Page 70 of Heartless

SW:Good luck.

ME:Thank you.

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Setting the phone back on the nightstand, I breathe in deeply before I turn and climb into bed.

Pain rips through me, and I’m tempted to confront him now. I’m tempted to leave now, but I won’t. I need to think this through.

When he comes to bed, he pulls the covers over his shoulders and turns his back to me. I close my eyes and allow the tears to fall freely.

***

“Your lunch is in here, Onyx. Do you have time for breakfast with me this morning?”

“Uh no, I don’t. But I promise that I’ll be home in time tonight for us to have dinner together.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, baby. I promise,” he says.

“Have a great day at work today, Onyx.”

“I will. Are you going to the studio today?” he asks hopefully.

“Yes, I think I am.”

“Good,” he says, turning away from me and grabbing his keys.

“Don’t forget dinner.”

“I won’t. Have a good day,” he says before closing the door leading to the garage behind him.

I walk to the stove, remove the pan of eggs, and carry them to the sink. Scraping it all into the sink, I rinse the pan and set it inside the dishwasher. I grab the sausage and hashbrowns and toss them into the garbage before rinsing those pans and setting them inside the dishwasher, too.

Thoughts of that text message and images of what might have happened fill my mind. The pain in me is too great to ignore.

I didn’t sleep at all last night. My thoughts ran rampant as I plotted my revenge. Now, I don’t want revenge. I just want to leave.

After everything has been rinsed and stored in the dishwasher, I turn it on to wash. I walk out into the garage, grabthe tire iron that’s lying in one corner, and head back into the house.

Unlocking the China cabinet, I take the tire iron to every piece of China in the cabinet. These were gifts from his mother on our first anniversary.

I grab a butcher knife from the knife block on the counter and move from the dining room to his office.

I take the tire iron to his computer. Then I go crazy using the knife on his chair and the couch across from it. I head to his bar and take all the bottles out, including his Hennessy Paradis, the Macallan, and the Dalmore twenty-five-year-old and pour them down the drain of his sink.

I bash the bottles on his desk and then return for the Dalmore forty-year-old that he was reserving for a special occasion. Opening the bottle of malt Scotch whisky, I pull it to my lips.

Closing my eyes, I savor the taste of tropical fruits and rich toffee as it goes down. Setting the bottle aside, I continue destroying everything in his office, including his cabinet of sports memorabilia.

Heading upstairs, my next stop is our bedroom. I pull out suit after suit and take them outside to the backyard. I haul his suits to the fire pit at the rear of the yard.

It takes me several trips to get all his suits and several other favored items of his and dump them into the fire pit.

When I’m finished, I pour just a little gasoline onto one of the suits before I drop a match inside.

I grab the water hose and turn it on before I take a seat a few feet away from the barrel on a wrought iron chair.

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