1. ANITA

I killed a man today. 

As a matter of fact, he is still lying on the floor beside me and the bloody knife is still in my hand. 

I am fine, if that’s what you’re worried about.

I am still deciding what to do with the knife because this means that I am in trouble. 

I can imagine the headlines: “Woman stabs husband to death with a kitchen knife… 10 times”. 

I am not a bad woman neither am I a monster. This was the only way. 

I am scared though. I am scared that once you hear this story, you will not be sure of who’s side you are on.

His or mine. 

I am staring at the blood that is draining from the stab wounds.

It has pooled around me, taunting me, whispering to me that I am finished. 

The tears come and I try to fight them back. No use crying over spilled milk. Blood, in this case. 

I decide to let the tears win and I cry. I am not sad that I killed him neither am I afraid. I cry because the truth hits me square in the face. Freedom comes at a cost. 

I get up and walk towards my dressing mirror. There is a nasty crack on it. It happened about a month ago when he pushed me against it.

I stare back at dark purple marks beneath my right eye. There are marks on my wrist too. The rope he tied me with dug too deep. I take a deep breath and remind myself that everything will be okay. 

Sweeping the room with my eyes, I relive the moments before I picked the knife.

He was packing my things in a bag while I sat on the floor with my wrists tied. He kept yelling that I was the problem, not him. His eyes were bloodshot and his temper could boil two kettles of water. 

I kept screaming for help while begging him to come back to his senses at the same time.

I managed to break free from the rope and I started running towards the kitchen. My plan was to run out through the back door and into the street. Someone would see me and come to my rescue. He came after me, yelling and cursing.

As I entered the kitchen, the knife was the first thing I saw. It seemed to call to me, whispering to me that it had the power to set me free. 

I listened and ran to pick the knife. I only wanted to threaten him with it.

As I turned, he ran into me and paused. His eyes opened in shock and that was when I knew I had stabbed him. It was a mistake. 

I could’ve stopped there. I could have called for help and taken him to a hospital but I was too tired. I was tired of the rage. I was tired of everything.

The memories kept coming and I kept taking the knife in and out.

I wipe my tears and swallow the knot in my throat. With my blood-stained hands, I pack my hair in a bun. 

I have a lot of cleaning to do.

Aliya will soon be back from school. She cannot meet her dad like this on the floor.

As I clean, I hum a song that comes to mind. 

It was the song he sang for me on our third date. Oh, what a voice he had. 

I should have known. I could’ve walked away. I needed more time to heal and he needed more time to mature but you see, love is such a wild storm. It swept us off our feet and kept us going until it was too late.

Was it love that made us blind? I don’t think so.

I fix my mind on the song as I wipe blood off the floor. It is the only thing that keeps me from crying.  

His phone rings from where it fell on the floor. It is Anabelle. I let it ring twice. I’m not sure what tell her. 

I stop cleaning and pick on the third ring.