I'm deeply in love with the body of my violent husband.
It was a silly mistake. When I tried to nail my husband's favourite picture to the wall, the hammer slipped on the return, and the claw went through his head. He was standing right behind me and micromanaging like always.
He fell to the floor of the flat, the claw deep into his thick head. I wiggled it out by putting one foot on his head.
This caused a lot of blood, which looked like a water bubbler bubbling above his left eye. All of these things made the Persian rug he demanded we buy with my already-overdrawn Capital One credit card look dirty.
So as not to damage the flat too much (and lose my security deposit), I dragged him into the bathroom, where he finally died.
I felt sorry for him, so I sponge bathed his pale body and cleaned him well in a way he never did himself.
After being shocked, I filled the tub with hot water until it reached our chins. There was a strange feeling in me that if I let go, he'd fall under and die. So I held his up.
My thoughts were going fast. I stayed put where I was. I looked at my husband for days instead of hours. His face fell, and his body tensed up. I no longer thought he would choke me like he did a lot of times when I did something "bad."
Then things started to go wrong:
I fell deeply in love with the jerk again. I had always wanted a man like him but never had one. He was cold and still. He was always at home, never asked for money, and never said anything bad.
The dirty, smelly bathroom became our cosy little love nest. Since he lost the key to our wedding hotel room and couldn't rape me again that night, it was honestly the best time we'd had together.
No one came to the flat door, not even family. Everyone, even the Grubhub and Doordash delivery guys, didn't like my husband's brags and rants. I lived off of peanut butter, bread, and the peace of mind I had gained. Of course, all my husband needed to keep his skin from drying out was to be oiled every day.
I got motivated and began writing in a book about how better life was without my husband. Some important points:
1. He passed stinky beer gas the last time when he fell down after I killed him.
2. Stop calling me for love at 4 a.m., when I just got my period.
3. Since the power company turned off the power, his body keeps me cool at night.
4. He can't have the key (after I took it from his cold, dead hands).
5. Finally, there's the strong, quiet type.
6. I speak. It's okay. At least it looks like it does when I move his face in a certain way.
7. I'm on top when we make love now.
Yes, love did grow in our secret hideaway. We felt like a "Do Not Disturb" sign was put on our whole relationship.
But, as the great thinkers say, everything good muss end. The lights have been turned off and the water has stopped running because I'm behind on my rent.
I'm sorry to say that our second holiday is over. Soon, the cops will be there. It's almost smelly. My neighbours have probably also begun to smell my husband.
The police might let us say our vows again at a funeral home or cremation before I go to jail. Oh, I hope not. I can see his urn sitting on top of the wedding cake right now.
We hope that things will go better between us next time.
You can love a dead body, though. Another can always be taken apart if you get tired of this one.
Go! Bang!
Say "Open up!"
There are police at the door threatening to break it in!
"Wait a minute. "I'm not dressed," I told my husband as I dragged him into our bedroom. It wasn't tough. He must have lost a lot of weight.
"Lady, you have three minutes." We'll then break it down. The building manager asked us to check on everyone's well-being. The hallway smells bad. Are you okay?"
I yelled as I put on my old wedding dress, "Better than ever!" Thank goodness it still worked. I guess that was the good thing about all the cottage cheese, warm water, and toast my husband made me eat.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Almost there!"
Oh no!
In lightning-fast steps, I stuffed my husband into his suit, helped him stand up, and made him smile wide.
The police came into our bedroom together, stopped, and stared. They didn't say anything.
With my mind racing after weeks of being alone, it seemed right to ask, "Is the limo outside?"
The closest police officer found his words and asked, "The what?" I knew he was a sergeant because of his badge.
"The car. to take us to the wedding. We're making our vows again."
"Uh…"
A woman cop, who was mature and smart, pushed her way to the front. "Okay, honey. It's waiting down below. We're the police guard. The road will be cleared."
She looked at the sergeant and lightly tapped her on the head. He said yes.
This made me mad. "Oh, you think I'm crazy?"
"Darling, what woman isn't getting married today?" She put out her arm. "Let's go downstairs now." This sergeant will help your husband. He has a little of a top. That's a man for you. "As strong as steel, except when it comes to walking down the aisle."
I walked down the stairs slowly and with great majesty. The street was empty except for several police cars with bright lights.
"The police lead?"
"You can call it that," the policewoman said. She was really nice.
There was a long, black Cadillac pulling up. Two angry men came out and took my husband from the sergeant's arms.
Say, "Are you the limo drivers?" I inquired.
One of them, an older man in blue plastic gloves, looked at me strangely. "Madame, we're from the mortuary."
Before I could do anything, the policewoman stepped in. "Your husband is going to ride with them." She led me to a grey four-door car and said, "You're up here."
I started to move around. Something didn't seem right for the first time since I killed my husband. "Do you mean we're riding alone?" "I've never heard of that."
The officer said, "Bride magazine says it's the newest trend." She got a stronger hold on him.
I hit her in the face.
Three people—two cops and the driver of the grey sedan—forced me into the back seat. A seat belt and wide leather straps were used to hold me in place. A loose hood fell over my head. I used my teeth to bite it. A label that was torn fell over. Property State Hospital was written on it.
"We're not going to a church!" You're putting me in jail!"
The officer told the woman, "You'll have your own private room." It hurt her lip and made her face red.
"The honeymoon suite is its name." "After you," the driver yelled. He put the car in drive.
"Why?"
"It's the same locked room you were in when you killed your first husband ten years ago," the policewoman said. The top was moved around so I could breathe better. "That time with a ball peen."
The secret I had kept hidden after they let me go on conditional release all came back to me now. My weird dad. This is how angry I am. I don't like very bad guys.
I yelled. And screamed all the time, every day for years and years.
To make sure that my voice and the voices of all women who have been mistreated were finally heard.
