. Flailing, he tried to grab the marble countertop for balance. Instead, he slipped on a shard of glass on the floor and managed to knock over the bottle of wine Kelly had set down earlier. The deep violet liquid splashed down onto the floor like a waterfall and slithered across the white tile. With arms thrashing, Mark fell back against the pantry door and slid down, clutching his stomach, trying to catch the blood pouring out of him.
She realized she was still holding the knife. Trembling, she dropped it, the clink of the metal blade echoing throughout the kitchen as it crashed against the cool ceramic tiles. Forgetting about the glass and pool of red wine all over the floor, Kelly ran to where her husband lay bleeding. She stroked his head and face, the now familiar tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Oh, God, Mark. Mark. Baby, I didn’t mean it. It was an accident.” Her mouth was on fast-forward as she tried to get out the words. “You know I could never do anything…even though you…I just wanted to scare you, make you leave…I didn’t—”
He closed his eyes and nodded. “I know, baby, I know,” he whispered.
She swallowed. “Mark, I’m going to call an ambulance,” she whispered, giving him a reassuring smile. “Just hold on, okay, baby? Hold on. Please. Hold on for me.”
He gave her a feeble nod. Shaking, she grabbed the kitchen phone, dialing.
“911.”
“Yes, hi. There’s been an accident. My husband is hurt.” Kelly ran her hands through her hair and knelt down next to Mark. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it, relieved when he pressed back ever so slightly.
“What is the nature of the injury, ma’am?”
“He’s…he’s been stabbed.”
My God. I stabbed my husband
.
“What is your location, ma’am?”
“Um…um…I’m at 1043 Lake Shore Drive, number 5304. Please hurry, he’s lost a lot of blood.”
“Right away, ma’am.”
She dropped the phone on the floor and looked at him. “Mark, the ambulance is on its way. Just hold on, baby.”
He gave her a faint smile. “I love you, Kelly,” he whispered. “I’ll always love you.”
And then, he closed his eyes.
Kelly’s own eyes got wide as she realized what was happening. “Oh, shit, Mark. Mark, damn it, wake up. Wake up!”
His eyes flashed open for just a second before fluttering closed, and he sighed, just a little, like he’d given up.
And that was it.
He stopped breathing.
Kelly ran her hands along his wrist, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. Nothing at all. She looked up at him, wild-eyed. She grabbed the collar of his t-shirt, as if that would wake him up, make him come back to her. She slapped his face, trying to bring him around, but he never stirred. She felt along his neck, hoping a pulse would spring out at her.
Nothing.
She’d killed him.
She’d killed her husband.
It was an accident. It wasn’t on purpose.
Who was she kidding? She’d found out her husband was cheating on her and then he turned up dead. Who in the hell would believe it had been anything but malicious?
She couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t stop convulsing with vicious sobs as she leaned against his chest. How many nights had she lain against him in the drowsy warmth of their bed, thinking she was the luckiest woman in the world to have found a man who made her feel so safe, so loved?
She slumped against him, clutching him to her, half expecting him to sweep her into his arms as he’d done so many times.
Never again.
The phone rang, and she jumped. It was the front desk letting her know the paramedics were here.
What should she do?
Stay?
Leave?
Stay?
Leave.
Run.
Run.
Run!
Trying to catch her breath, Kelly grabbed the pantry doorknob and struggled to her feet. Moving on autopilot, she scrambled over to the ringing phone.
“Mrs. Monroe, did you call—?”
“Yes—let them up!” she screamed before shutting off the phone.
Still moving by instinct, rather than rational thought, she scooped up her keys, purse, and cell phone from the occasional table next to the front door. She just needed to think, pull herself together. Then she’d go to the police, tell them what happened. She’d get a lawyer—moments ago, she’d been thinking about a divorce lawyer. Now she was in need of a defense attorney. Oh, sweet Jesus.
Kelly flung the door open and peered outside. She’d use the service elevator to get to her car, parked in the garage since yesterday. Her heart pounding in her ears, she propped her front door open with the vase from the occasional table, ran to the service elevator, and jammed the down button. She paced, willing the damn thing to hurry up and get there. Finally, the doors slid open and she popped in. Just as the door closed, she heard the main elevator ding down the hall and the paramedics storm out. She punched the “Close Door” button, impatient. Scared.
She fidgeted with her keys and bit her nail, disturbed by the salty taste of Mark’s blood on her tongue. She stomped across the elevator, then ran the short distance to the bank of elevators for the garage. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long and jumped inside, still pacing the few short levels to the garage. The slick, hard bottoms of her flat black sandals smacked against the cold, greasy concrete as she made a beeline for her car and a certain temporary freedom. Mark’s black Escalade was parked next to her black S-Class Mercedes. She deactivated the car alarm and jumped in. She didn’t even know where she was going. Her fingers were so wobbly, it took her a while to get the key in the ignition, but finally she did and started the car. She couldn’t see due to the tears clouding her eyes, but she couldn’t think about that now. She had to leave, had to be by herself.