Dead On Arrival

Genie and Maxim met in high school. First best friends, then lovers, now married. Genie is too in love with Max too see all his flaws. She knew they were there, sure. She just refused to acknowledge them. She made half assed excused for the bruises. ‘I ran into the fridge’ or ‘My hand slipped off the jelly lid and I popped myself in the eye’. All her friends knew the truth: Max was hitting her.

She wouldn’t listen when they told her to leave him. Love had her smitten, or what she thought was love. Genie was very conscious of everything she did. Her apartment was always nice, clean, and organized. Not a hand towel or spoon out of place.

Genie kissed her husband on the cheek before taking the dinner dishes into the kitchen to wash them, as was her nightly ritual. She was scrubbing a stubborn chunk of lasagna on a plate when it slipped from her fingers and landed with a crash in the sink. The plate lay in pieces. Before she could get rid of the broken plate, Max was in the kitchen looking livid. He grabbed her tightly by the arm and pointed at the pieces of porcelain in the sink.

“What the fuck is this, Genie?!” he yelled, giving her a shake.

“I-I.. It was an accident, Max!” she stuttered.

“D-did I say make excuses, bitch? I asked you what is was!” His grip tightened on Genie’s arm, making her whimper.

“It’s a broken plate!” She cried, trying to free her arm. Max just squeezed tighter.

“And how did it break?” he gave her another shake and she winced.

“It slipped.” She wanted to take it back as soon as she said it.

“Excuse me?” he growled, his tone darkening. His grip got even tighter on her arm, if that was possible.

“It broke because I am clumsy!”

She fought to free her arm, already feeling the bruise forming beneath his fingers. There was no way to lie around this one. Max reached back with his other hand and landed a hard back hand slap across her face. Tears sprung to Genie’s eyes and she gazed up at her husband, pleading with her eyes for the man she loved to break through. Usually all it took was that look to snap him out of his rages.

Instead, he smacked her again, and again. Smacks turned to punches, and when she was on the ground he began kicking her. Genie screamed and cried and begged him to stop. All of it went over his head. Instinct overruling feelings, Genie opened a cabinet and grabbed the first frying pan she could get her hands on.

Her first hit was aimed at his kneecap, bringing him to his knees with a shout of pain. Quickly Genie got to her feet and aimed another swing at his head. Unfortunately for her, it didn’t knock Max unconscious, due to her general lack of strength. He stood up and raised his fist to hit her again. She did the only thing that came to mind.

Max gasped as the long shard of plate sliced easily through his skin, puncturing his stomach. Warm blood flowed out of the wound and over Genie’s shaking hand. She let go with wide eyes and Max fell to his knees in front of her. She jumped out of the way when he fell forward, causing him to land on the cold tile. Somehow, she felt no remorse.

Genie checked to see if he was breathing, and he wasn’t. She tried to check his pulse, but there wasn’t a pulse to check. With calm, steady fingers she punched three numbers into her phone. When she got the emergency operator, her voice was just as cold and lifeless as her husband.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“I believe I have just murdered my husband.”