Killer Therapist

This Friday is a Friday that changes Angelina’s life forever. Because this Friday, she’s given a second chance to keep fighting for her marriage, given by a man who’s hired to kill her.

Angelina pulls into her driveway, gets out with her Publix grocery bags, and walks towards her front door. A BMW is parked not too far down the road. No one’s in it and sticks out like a sore thumb. You see, her house is the only house on this road. A gorgeous house just for one now.

Angelina opens the front door, slips off her outside shoes, and makes her way to the kitchen. She turns the corner to drop off her bags but doesn’t see the man sitting at her table drinking her beer. She screams, grabs a knife from the drawer, and holds it ready to strike. The man just sits there, unfazed by this woman who has a weapon. You see, he has a better weapon. A hand gun with a silencer. This man never picks up his gun. Even without the gun, he’d likely over power her. He’s over six feet and stocky.

Angelina inches her way to the exit. The man picks up the gun now. That stops her movement.

“Who are you?” Angelina asks. “How did you get in?”

“I’m here because your husband David hired me to kill you."

“David hired you to kill me?”

“That is what I said.”

“Why? Why would he do such a thing to me?”

“Because you want a divorce. Your lawyer is the next person I visit.”

“What a piece of shit he is.”

“But he hired me, nonetheless. So why don’t you come over here and sit down and we can talk.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? Sit down.”

Angelina pulls a chair out.

“Leave the knife over there,” the man says.

She puts the knife back into the drawer, pulls the chair out and sits down. She trembles, barely making eye contact with the man with the gun. She keeps looking out the back door and towards the front door.

“Relax. I know you have no kids, and both know the husband isn’t coming home, so it’s just you and me.”

“Ok.”

“So why are you pushing for a divorce?”

“I don’t have to tell you.”

“Kind of do.”

“The marriage isn’t working anymore.”

“Why?”

“Many reasons. I’d rather not tell you, and it’s none of your business.”

“You walking out of that front door again, depends on you telling me your business. So, start yapping.”

“What does it matter? You’re here to kill me. You’ll just do what you were hired to do.”

“Not necessarily.”

“The bastard’s cheating on me.”

“I know. But why?”

“Because he’s a man.”

“You’re going to throw out that cliché?”

Nothing from Angelina. The man gets up and grabs himself another beer.

“You want something?”

“No.”

“Does him cheating have to do with the fact, that you stopped having sex with him?”

“That’s horseshit.”

“When was the last time you had sex with him?”

“I don’t know. A month ago.”

“You sure?”

Angelina isn’t. Her head is looking down in embarrassment. She gets up and grabs some wine.

“That a girl. As I asked, when was the last time you guys had sex.”

She sits back down, takes a big drink of wine.

“Five months ago…I think.”

“Don’t you think that’s a long time, for a husband to not have sex with his wife?”

“I suppose. Just haven’t been in the mood lately.”

“Why? Is it because you don’t find him attractive anymore?”

“I do. I haven’t been feeling good about myself. Kind of afraid to take off my clothes.”

“But don’t you think if he still finds you attractive, and still wants to have sex with you, that maybe you should get over your own insecurities? The mere fact that your husband is still trying to get that ass, should give you confidence.”

“I guess. He doesn’t know how to talk to me anymore. He just asks if I ‘wanna to do it.’ Not exactly romantic.”

“I understand. But he’s a man. We don’t operate like you. I’d be more worried if he didn’t try to have sex with you. That’s a big problem. What else is pushing for a divorce?”

“He’s never here. He’s always at work. All he does is work and work and work. When he comes home, all he wants to do is have sex; ask me if I want to do it, eat something, then lays on the couch. That’s been the routine for the past year or two.”

The man gets up and grabs a small computer bag he brought. He opens it up and grabs his phone.

“I want to show you something,” he says.

He turns the screen towards her, pushes play, and looks at Angelina watch the screen. A man’s voice comes over the speaker.

“Yes, I find my wife attractive. I try to have sex with her all the time. You think I wanted to cheat on her. But I had no choice. This shit has been going on for too damn long. And I get it, I work too much, but shit, we live in a pretty nice house, and she doesn’t have to work; gets to sit home all day, hang out by the pool. All I ask is she have sex with me when I ask, and cook a meal once in a while. Sure, I could sweeten what I say, but damn, I bust my ass for her. I bust my ass so she can have nice things. All I get is shit on, all the time. Then she comes to me one day, hands me divorce papers and tells me she’s going to take everything I have. Fuck that. That bitch isn’t getting shit. I earned all this money. I did all this for her.”

The man puts his phone off to the side.

“I think he’s right. You live in a pretty nice house. I was out by the pool earlier and kind of jealous,” the man says. “You think he has a point?”

“No. Because he fucked some other woman. He should have come to me and told me these things.”

“According to him, he did. You just blew him off and said you don’t want to hear it. A half dozen times.”

“You don’t understand what it’s like to be his wife. I have to go to the bathroom.”

She gets up.

“Leave your phone,” he says.

“Fine.”

Once in the bathroom, she tries to open the windows but no luck. She sits on the toilet to ponder the next move. No hope for now. Time to face the music. She comes out and sits back down. The man is cool as can be and drinking another beer.

“When I broke in, I made sure to check all exits. But nice try,” he says.

“Fuck you.”

“That was another reason your husband hired me. You have become really hard to be around…according to his words. Listening to you, I kind a get it.”

“My husband can be a prick. If I didn’t have his laundry done, he would berate me. If I didn’t put gas in the car when he asked, he would fly off the handle. If I left the garage door open, their would be hell to pay. So, spare me the bullshit where I’m such a bitch. You’re not here when he pulls his shit. But I have to die because I don’t want to deal with it anymore."

“You live in a pretty nice house. You drive a really nice car. I see it’s a G-Wagon. That’s a six figure SUV. Nice designer clothes on your back. Could your husband maybe change his tone at times – I’m sure. But to push for a divorce and try to take half his shit, I don’t think that’s fair. I think I’d kill you myself.”

Angelina goes silent. She knows the man is making valid points. She walks to the fridge and starts to make something to eat. The man’s eyes on her the whole time, just in case she tries anything funny. She sits back down and starts eating some cheese and crackers.

“Guess this is my last meal.”

“Your husband did say you had a good sense of humor.”

“That’s sweet of him.”

“He also said you’re pretty sarcastic.”

Angelina chews and drinks the snack of a well-to-do house wife. She’s eating some real fancy cheese and drinking some really fancy wine.

“What else does your husband do that pisses you off?” he asks.

“He leaves his clothes all over the bedroom floor.”

The man starts to help himself to the cheese on her plate.

“This some good cheese. Probably bought from the money your husband works hard for,” he says. “What else?”

Her silence is very telling.

“Ok, has he ever touched you?” he asks.

“No.”

“So, what else has he done, that’s so bad to warrant a divorce and take his shit?”

Angelina walks over to the fridge and puts the cheese back, pours another glass of wine, then sits back down and stares out back.

“While you ponder that question, let me tell you a story,” he says. “Your husband isn’t the first spouse to hire me. Husbands and wives are some of my biggest customers. As you probably know, marriage isn’t exactly thriving in our country. Divorce rates are high, lot of infidelity; men and women are not connecting anymore. Our priorities are all screwed up. We don’t want to love one another because men and women are too busy loving themselves. We want to know how much we can get from the other, to add to some tally, for reasons to stay with that person. Kind of like what you are doing. Every time I have a spouse trying to give me money – and I usually take it – it breaks my heart. Do you think I want to be here? I don’t want to take your life. I hear the same bullshit from each spouse that tries to hire me. He or she does some trivial thing that could easily be fixed, with just a little communication. One spouse gets fed up, finds someone else, to bring some short-term happiness. You’re a cliché and a spoiled one at it. Your husband also got lazy about what it means to be a man of the house. So, I decided that instead of taking easy money, adding to my retirement and body count, I would see if I could be a quasi-therapist and try to bring some good into this world, not take it out. You are my first patient. That is why you are sitting there, drinking wine, and talking to me. And not being wrapped up in a blanket and thrown in the back of my BMW. Everybody else has been…until now."

The man gets up and puts the empty beer can away. He grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge and takes a big gulp of it. Then looks out towards the nice pool.

“What does your husband do that is good?” he asks.

“He’s really good with his hands and knows how to fix things around the house. He remembers my birthday and our anniversary. When I’m sick, he’s good at taking care of me. If he wants to cook, he can do a pretty good job of that. My family likes him.”

“Why didn’t you guys have any kids?”

“I didn’t want any.”

“Did he?”

“Yes.”

“So, you denied the man some kids. You think that was fair?”

“At the time I did. But hearing you say it now…no.”

“But you want to take all his shit.”

“I don’t want to take all his shit. I just want my fair share.”

“Of what? You pay for any of this?”

“No.”

“So, what do you think is yours?”

“I don’t know. I guess nothing. I do make this place a home.”

“That he bought. Yet you want to take that away from him.”

Angelina starts to tear up. She grabs some Kleenex, wipes her eyes, and blows her nose.

“He’s a really good cuddler, when I could get him to do it,” she says.

“He doesn’t seem too bad of a man, after you say things out loud.”

“He fucked another woman.”

“But can you blame him? Did you hear everything we talked about?”

“Yes.”

The man sits back down, grabs his gun, and points it to the side of Angelina. She gets nervous again. Perhaps this is the time to die.

“Here’s what I think,” he says. “You lost what it means to be a wife. But I also think he has taken you for granted over the years. I think both of you guys are pieces of shit. But I’m trying to see the light myself and change for the better. So, you call off the divorce, hire a therapist, pull your head out of your ass, and start being a better wife and appreciate what you have. I reserve the right to come back and take you out if you don’t. I will deal with David. You don’t deserve any of his shit or money. So, get that out of your head. You’re living another day, another day to make things right and not be a statistic. Are we clear?

Angelina nods her head with vigor. Wiping tears between nods.

“Here is the number to a good marriage counselor. He helped me and my wife save our marriage. He’s expecting your call,” he says.

The man removes the silencer from the gun, puts both back in his bag and walks out the front door. Angelina breaks down completely. She gets a second chance at love and to save her marriage.