At The Bottom Of A Barrel

He was in the driveway.

This was supposed to be done now. Bags were in his car. Money untraced and in that same glove box. I watched him on the couch, asleep and oblivious. Hmph. Just like he was for our entire dating relationship and subsequent, sorry marriage. I stood in the foyer, opening the curtains twice to let him know I was still in the house and to kill the lights.

That’s what we called this, killing the lights.

I stood in the archway of the great room, looked at my husband of almost a decade sleeping on the couch. Oblivious. I stood there, in all black to cover face and shape. I counted his breaths, and adjusted the 9mm in my left hand. It felt unnatural, and heavy. Ceasar had said one of the ways to get away with this was to become ambidextrous. I remember his hand and how it felt over my left hand. How he guided it, silencing my tears with his lips to my cheek. “Brianna, you can do it. You know he’s never going to let you go–and may not care if you leave.” I adjusted my hand around the weapon, feeling more deadly than I thought I should. Shooting him would be easier than aiming at the cans and bottles in Ceasar’s brother’s backyard.

I thought about how mean he was. How he didn’t want children. I thought about how he thought money fixed everything. I thought about he couldn’t even fuck me right in the last eight months. I walked to the end of the couch, looked at his dirty black sneakers on my gray couch I picked out with my best friend.

Oblivious.

Rude.

Aloof.

 

I thought about when I met Cesar at the company party. How sweet he was when he found me by the elevator when I started at his law firm. I thought about his eyes, his mouth and how he always held me after making love to me. I loved him. For two years, we waited. We thought. We planned. Cesar had him followed, mapped his days. We had sex in the martial bed. I moved out of our bedroom, and he seemed to not to notice. What helped was be finding panties in his car. Pink. Lacey. And three sizes to small. I left them there.

Oblivious, cheating aloof husband.

I made it to his torso, the icy feeling over my chest and flowed to my armed left hand. I thought about how perfect he tried to make me. I thought about how he made fun of my family whenever we would leave a visit with them. I thought about how I felt when I found the underwear. I thought about the sexy text message from the naked woman named Candy the PI Ceasar hired. He cloaked his phone to make sure when I left, his life would be over.

I stood over him, thinking of out last fight. I thought about how mean he was. How he stormed out, probably to go to Candy. I remembered I called Ceasar in tears. I told him how I was ready. “I can’t be here anymore!”

“You ready?” he asked, no levity in his voice.

“Definitely.” I answered.

I flexed my hand around the gun. Untraced. My gloves would be thrown away when we were far enough away. I cut hair a month ago, and it fit under the skull cap I wore. I left hand itched. I just had to be brave one more time. Just be in his face one more time.I raised my hand, just like Cesar taught me. “When you raise your arm, level your hand. Close your eyes. It helps sometimes. Squeeze and walk away.”

The cat and mouse game was about to be over. It was all about to end. I steadied my breathing, and watched his walnut brown face slack with sleep. I remembered the silencer in my pocket, felt my eyes water as I looked down to assemble it.

Just be brave one more time, Brianna. Just one more time.

He stirred and I didn’t move. I put the gun in my left hand again. All I could see was the newness. All I could see what was world without him in it. I closed my eyes, felt the barrel against his forehead and pulled the trigger.

I opened my eyes and walked towards the front door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[image from Window World]