How To Kill Your Husband (Ch. 5) (Patreon)

[[Trigger Warning: Brief Physical Violence/Abuse]]

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***

Sunday morning, I go into work at Petals like everything’s normal. Maisie greets me with a warm hello, but when she sees my face, her smile falls away. “What’s wrong, hon?”

I sigh. Maisie is too damn perceptive. “Oh, the usual. Jack’s back in meetings. I hope this time it sticks.”

Maisie shakes her head, heaving an even bigger sigh than mine. “Oh, girl. Sure it will, for a while. How many times do you want to ride this rollercoaster?”

I give my usual answer: “I’ll put in the effort as long as he does.” 

Maisie frowns, showing faint lines at the corners of her pursed lips. “I have a number you can call, if you need some support. I’ll write it on a post-it by the register.”

I push a lock of hair away from my face. Maisie makes this offer whenever Jack slips. Every time, I feel more and more ashamed for putting up with him. I can’t help but worry that Maisie thinks less of me for staying. “If the meetings don’t work out, I might take you up on that.”

“All right.” Maisie takes a deep breath and puts on a smile. To me, it seems more than a little forced. “Why don’t you change out the displays before we open?”

I perk up. Changing the displays is one of my favorite jobs. “Thanks, Maisie.”

Maisie waves me off. “Get going, girl. I got plants to water.” She heads into the storage room, pausing briefly to look at me. Even from a distance, the worry etched into the lines of her face weighs on my heart. I look away until I hear the door close.

Once Maisie has left, I take down the old window displays. “Sorry you didn’t get bought,” I tell the flowers, “but I’m sure you’ll make someone smile.” Maisie donates her extra flowers to local hospitals and women’s shelters. I often run them there during my lunch breaks when I can.

Once I’m finished, I enter the storage room in search of new flowers. The cold, crisp temperature washes over me like a shock of ice water, and the smells of all the different flowers collide in my nose. I close my eyes, taking a moment to breathe it all in.

No. I won’t give this up for Jack. Not for anyone.

Maisie is fussing with the sunflowers—a personal favorite—but I’m drawn to the roses. Something about them reels me in like a fish on a hook. I walk over, choosing some of the most vibrant red blossoms.

“Don’t use ‘em all at once,” Maisie says, peering over her shoulder at me. “Those are high value flowers.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get some filler. What do we have?”

“You got eyes, don’t you? Look around.” From the tilt of Maisie’s smile, I can tell she’s teasing. The woman may be a bit nosey, and more than a little stubborn, but she doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.

Turns out we’ve got plenty of white carnations from graduation season. Red and white—always classy. Plus, white carnations can mean good luck. Maybe the people buying the bouquets will be better spouses than Jack is to me.

I make several bouquets, and for the front window, I arrange the carnations into white wreaths, with the roses as an accent piece at three o' clock, like a bow on someone’s head. They look good, if I do say so myself.

“That’s nice.”

I turn around to see Maisie standing behind me. “Jesus, you startled me.”

The lines around Maisie’s eyes crease with worry. “Well, hon, come back down to earth. I want you to take a picture of that display and post it to The Instagram.”

My smile softens. “It’s just instagram, Maisie.”

She huffs, waving a dismissive hand. “Whatever. That social media stuff is your specialty.”

I pull out my phone. It’s sweet of Maisie to let me run the store’s instagram. Our following is small, but we always get a warm reception. I snap a few pictures of the display wreaths, then post them with the caption ‘romance in the air?’  followed by a string of heart emojis.

An ache squeezes my own heart, weighing it down in regrets. Am I really going through with this? I’d always thought Jack was my one true love, through thick and thin, for richer and poorer, in sickness and health.

I close my eyes and think of Yeti cowering under the couch. I need to remember. If Jack’s willing to harm an innocent creature, what could he do to me? If he decides to take revenge on me for stabbing him, I could end up in a holding cell, the hospital, or worse.

I push my morbid thoughts into a tiny box and close the lid tight. What’s the line from Macbeth? ‘Screw your courage to the sticking place.’ That’s what I need to do.

The afternoon hours crawl by. We have a few customers, and one consultation with a bride and her wedding planner, but it’s a slow day. Things pick up around five thirty, and by eight, several of the wreaths I made are gone.

“Good work today, Gabby,” Maisie says as I turn the sign on the door from ‘open’ to ‘closed’.

“Thanks, Maisie.”

Maisie shakes her head. “I know it ain’t none of my business, but… speaking as someone who’d like to see you happy, he ain’t worth the heartache. No man is.”

I swallow past a rising lump in my throat. “He’s no Prince Charming, I’ll admit—but I’ll be fine. I always am.”

Maisie opens her mouth as though she wants to continue, but she shuts it again and hands me my purse. “Here. See you Tuesday.”

“Thanks. Have a good night, Maisie.”

I hurry out of Petals and speed-walk to the coffee shop next door before I can change my mind. I have to do it tonight, or I might lose what little courage I have.

I order a cookies and cream milkshake from the barista, but as I open my purse, I see a flash of yellow. Maisie’s sticky note. I’m touched that she wants to help me, but I’m in way too deep to contact a women’s shelter.

The barista hands me my milkshake. I take the sweating plastic cup with a shaky hand and head for the car. Hopefully, Jack won’t notice the peanut butter cookie crumbled on top until it’s too late.

***

Jack’s waiting for me when I walk in through the back door. He wraps me in a bear hug and spins me around, almost tipping the milkshake in my hand. I struggle to keep it upright as he squeezes the breath from my lungs. Finally, he sets me down. “I’m so glad you’re home, Gabs.”

“Same.” I force a smile. “How was your meeting?”

Jack exhales deeply, pushing his fingers back through his hair and tousling the thick locks. “As good as it can go, I guess. It’s hard, but I’m determined to clean up for good this time. For you.”

The look in his soulful blue eyes is so sincere that I almost believe him. Then I remember he hasn’t once apologized for hurting Yeti. And I know he remembers what happened that afternoon.

“I’m proud of you, baby.”

“That means the world.” Jack pulls me in for another, gentler hug, bending to kiss the top of my head. I hold the milkshake out awkwardly with one arm and stroke his back with my other hand. I need to play the part. It almost feels too easy to dance the steps I’ve rehearsed for so many years.

Get a grip, Gabby. He hurt Yeti. Hurt you. He knows you stabbed him, and he could turn at any moment, drunk or not.

I pat Jack’s back and step out of his arms, offering him the milkshake. “I brought this home for you. I drank mine in the car.”

Jack smiles his bright, shiny smile. He takes the cup. “Cookies and cream?”

“Your favorite.”

Jack brings the straw to his mouth and takes a long pull. At first he moans in delight, but then his brow furrows. He holds the cup away, studying it. “Did they change their recipe?”

I try to keep my eyes wide and innocent-looking. “Not that I’m aware of?”

“Taste this,” he says. “Does it have peanut butter?”

I take the cup back and sip. “I don’t taste it.” I pass it back to him.

Jack takes another tentative sip.

“Well, if you think it has peanut butter, don’t keep drinking!”

Jack storms out of the laundry room, throwing the cup in the kitchen trash. “Shit,” he hisses, “it’s definitely peanut butter. What the hell did you give me?”

I follow him, curling my shoulders in and hugging my elbows. “I don’t—”

He grabs my wrists in a bruising grip, yanking my arms away from my torso. “What the hell did you give me?!” he shouts, his reddening face hovering inches away from mine. The heat of his breath washes over my face and my heart lurches into my throat, pounding wildly. Icy hatred glitters in his glacier-cold eyes. A voice in the back of my mind whispers that he might kill me.

“Your EpiPen—”

Jack’s palm strikes my face. The slap burns and sends me reeling. I crash into the kitchen counter. Sudden, sharp pain courses through my elbow. A shrill yelp fills the kitchen, and it takes me a second to realize it came from me.

Jack stomps off, his thunderous footsteps running to the bedroom. I should follow, but I can only stand in stunned silence, cradling my arm. God, my elbow hurts. Every few seconds, the throbbing pain sharpens like a blade that cuts to the bone. Tears well in my eyes. He’s never hit my face before. Part of me can’t believe it. I’ve explained away other instances of rough treatment, but for him to actually slap me…

What have I done? What is he going to do?

A raspy mew from around my feet pulls me back to the present. Yeti weaves between my legs, butting his head against me. I crouch down to stroke him, sniffing back tears. I wipe my leaking eyes with my sleeve. I have to keep it together—either to make sure my plan works, or throw Jack’s suspicions off me.

With my elbow still screaming and a burning lump of emotion in my throat, I head for the bedroom. When I peek through the open door, it looks like a tornado hit our house. Jack’s throwing random things around, tearing the place apart. Clothes are scattered everywhere. The lamp on my nightstand lays broken on the floor. Most of my beauty products lay in a messy pile outside the bathroom door. Jack spits a string of curses beyond the threshold.

“Fuck—where is it? Where is—” He coughs, followed by an ugly, wheezing sound.

I rush into the bedroom. “Jack?!”

He falls to his knees on the tile, clutching his throat. His face is tomato red, his eyes bulging. I knew allergic reactions could take hold in under fifteen minutes, but this is somehow worse than I expected. I want to look away, but I can’t. Despite everything, it hurts to see him like this. He’s still my husband.

Jack’s hands fall away from his throat. He collapses to all fours, then flat on his stomach. His skin is covered in angry red hives and the awful sound of his breathing gets quiet. All I can do is stand there, frozen, staring in shock.

Suddenly, the hives vanish. His skin returns to normal, smooth and pale. His breaths deepen, becoming quiet and rhythmic. His eyes remain closed, like he’s asleep. I reach out for him, then draw my hand back, uncertain. The protesting pain in my elbow reminds me of what he did.

“Thanks, Gabs,” Jack mumbles, his words slurred.

I shudder. Thanks? What does he mean?

“Help me up, please?”

Hesitantly, I step toward him, offering him my uninjured arm. He pulls himself into a sitting position, looking up at me with wide, innocent blue eyes. “Gabs… I think you should drive me to the hospital.”

My mouth opens, then closes. The storm of emotions swirling in my chest chokes the words out of me. I can’t tell whether I’m devastated or relieved that Jack isn’t dead, and I have no clue what to do next.

Habit wins out. I help him up, bearing his weight as best I can when he leans against me. We limp through the house and into the garage. I leave him propped against the car as I open the door and help him into the passenger seat.

When I leave to circle around to the driver’s side, Jack catches my arm. I flinch in pain, but try to hide it from my face. “You saved my life with that EpiPen,” he says. His face is soft and open, with only a slight wrinkle in his brow. The picture of sincerity.

“What? I didn’t—” I swallow and clear my throat, stalling for time. “We couldn’t find it, remember?”

Jack frowns. “What are you talking about? Yes you did. You saved my life.”

I can’t summon a response. Does he actually believe what he’s saying? Is he lying? Trying to confuse me? I decide that staying quiet is my safest bet. I force myself to pat his shoulder, but he grips my hand and kisses it. A slimy shiver crawls across my skin.

I close the door and sit across from Jack in the driver’s seat. He leans back against the headrest and closes his eyes, his face blank and indiscernible. Still terrified, I open the garage door and back into the driveway. I’ll take Jack to the hospital. It’s the normal thing to do. I have to hold it together, whatever that means.