hunter and the haunted

Her fingers danced across the contours of his face, tracing the curve of his cheek, brushing against his defined jawbone. Her lips curled into a lingering smile as she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. A soft giggle bubbled from her throat as she stroked his hair and lay her head on his chest.

Yes, she loved this man. She loved that he could show her love. She loved that he could make her feel. She loved that he assured her of his constant, undying loved. She traced her fingers down his sculpted torso, her fingers meeting the sticky red. She did not contain the laughter that clawed it's way out of her throat this time. She pushed herself off of his unmoving body as her hand reached out to slap his face. Another laugh tumbled out of her mouth as her already bruised knuckles contacted his broken nose. Her nails scraped across the bloody gashes across his chest as her hands were coated in the blood of the man she once loved.

She slipped off the high, king-sized bed pulling off her bloodstained robe, exposing her soft silk shorts and her fitting ice blue tank top, tie-dyed with the darkest, most sinister shade of red. More than that, as she appraised herself in front of the mirror, she could see beneath the dried blood of her husband where her creamy skin had been marked. The black and blue tattooed into her skin, in some places a darker shade, a raw shade and a repelling shade of aged yellow, like faded love. These were the patches of black and blue and black and blue that branded her as his.

She still remembered the fear that would build up as he rattled the key in the lock right before he stepped in. She remembered her little five year old Henry tracing the dark finger-like patterns up her throat asking, does daddy love you, mommy? She remembered the way the answer got lodged in her throat as she struggled with herself to answer the question. Does he? Did he?

She brushed the memory away carelessly, now, as she gripped the bloodied knife blade in her hand, her palm oozing with her own blood as her fingers told her to hold on tighter. She screamed as the back of her free hand dragged along her wet eyes, mixing blood, mascara and tears.

She had killed him She had killed him, his desire to kill her irregardless. She had killed her husband. Her hands shook as she fell to her knees in a pool of blood. She had killed him. In tying to kill the monster she thought her husband was, she had become the monster. Like energy, it cannot be destroyed. She was a manifestation of his evil.

And if he didn't deserve to live...neither did she.

Epilogue:

They passed Henry amongst themselves, pressing kisses to his tear stained face. Henry did not know the prayers they mumbled under their breath, but they knew exactly what they cursed at his parents

But his parents promised that they loved each other. Maybe Daddy loved Mommy so much that he thought he would show her. Maybe every night, Mommy cried because she was so happy that Daddy loved her. Maybe this was the adult love, the kind Mommy never let him watch on the TV.

Fifteen years later, it was still the only kind of love he knew.

♡♡ irdina suleiman ♡♡