This has all happened to me once before. In fact, more than once has someone taken me into their arms and told me that I was the best thing to ever happen to them. I find love. I find happiness. I’m someone’s favorite everything. It makes me feel so warm, so wonderful, so beautiful… But it never lasts long enough. Once my “shiny newness” wears off, interest is lost and I begin being mistreated, and sometimes even abused. I tolerate this for a while. I was never very good at defending myself. I spend some time crying myself to sleep and contemplating what to do. What do I do when I’m stuck with the pain of being stuck with someone who doesn’t love me anymore?

I know when I’m just being kept around for the sex. I may be many things, but I’m no fool. So the cycle begins.

After thousands of tears and attempting to reason with him, my voice goes unheard, answered with a slap to the face, only making my knees weak and striking up my tears again. I stare at his eyes. There’s nothing there but cold hatred. How? He used to love me so much. That was gone. Long gone. Now it hurts too much to even try anymore. Not only was my heart breaking, but I was noticing the bruises from the abuse. I didn’t want anyone to see that. I took out my compact mirror from my purse. Five carved scratches were tallied in the upper right hand corner of the magnifying portion.

This wouldn’t be the first time I made someone pay, and if men stayed the same, it probably wouldn’t be the last. I would give him three days to change. Three days, and that was it. I might as well get everything out of him that I can while it’s still possible. I went to bed. This time, I wasn’t crying. I was blissfully content.

Day One

“GET OUT OF BED!” I was jolted awake by him yelling at me. What ever happened to that gentle “Wake up, honey…”? I sat up for a minute. This had become routine.

“Bacon and eggs?” I quietly asked. It didn’t matter how much I wanted to sleep. Apparently, his appetite was far more important.

“No, pancakes,” he retorted. He didn’t used to be this grouchy.

“Yes, darling,” I responded quietly. I wouldn’t let my anger get the best of me. I could’ve easily just poured rat poison into his coffee, but no… That wouldn’t be fun, now, would it?

After I gave him breakfast and had a little for myself, we ate quietly. It was funny, really. It was like he thought I didn’t know about all of those other numbers in his phone. It was like he thought the minute I went to the bed we used to share, I was asleep. I could hear his half of the conversations, and I knew what happened. He was having an affair. He only kept me around for three reasons that I could count.

I gave him sex, food, and whenever he had a shitty day, I was the dog he could kick so he could feel better.

“Why so quiet?” He asked, almost startling me.

“No reason, I’m just tired.” I lied. Lying to him had become far too easy. He took me for a dog. A dumb dog. Did he really think that he could bark orders and hurt me and expect me to remain so faithfully loyal?

The day continued as normal. He went to work, and I stayed home. I stayed home and cleaned up and spent a while on the internet. I tried to watch things to make me happy, but nothing could save him, now, especially since the “we” and “us” parts I cherished in that relationship had simply crumbled away into dust. When he came home, we had an argument. It was about money. The petty bastard cared too much about money and not enough about what really mattered. I went to sleep on the couch. He could have the bed. The pillows reeked of his sweat, anyway.

Day Two

I didn’t wake up to him shouting at me. I woke up first. It was still dark outside. I loved mornings like this. All was quiet aside from the few birds that, like I, woke before the sun rose. At least this would give me time to make Belgian Waffles. It wasn’t so much for him, because honestly, they were my favorite breakfast. I woke up first, and honestly, didn’t give half a damn what he wanted. I readied the coffee pot and gave a little sigh, flipping through a magazine. Seriously, what kind of asshole gets his fiancée a subscription to Cosmopolitan? It was nothing but sex tips on what men “really want”. I was pretty sure that was a hint. I could only roll my eyes and close the magazine. Photoshopped bimbos, all of them.

He finally woke up. Without a word, he downed one waffle and only demanded another. “None of that powdered sugar shit, this time.”

“Yes, dear,” any strength I once had had clearly been beaten out of me by withstanding this relationship.

It was Saturday, so it was clear that he wouldn’t be working. He wouldn’t be doing shit except ordering me around. A little smile started to tug at the corners of my lips.

“What’s so funny?” He was suspicious. At this point, he had every reason to be.

“Nothing is funny. It’s just such a beautiful morning. I’m so glad to be sharing it with you.” I always lied to him at this point. If he could read my mind, he probably would’ve dropped me off at the loony bin and ran. I already had my plans. Flipping on the television, I watched the weather, giving a little sigh of comfort. I curled up in my robe while he continued to eat his breakfast.

“Tomorrow’s forecast predicts a high of seventy six degrees and a low of fifty four. Southeast winds will be blowing about ten miles per hour.” Tomorrow would be a beautiful day, too. Especially for me.

I spent the rest of the day being almost painfully cheerful. The bastard hadn’t caught on, but oh, he would.

“Honey?” I piped up.

“What?” He never so much responded as he did barked back. Rude fuck.

“Do you want to go for a little hike tomorrow?” This was pretty common. I loved going for walks in the woods when the weather was nice enough.

“Sure. Whatever.” He mumbled back. He never really felt much enthusiasm for such a thing, but he did it anyway. I guess it was to keep him somewhat in shape. I knew he’d been hitting the gym lately, but I knew it definitely wasn’t for me, that is, unless it was to prove to me that I made a decent punching bag. He’d already proven that well enough.

After dinner, a simple dinner of chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese, I sat down to watch a movie on my computer. His phone rang. He picked up and marched off to the porch. It must’ve been whoever his new squeeze was.

I hoped he would enjoy this conversation, it would be his last.

I didn’t go to sleep that night. I never do right before I’m going to take someone out.

I stayed up, watching a few slasher flicks. They were always so formulaic and predictable, but if I was in the right mood, I’d watch them in marathon. He always hated those. He might’ve seen it coming, but I don’t think he did.

Day Three

I made breakfast again. I was up all night, so I didn’t have to worry about his abrasive screeching rattling me out of a peaceful sleep. I was making omelets, dropping little chopped up pieces of ham into the still-cooking egg, adding cheese, some onions, and a bit of green pepper. I would serve them topped with picante sauce. If he didn’t wake me up and tell me what to make, he’d usually be okay with whatever I made. He might bitch, but he’d still eat it. I cut off a smaller portion for myself and made toast. The smell of the coffee brewing woke him, and I was rather glad I didn’t have to get his grouchy ass out of bed. Toast popped out of the toaster at the perfect time. I spread butter on all four slices, setting the table up just as he was letting out his loud morning fart.

He came down stairs in a less-than-pristine state. He was often stinky and unwashed.

“What the fuck are these vegetables doing in MY eggs?” He’d already started yelling and he’d been up for all of five minutes.

“Because that’s how I make them.” I responded. I’d made omelets many times. He KNEW what I put in them. I think he was just looking for an excuse to bitch.

“Well, who pays the bills here?”

“You do, honey,” I answered. I tried to put on my best guilty face.

“That’s right. Now I’ll go get cleaned up. Get ready, I want to take that walk fast and come home in time to watch that war movie so I can give it back to Jake at work, tomorrow.”

“Okay.” I smiled. He smiled back. It almost made me want to let him live, but it was such a false smile. It was void of genuine happiness. Anything he did for and with me now had no truthfulness to it.

Grabbing the backpack I often took on hikes, I packed it with water and a small lunch for him and myself. Surely, I would be hungry when the job was done, so both of those were for me. I rolled up that itchy blue blanket I used to sleep under and stuffed that in the bag. I checked my purse. There was my trusty hunting knife. I never hunted animals. I just didn’t have the heart to hurt or kill something that didn’t hurt me first. I slipped that into the lunch bag with my name written on it. I started digging through my clothes and I got ready. Pulling on a short gray pair of shorts, a curve-hugging pink shirt and a gray sweat jacket, mostly to cover the bruises on my arms, I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. I always hated when my hair would stick to the back of my neck. I hated even more when I would get blood in it. Putting the thought aside, I put on my hiking shoes, pink and gray, fitting my favored color scheme. I brushed my teeth after he was out of the bathroom, drying off. He probably saw the bag I had packed, but he usually didn’t dig around in it. He tended to trust my judgment when it came to what would be packed. It's funny how someone who hurt me so much trusted me so greatly. That would be his last mistake.

After brushing my teeth, I applied makeup. A little bit of white eye shadow, and then light gray for a smoky look. I added a light ring of black eyeliner around each eye and gave each eye a couple of sweeps with my mascara. I always wanted to look good when someone would spend their last moments with me. I painted my lips with a shade that was too light to be red but too dark to be pink. Stepping out of the bathroom, I was ready.

“What are you all dolled up for?” he asked, sounding almost disgusted.

“I packed a blanket. I wanted to look good for you.” I stepped a little closer to him and let him wrap his arms around me. Our lips met with a passionless kiss. I knew he wouldn’t turn me down, later. In fact, I was counting on it.

The trek to my favorite spot in the woods was a rather long one. I found this beaten path a while back that was something like a thicket with a small divide, leading to what was a fairly large clearing. I spread the blanket. Digging in my lunch bag, I took out the hunting knife, sticking it in the back of my underwear for the time being. “Baby, are you coming?” Hell, I had to have fun with him one last time before I did the deed.

He was there in a skinny minute. He usually was if it was sex or food. I already had my jacket and shirt put aside, stuffed in the bag. He always commented on what a “sexy bitch” I was when I was in nothing but a bra and my shorts. I always hated being called a bitch.

I rested back on the blanket. I put my hands up above my head in a submissive position. He always seemed to love when I did that. Dropping his pants, his penis was already erect. Straddling me, he began to grind between my legs, his erection started to ooze precum, making a nasty mess out of my little gray shorts. Soon, my shorts and panties were soaked through, partially due to my own excitement. Really, who didn’t enjoy getting teased? It was just a matter of seconds before he stripped me of my shorts and tugged the little black panties I wore aside, plunging his dick into the wet hole, fucking me. He held my arms above my head and kept burying himself inside. We were both panting and gasping for breath and I even had trouble holding back a few pleasured moans. It wasn’t too long until he was finished, launching his sticky white load inside of me. Those fucking birth control pills had better work. That would be good enough for a last time. After he was done, he didn’t really care so much if I was. He stood up to take a drink of water and was about to pull his pants back up.

“I want more,” I murmured quietly. He paused for a minute. He NEVER turned that down. He almost never cooperated with anything I said unless it was that. In a matter of minutes, his dick, sloppily covered in my combined moisture and his cum, was erect again. About to push me onto my back, I shook my head. “No… Lay down, it’s my turn.” He cooperated. Any excuse to be a lazy asshole, I suppose.

Pulling my panties aside again, I started to ride his dick. I pulled up my sports bra so he could watch my breasts bounce, mostly because I was sick of them being neglected. He started bucking his hips and I would grind down each time. There was no love here, but it still felt pretty good to get a fuck in. I brought the knife out of the back of my panties, only causing him to freeze. I trailed the tip between his pectoral muscles and down his abdomen, only bringing a few little beads of blood to the surface of the skin. He’d already seen some of the things I was into, so this didn’t scare him so badly. I trailed my finger down the little line that was forming, licking off the blood. I stared into his eyes, and then I could see it. He looked a little scared. This only made me feel a small hint of victory.

I started bouncing harder, my breasts taking a leap each time I dropped. His shortness of breath only suggested his second finish was near. I wasn’t about to let him have that.

I plucked the knife up off of the blanket. Before he could finish, I buried it inside his stomach and dragged it upward, cutting through muscle and sinew. Terror filled his eyes. Blood was starting to pour from the open wound. I could see his intestines at this point. I leaned over him, giving a soft little whisper.

“Bye-bye, baby. I’ll see you in hell.”

He coughed, blood mixed in with his spit. My tongue lapped that up during a sloppy French kiss I insisted on having. I saw the life slowly drain from his formerly lust-filled eyes. I looked to my bruised arms and my broken heart began to feel ever so slightly warm once again. I dismounted his dead cock, only repositioning my underwear to seem as proper as they could after they were so heavily soaked. I looked at my fiancée’s lifeless body, only prying the ring off his finger. I could’ve ever-so-symbolically tossed it in the nearby stream, but I think pawning it off in the next town would be a wiser decision. I pulled down my bra, adjusting it back to a functioning position, and stuffed the ring between my breasts. Now, it was time for the really fun part.

The body was still warm. I ran my fingers over the exposed intestines. They were so smooth and slimy, covered in such beautiful crimson. I couldn’t help but lick my fingers. Some might say blood is an acquired taste, but I always licked my fingers if I’d prick them with a needle and whatnot. I loved the taste of blood. I began pulling the intestines from the corpse of my lover, yanking out the tubes and leaving them strewn about, unable to help but giggle. Oh, I only hoped he could see this in hell. I would saw through some of them with my trusty knife, just because I loved the feeling of doing so, tossing them about haphazardly. I’ve always been fascinated by how much of the tissue was crammed inside the human body. I just kept digging them out until I could see his spine. It gave me some sick sense of satisfaction. Oh, what a mess my poor fiancée was, now… What a pity. He used to be so handsome. He used to be everything I could ever want. Now he was NOTHING. He was a pile of worthless flesh, left to the vultures and the animals. Now he was JUST as worthless as he made me feel when he was still breathing. This warm blood, these squishy insides… That’s what I equated love to feeling like.

I had my fun for long enough. I didn’t even need to worry about the cleanup. The wolves and bears out here would take care of that for me. All felt right, now. As his corpse grew cold, I sighed. I had my fun. What a shame that couldn’t have lasted any longer. I felt everything but remorse, but I knew a normal person should; one that hadn’t been driven mad by abuse, that is.

I took the bottle of water he had been drinking and washed the blood off my hands and ran some of the water over my left kneecap. It had gotten a little bit bloody due to the incline of the surface, as blood is like any other liquid. It flows. I licked off the knife and rinsed it with some water afterwards for good measure. Packing everything except the blanket back in my bag, I pulled my shorts back on, despite their messy state. Digging in my pocket for the phone, I browsed through the pictures, leaving (what would’ve been) my future husband’s cold husk behind that thicket of trees. I deleted all of them that showed him. That was far behind me, now.

I could finally be free of the pain. I could finally stop crying myself to sleep. I could enjoy a couple of days alone before I reported this. I scratched another little tally mark into my mirror. Number six. I watched all the movies in the house, and both times I woke up from my nightly rest, I didn’t need to worry about him screeching at me to make a meal. In fact, by now, his bones were probably picked clean by the carnivorous wildlife in the woods and the carrion birds.

I figured it was about time to report him as missing. I started thinking of the things in my life that hurt me the most; all of my past relationships. That was enough to trigger some waterworks. I called Chuck and Robert, his only friends I knew of, and ‘asked them’ where he was and fed them some bullshit about a really bad argument. They both apologized, saying they hadn’t seen him since work. I knew that, but they didn’t need to know anything.


“H-hello.. I need to report my fiancée missing.”

“How long has he been missing?”

“He’s been gone since Sunday around this t-time.”

“Where was he going last?”

“I-I don’t know. We had a really bad argument and none of his friends have seen him. I even called and-and…” I paused to sob a little bit. “I even called his friends.”

I gave them a full description and everything they asked for over the phone and went to the police office to file the same information so it could be given to the NCIC. After all, what kind of murderer would report their own victim missing? I sobbed weakly, as forced as it was and one officer comforted me.

“I’m really sorry ma’am. We’ll get on this as soon as possible.”

“T-thank you, sir. I’m going to head home and make dinner in case…” My words stopped for a minute. “In case he comes b-back home.” I was given a look of pity. Exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

The End

Only some of his remains were found. Of course I cried and cried, bringing up the same feelings that the dead man had placed in my heart. The same feelings that made me kill him. His family paid for a small funeral and had (what was left of) him cremated. My parents took me back in; getting me back on my feet and helping me get a job. Everyone felt so sorry for me. It was nice to be the center of attention for a little while. I started taking care of myself, moving into a small house with two bedrooms and a bathroom. After about eight months, I started getting close to a wonderful man.

He has brown hair and blue eyes and the most charming smile I’ve ever seen. I love how tight he holds me and all of the jokes he tells. He’s so smart and funny!

I just hope he isn’t number seven.

Written by Shinigami.Eyes 
Content is available under CC BY-SA