The Second Coming of Me

“Who are you?” I say as I look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I stare a while trying to process what exactly I’m looking at. Trying to process whether the past few hours actually happened or if I’d imagined it. The process of cleansing myself begins with washing my hands. I turn the water to the hottest setting. This needs to burn. I need to feel something right now. I put my hands under and just hold them there. The heated liquid is helping warm the chill deep in my bones. The blood and dirt that have made a thick crust on my hands start to rinse off. With so much mud, the sink is draining slowly. There’s a muddy, bloody puddle of swirls pooling.

My eyes shut tight. Maybe if I can't see the evidence of the nightmare that unfolded, then it didn’t happen. Maybe when I open my eyes, I’ll be waking up from a terrible dream. I let out a deep breath slowly and open my eyes. That was wishful thinking. My reflection still stares back at me. A loud, guttural scream of frustration leaves my body and my hand punches the face I see. The mirror makes a loud noise as it shatters beneath my knuckles. Great, more blood for me to clean.

Forget the sink, it’s time for the shower. The dirty clothes I’m wearing don’t peel off easily. They're clinging to me just as tightly as I’m clinging to the hope that everything will be okay. No one will find out. They can’t find out. This can't ruin the life I’ve so carefully built brick by brick. My children don't need to know what darkness their mother is capable of. Finally, rid of the clothing that I plan to burn later, I open the glass door and step into the shower.

The steam envelops me like a cloud. Everything around me blurs. My body slides to the floor in a controlled manner so I don’t faint. Emergency services personnel don’t need to find me naked and unconscious when I don't pick up the kids from their grandparents later in the day as scheduled.

The last thing I need is anyone inside this house. At least not until I’m ready to allow them in. They’ll be here eventually, searching the home for any clue as to where my husband could have gone. But not yet, I’ll call to report him missing when I’m ready. I end up falling asleep as I sit there thinking while letting the water wash over me.

The water starts to run cold, and it wakes me. I don’t know how much time has passed. There’s no more blood that’s readily visible. But it wasn’t washed from my memories. Whenever my eyes close he’s lying on his belly on wet earth amongst the twigs, moss and dead leaves. His head faces me and his eyes are open. The white of the sclera is a stark contrast to the dark red covering the rest of his face. The look he has in his eyes conveys he’s begging me to save him and at the same time wondering why I’ve done this. He might still be semiconscious, but he can’t speak. His eyes will have to do it for him.

Every drop of blood that leaks out of his wounds pulls more life with it. There’s nothing I can do to stop this now, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. We’re past the point of no return. His eyes dim slowly as sweet justice is setting in. The light is leaving him and soon all that will remain is a body that belongs to no one but me. It’s mine and I get to choose what to do with it.

Every inch of him seems to be thrumming with pain. He has only moments left of his pathetic existence and he knows it. Guess he’s realized I wasn’t joking when I said I wish him dead. He laughed it off like I could never have the upper hand against him. And yet I’m the reason he’s about to be in the ground. This is something that needed to be done. There was no other choice. He deserves the harshest punishment for his actions. There is no forgiveness just consequences. I have forgiven him far too much over the years. I’ve let too much slide, and it’s time that ends. I will not allow him to continue living his life as if nothing happened. Going through the legal system wouldn’t be enough. No, I need to handle this on my own.

Before dawn he’s dead and buried deep where no one will ever find him. The world will be stuck wondering what happened and where he went. In time they’ll come up with their own wild theories, but the truth will be mine alone. He belongs to me like he’s always told me I belonged to him.

Snapping out of my trail of thoughts back to the current moment, I shut off the shower and step out. There is a clean towel hanging on the hook to my right, so I grab it and wrap it around my midsection. I don’t bother putting my hair in a towel this time. I just let it drip dry. My steps need to be purposeful to avoid the smashed glass from the mirror.

The house is quiet. There are no kids playing, laughing or crying like there would usually be at this time on a Saturday morning. There’s no husband pestering me to find something he’s lost in plain sight or berating me for not having his sock drawer completely restocked. There’s just me. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a moment like this. I try to soak it in as best as I can. Had this been under different circumstances, I might be enjoying it more than I am now. Even though I’m alone, I carefully tiptoe into our room, a habit I’ll have to work on letting go of. The bed is still made. The fluffy covers call out, but this day requires something else of me.

I throw on a clean black t-shirt and well-worn jeans that are just a little too loose on my hips, the way I love them. I hang my towel up on the top of the shower, straightening it completely, making sure it dries evenly. Turning around, I’m forced to face the dirt-covered pile of clothes still sitting on the bathroom floor. I throw them into a white garbage bag that smells of Gain, though it’s now laced with a metallic tang, and trek out to the fire pit out back. The shards of broken glass from the mirror I’ll have to deal with later.

Thankfully, we live in the country and the neighbors aren’t close, so I don’t have to worry about anyone watching me. My hands shake as I light a match. The fire starts small then when it’s really roaring I throw the clothes and shoes in. I stand there and watch them disintegrate. The smell of the burning fabric wafts around me reminding me of a sage cleansing process. This whole process is cathartic.

Once the clothes are turned to ashes, I realize I’m breathing easier. The air in a world without him is lighter. I breathe deeply, and the tears begin to pour from my eyes. I’m free of him, of his demands, expectations and control. I’m no longer a prized possession but rather just a human. I can be myself now. There’s no more performing for anyone. Who exactly it is that I am is at this point a mystery, but right now I don’t care. I’ll figure that out in due time. There’s no one here to tell me otherwise. The tears don’t stop for a long time. I sit in the grass and sob uncontrollably. Every negative emotion and experience feels like it’s leaving my body. The nearby fire is absorbing all of my trauma. I’ve not only burnt evidence of a murder but also the emotional baggage that’s been weighing so heavily on me for as long as I can remember.

Last night might have been the end of his life, but it was also the second coming of me. The me that can exist in a world without him.