The Relationship

“It didn’t have to end this way.” He choked out the words.

“I suppose it didn’t,” she said, “but it seems it has.”

She stared at him. The rage in her face had animated her body in a way he had never seen before. But, now, she now looked nearly calm, her twisted face having relaxed into a playful stare.

“But it was fun, wasn’t it? I know you thought it was fun.”

“It wasn’t fun. It was… ‘” He struggled for the words that she would want to hear.

“Meaningless?” she quizzed. “Forgettable?”

“No…” he began.

“It was vicious. It was selfish, and cruel. You have no scruples.”

“Why couldn’t you just let it go?” he asked. “There are so many others.”

“But I had found you,” she replied. “I didn’t need others.”

“You crazy bitch!” He spat it at her, raising his head slightly, to meet her eyes. Her face was draped in shadow, but he could still make out her expression. It was nearly jubilant.

She began to laugh. He’d never heard that before either. It was a pendulous laugh that swung back and forth between raucous and haunting. It was burrowing into his forehead, and he tried, pointlessly, to wipe it away. He desperately wanted it to stop.

“It’s a bit unpleasant, isn’t it?” she asked him, the sarcasm cloaked in dismissive concern. She lowered her head to where he could better see her face.

When he didn’t answer the rhetorical query, she grinned at him sideways. “Wait here,” she laughed. “I need to get something.” She turned quickly and walked across the kitchen to the island. He could see that she had picked up something and hoped he was wrong in his guess as to what it was.

As she returned, she edged in a bit closer to him and, holding a knife in her right hand, began to wave it back and forth, just missing his face.

His breathing quickened and his heart pounded even more loudly in his chest. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. It was cruel, you’re right. But,” he nearly shouted, “I can make it up to you. I will. I promise.”

She had become a study in derision. “I think you’ll find that it’s way too late for that.” She straightened herself, and walked around him, pretending she needed to have a better look. “You poor thing. Don’t you know there are no apologies now? I had a taste of your sweet talk, your lies, your … poison,” she sputtered.

“You can’t do this. Please. I’m begging you.”

“You’re not such a catch now, are you? You should see the sweat pouring down your face.”

What could he say to change her mind and leave him be? Opening the door when she knocked was the biggest mistake of his life. It seemed she was the biggest mistake of his life.

“Look…” he began.

“It’s too late. I think this is the only answer.”

“You’ve already done enough damage,” He heard himself choke out the words. The room had begun to swim in his cesspool of fear.

“It’s lovely seeing you shit scared. Hearing you beg,” came her response. “Best birthday present ever. You know that today’s my birthday, don’t you?”

His head felt disconnected from his body, but he tried to shake it. “No,” he ventured, honestly.

“Of course you don’t. Not that I didn’t tell you. Not that I’d planned a perfect night for us. You’ve ruined my birthday and my birthday celebration.”

“Look, please, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll bet the two of you had a good laugh about it. About me.”

“No. No,” he swore, his denial came in spurts. He realized she was going to go through with this, and tried to scream, but the words were swallowed in his nausea.

##########

When she had knocked at his door that evening, he couldn’t imagine why she’d come. “What are you doing here?” he’d asked.

“Is she here?” Her voice was flat and her words clipped.

He knew who she meant. The perfect woman he’d met when he finally thought he was rid of this one. His fiancée now. “Why would she be here?”

“Don’t screw with me. I know she lives here. Is she here?”

“No.” he tried to assure her. The word was barely out of his mouth when she shoved him and had walked past into the kitchen. He had tried to grab her arm as she circled halfway around him.

She had quickly pivoted and moved back a few feet. When she had swung her right arm forward, he saw she was holding his chef’s knife, its steel gleaming in the light above the island.

“What the fuck!” He had tried to grab it from her hand, but she was too quick. The pain had instantly engulfed his abdomen, and sent him backwards onto the floor.

“Jesus!”

“What’s my name?” she’d asked, laying the knife back on the counter top. His head was ablaze with the worsening pain. But he couldn’t remember her name.

He had lain silent, looking up at her.

“You don’t even know my name.” She had seemed almost happy at the fact.

She then had begun a disjointed recounting of the few times they’d dated. He had only been interested in one thing, sure, but she had definitely been willing. It had meant nothing to him. She meant nothing to him. He didn’t think she had taken their relationship seriously. She had seemed equally cavalier about their time together.

##########

“Please. It didn’t have to end this way.” he sputtered, as he repeated his earlier plea in an attempt to reason with her. As the blood darkened his t-shirt and pooled beside him on the floor, he looked up at her. He must have lost consciousness then as, the next thing he knew, she was hovering over him, smiling while she plunged the knife into his neck.

Looking at him there, a study in deep red, her expression changed. The smile was gone. “You’re wrong,” she said, as she kicked him in precisely the spot she’d first stabbed. “It did have to end this way.”

She ran the knife under water, then wiped it clean with a paper towel. She stuck the paper towel into her pocket and looked at him one more time.

She turned off the kitchen light as she walked out the door.