Day 18: Creative writing prompt
I woke up this morning to see his face next to what looked like a hospital bed. My hands were connected to a tube and I felt a massive headache. My mouth felt sandpaper dry as I tried to focus my vision. I saw my husband with a bandaged head looking down at me with a weird expression on his face and tears streaming down his face. His voice broke as he said, “I thought I had lost you”. That’s when it all came back to me.
The fight had been explosive, the worst we have had to date. I just could not take any more of his nonchalant attitude towards the pain he was causing me. He did not even care about this relationship, he checked out two years ago, so what was the point? I told him it was over and I was done. He looked at me with a big grin and said: “You will never be able to live without me.” That’s when I decided to go into the bathroom to cry the lump in my throat away. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me break down in front of him.
“Was he right?”, I thought to myself. “Will I never be able to walk away from him? “Am I destined to be alone?” “Why would God allow this to be my portion?” I sobbed uncontrollably, shaking so hard I thought I was going to break. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and it broke my heart so much I cried even harder. “You are so pathetic”, I thought to myself. I decided crying was not going to solve anything. I decided no one is coming to save me, I must save myself. I walked out of the bathroom and saw him sitting on the couch, so engrossed in the Manchester United vs Sheffield United match that was showing on the screen. I hated that he could still continue with his life as if he hadn’t just shattered mine. I decided right then that I hated him.
He did not even hear me come back into the room. I looked at the big vase by the table next to the couch. I tiptoed so that he would not hear me and grabbed it. I hit him in the back of the head with it. It felt so good to hear his surprised gasp and pained voice as he fell over on the carpet. I checked him, he looked as if he had passed out.
I quickly went into the bedroom that we had shared for ten years and walked straight to the drawer beside my bed. I knew that if he woke up before I was done, he would definitely kill me. So I rushed, panicking as I looked for the pills. I swallowed a handful of them and rushed back into the bathroom for some water. I lay on the bed and waited to die. By the time he woke up, I was dying. Or so I thought. I faintly felt myself being shaken, but he would never save me. I felt strong hands cooping me up from the bed and heard what sounded like the ambulance siren. I thought I had imagined it because I was supposed to be dying.
I felt the sharp pain of failure and turned away from him. I could not even look at him, what will I even say? And why was he crying?
To be continued…