| THE KILLER |
I wonder how people feel on the day they are going to die.
Are they sadder than usual? Are they happier than usual? Do they ask strange questions or do strange things? Does the universe send them signals to protect them or does it push them to their demise? Do they feel it in their gut that something tragic is lurking? Do they sniff the silent smell of death as it seeps through their nostrils?
All these questions swirl in my head as I sit on my big bed, staring at my beautiful boyfriend.
We've been together for ten years.
And I will kill him tonight.
"What time are you coming back, Jack?" I ask as he puts on a black leather jacket.
"Around seven or eight." He replies, pulling up his blue jeans.
Perfect. That gives me enough time to cook for him. Poison the food. Set the table. Force him to sit down and eat. Watch him swallow the food in a rush because he's on the night shift at work. Kiss him goodbye. Sit back on my couch and watch TV. Wait for the devastating call.
I'm still in my pajamas, watching Jack put on the expensive perfume I bought him last year. He brushes his dark wavy hair and glances at the mirror, a little smirk on his face. He's so pleased with himself.
Jack looks happier than usual. His green eyes are gleaming. His skin is glowing. He's even laughing. Poor thing. He doesn't know what awaits him. He doesn't know that this is the last day he will share a bed with that slut.
Yes, this skinny failure of a man with gorgeous green eyes is cheating on me. A fabulous famous singer with tonnes of awards and a fat bank account.
I settled for him. Even when my friends warned me. Even when my fans warned me. Even when the world warned me. I picked him and settled with him. I could've had any man I wanted but I picked him. Love is blind, right?
Jack is a chef at a cheap restaurant with poor customers. His salary only pays for sweets and candies. My salary pays for the important stuff. Bills and meals. It's the same salary that bought us a posh house in a nice neighborhood filled with prominent celebrities. He was so angry when I bought the house without telling him. He said he felt disrespected: like his opinion didn't matter in this relationship. To be honest, I just think he was angry and jealous that he couldn't afford such a lavish house. But I knew it was not just about the house. No, it's something deeper than that. It's my success - it has always been the big elephant in the relationship. The thing that stood between us.
He's always felt intimidated by my success and booming career. He's always felt like less of a man because I outshined him in every possible way and the world worshipped me. Not him.
That's the main reason he chose to cheat on me with the cheap slut. He could finally be with someone as cheap as him. Someone who couldn't intimidate him or threaten his masculinity with her success.
After the public scandal last year, I decided to take a break from my music career and just stay at home. Be a good girlfriend. Cook for my man. Do his dishes. Wash his boxers. Do all that bullshit that good girls are supposed to do for their men. So I did that. I went from a successful icon to a stay-at-home girlfriend in a snap of a finger. I made the biggest sacrifice a successful woman can make. I gave up my career for a man. Not just any man. A poor man with a diminishing career.
And then the man cheated on me. With a cheap slut.
That's why I have to kill him.
When men cheat, women cry and run to their fake friends. Their fake friends cry with them and recommend a therapist. The therapist pities them and gives bullshit advice about self-love. f**k that. I don't need therapists to tell me about self-love when they don't even love themselves. The only thing I want is to kill that jerk. I want him dead.
I can't be the popular singer who quit her booming career just to stay home with her cheating boyfriend who works in a cheap restaurant. The world will scorn me. The monstrous media will laugh at me. Haters will make memes of me. Gossip shows will discuss me. Wendy Williams will ridicule me. Twitter will troll me. The Internet will drag me down. All because I picked a foolish frog instead of a perfect prince.
My worst fear is the news breaking out and Jack moving on with that cheap woman. That would be a nightmare. The world would feel sorry for me.
I prefer my loyal fans feeling sorry for me after the sudden death of my boyfriend rather than the pity that comes after a man cheats. Just thinking about the pathetic pity and the sorry smiles on their sorry faces is sickening.
"Are you okay?" Jack snaps his fingers on my face, making me snap back to reality.
Sometimes the sea of thoughts swallows me. It's been happening a lot lately. Especially after I found out about my boyfriend's infidelity.
"Yes, I'm fine." I scratch my head. "I'm just feeling a little tired and sleepy."
"You slept the whole afternoon." He says with that condescending tone. "Your poor sleeping habits are concerning."
My sleeping habits have always bothered Jack. He doesn't say it but it's because he thinks I'm lazy. What he doesn't know is that I barely sleep at night when he's on the night shift. I watch tonnes of murder documentaries with women killers who have killed their husbands in the most diabolical and disturbing ways. I wish I could kill Jack in the same way.
Jack bends to kiss me briefly on the lips.
That's a little odd...
I can't remember the last time he kissed me on the lips. I also can't remember the last time he bothered to say goodbye when he leaves. There's something amiss about him today. Maybe he can actually sniff death... maybe the universe is trying to stop me from killing him...
"Forgetting something?" I ask, holding up the golden promise ring he almost left on the bedside table.
"Oh." He takes the ring but doesn't wear it. "Goodbye, Bee."
Jack shuts the door as I sink into bed, listening to the fading sound of his footsteps. I jump from the bed and bolt to the window to get a glimpse of him. He puts on a black helmet and climbs his black bike. He rides away, his hair dancing in the wind.
He said he was going to watch a football game with his broke boys. But I know that he's going to screw that slut and come back home smelling like her cheap perfume and stinky p***y.
I should start making dinner for Jack. How ironic. The thing he loves the most - the thing that built his career - is the same thing that's going to kill him. Food.
The doorbell rings.
That must be the delivery guy. I ordered some expensive wine to celebrate the occasion.
I run down the stairs and step on something on the floor. The golden promise ring. Jack must have dropped it. The doorbell rings again as I pick it up.
I fling the door open and my heart slams against my chest. I drop the ring, sending it rolling on the floor.
He storms into the house and slams the door. He takes off the black helmet and hurls it on the floor.
My stomach clenches when he draws the knife from his jeans. I freeze on the floor.
"I'm back." He grins. "For the promise ring."
My name is Billie Brown.
I'm a famous singer.
And this is the day I will die.