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I hoped I hadn’t bled. He would hate it if I was bleeding.

That was one of his rules, never the face; he had obviously forgotten that in his drunken rage. My head throbbed as I felt my heart pump adrenaline through my body. I lay in the corner of the room, darkness embracing me. I cowered, trying to shrink into a small speck of dust just so that I wouldn’t have to deal with him again. I looked down at my white singlet and felt the dread. Crimson spots were splattered down the front of the pure garment. I brought my hand up to my head and felt a small cry escape my lips as I lowered my fingers, seeing the sticky liquid coating them.
I hugged myself, trying to give myself comfort through my fear. The shattered glass lay at my feet, the water sprayed all on the walls and carpet. He would want me to clean up.

With this thought I staggered to my feet and started to pick up the shards. I knew I was going to cut myself, but I didn’t care. He had already split open my head, what were a few more cuts? Thick blood streamed down my face as I discarded the glass and cleaned up the water. When I had finished tidying up I took out a first aid kit, which seemed to be my best friend these days, and wrapped my wound. I then put the kit away and cleaned my hands, washing away the splinters of glass that plagued my hand. Vincent would be back later, I had time to myself.

I smelt the alcohol on his breath when he had come home earlier. I smelt it and knew. Knew deep in my gut, that tonight would be one of those nights. I had placed the TV dinner on the small glass table in front of the TV, where Vincent liked it. I had taken my place on the couch and eaten silently as he left his meal untouched. I felt the panic growing in me, but with so many years living with him, I had learned to contain it. His wild eyes focused on the box in front of him, but not absorbing any of the trash that was being transmitted. No words had been exchanged, no questions. But that was all it took. The silence was eating away at me, and he knew it. I stood up and made my way to the kitchen, cleaning up my dish. When I went back to the living room he was standing there, with the TV off. He had his glass of water in his hand, the same hand that wore the wedding band. The alcohol had been obvious, his clothes and breath reeked of it, but no trace of the vicious substance was shown in his eyes. He stared at me for a full minute, as if he was burning a hole in me. He then proceeded to say ten words.

“Ruby, you never ask me about my day anymore, bitch.”

With that, he brought his hand up above his head and hurtled the glass at me with surprising force. I tried to dodge it, but I was too slow. It struck the side of my head with a sickening thud and shattered, shards flying through the air and ricocheting off walls. A gasp escaped my lips as I fell back onto the unforgiving carpet. It was over in seconds, but seemed like years. I sat in the corner, trying to control my cries of pain as Vincent stomped out of the house and off to the nearest place that sold alcohol.

Nine years. Nine years that I’ve had to deal with this behaviour. Many people would ask about my tolerance levels, and I used to think that if a man did this to me, I could face him. But you never know until it’s actually happening to you. I had been a popular girl, not trying to be vain here mind you, but still quite smart. I passed my classes with an above average percentage. I was a good girl, obedient and smart. Then one day, while I was painting an art piece for an assessment, there he was. In the back of the class, not saying a word but not exactly causing a fuss. He sat with a bad-boy pout on his face, slouched in his chair. He looked at me and I could see his eyes dance. So when I married him a couple of year later, I thought it was true love. Obviously not.

The abuse started slowly, over the course of a couple years. It started with shoves and ended up with trips to the hospital. And it wasn’t until that exact moment, with me washing my hands that the courage came flooding back. The old fire seemed to blaze through my veins as I scrubbed at my tired flesh with surprising resilience. I was trying to cleanse my hands of the glass. Cleanse them off the evidence. The evidence of the abuse, the pitiful woman who could not stand up to her husband. I was one of those cliché women who do not have the will to do something or take control of their lives. And I wouldn’t have it.

That night Vincent came home in the early hours of the morning, stinking of beer. He stumbled into bed, sleeping as thought oblivious to the world around him. I stared at the roof as his snores echoed through the small house. In the morning Vincent, not being fazed by the hangover, got ready and went to work without saying a word to me. That was it these days, a couple of grunts and he was out the door. I was sweating nervously all morning, mixing up a concoction, a ridiculous plan that I hoped might get me out.

My schedule was strict; I was to go out twice a week to get food. No more, no less. Today I broke that rule, wandering out the front door, ever vigilant for Vincent sneaking around or watching me. I headed in the typical American town and carefully, as if not making a sound, made my way to the shop near the forest edge. The small bell rang as I opened the heavy door, heaving it and stepping in. A robust man nodded his head at me and smiled. I returned it and kept my head down, hurrying to find what I was looking for.

The guns were placed quite neatly, arranged in the order of make. My Daddy had been a keen hunter, so I was not oblivious around these weapons. I looked at them in awe as old memories flashed back. The stag that Daddy caught for Christmas dinner, the boar he tracked for days, telling me “Ruby, the process is just as important as the outcome.” And finally the bear that had stumbled across my father and mauled him to death. I shook them away as quickly as they came. I nervously walked towards the pistols, eyeing the cool metal. They seemed so clean... so pure. Could this metallic piece really end my misery?

“Can I help you little lady?”Asked a gruff voice, stirring me out of my daydream.

I glanced up at the man that had been behind the counter. His pink face seeming surprisingly comical and I tried not to giggle as I spoke. His white moustache was curled on the ends, as if he had been fiddling with it.

“No thank you.” I mumbled, breaking off eye contact before a laugh escaped my lips.

He nodded and left me staring at the death traps. It wouldn’t take much, I thought, just a single shot. My hands shook as I focused on the small pistol that hadn’t been shackled behind a glass case. Its grip was red with little carvings in it. I glanced up at the man behind the counter and was disappointed to see his gaze resting on me. My mind was racing, thoughts and ideas were rushing through my head. Then it came to me. I walked slowly up to the counter.

“Have you got a bathroom? Morning sickness.” I gave a slight smile, innocent.

He fell for it and replied with a warm grin. “Sure, round the back. On the left. The lights a little bit broken, but I’m getting it replaced soon.”

I thanked him and shuffled down the dimly lit corridor that lay behind the counter. I saw a door marked ‘toilet’ and entered, briskly locking the door. I looked up at the ceiling and let out a breath of relief. I opened the large purse that I had been gripping, searching through its contents. Finally I found what I was looking for. The metal lighter was a gift from my Daddy, the devoted hunter. I said a small prayer of thanks to him as I looked at the bathroom. A small toilet stood in the back of the room, while a sink and mirror stood in the front. All I needed to do was reach the fire alarm.

I scanned the toilet, calculating if it might hold my weight. I was a small woman and it seemed to creak slightly when I took a tentative step on it. But the creaks and groans were not followed with the promise of a nasty fall as I brought up my hand which held the lighter. I flicked it open and ignited it. I brought it up to the fire alarm and waited a few seconds. As I had expected, a shrill alarm started up inside the building, prompting the sprinklers to turn on. I shivered as I got down from the toilet, hoping not to slip on its wet plastic. I put my lighter away and grabbed my purse, wrapping my arms tightly around me. I quietly unlocked the door and exited. I shook as I hurried through the corridor back to the shop front.
I hoped that no mechanisms had locked the pistol that I had spotted earlier.

When I emerged I found the pistol sitting comfortably in the stand. My sleek hair was now dripping with cold water and my fingers were chillingly numb. I rushed around the counter and quickly grabbed the pistol, shoving it into my bag with a few rounds. The spraying water helped hide my criminal action, but it didn’t matter, no one was around. I walked briskly to the front entrance and slipped outside, only to be greeted with a crowd of people.
They all rushed around me, wrapping blankets and trying to warm me up. I took it that the man had told them all I was pregnant. I chuckled to myself on that one, I was once. Vincent took care of that inconvenience though. After I reassured them that I was okay and fabricating a story about my husband being worried, which wasn’t entirely false, and I hurried off home. I trembled, both from the cold and excitement, and kept power walking home. I let out a breath of relief when I saw that the dark green jeep was not in the drive way. It was only late afternoon, but Vincent was home in approximately an hour. I jogged inside and heard the reassuring click of the front door locking. I smiled, but this safety was soon dashed as the realization that only one part of my plan had been carried out. Now it was time for the big finale.

Vincent came home shortly after I had. I quickly changed and put my clothes in the dryer before shoving the gun in the back of my underwear drawer, getting rid of the evidence. I made him his favourite meal and played the role of the loyal housewife as he watched his programmes.

“How was your day?” I asked, careful not to forget last night’s lesson.

He grunted, “Boss on my ass again.”

I stayed silent and cleaned up his dishes. It was only until about half nine before it went wrong.

“Why’s your purse wet?” Vincent demanded, eyeing the small black bag.

I heard my blood pumping in me head as panic set in. “I accidently left it out last night, it got wet with dew.” I lied.

His distrustful gaze fell on me and I felt it studying me. He eventually gave a little mumble and sat back down on the couch, not entirely satisfied with my answer. My pulse slowed down a little as I slid around the corner.

“I’m going to get changed for bed.” I said drowsily, adding a yawn for effect.

He made another grunting noise and I made my way to the stairs. I made sure not to rush or go too quickly, I didn’t want to arouse any suspicion. Each step felt like a lifetime as I ascended to our bedroom. I slipped into the room and quickly opened my drawer. I dug into the layers of cloth before my hand hit a metal object. My fingers curled around the handle as I quickly pulled it out. My heart seemed to do a double take as I stared at the weapon. It felt so surreal; the gun was so comfortable in my hand. It’s metallic body seeming to glimmer seductively in the light.

I quickly went down the stairs, eager to finish it. Nine years was leading up to this moment, and I felt a power rush as the thought went through my head. I went around the corner and saw his dark shape slouching on the couch, his face illuminated from the show on TV.

“Hey honey...” I smirked.

“What?” He asked impatiently.

I paused, and this seemed to catch his attention. His head swivelled until it met mine. I could see his eyes drop to the gun that was now pointing at him.

“Shit...” He murmured, jumping up from the grey couch.

“That’s right you son of a bitch.” I spat out.

“What the fuck Ruby? Put the goddamn gun down.” He ordered.

I waved it around wildly, “You think you can tell me what to do?”

“Don’t be stupid.” He sneered.

My smile dropped, revealing a broken glare. “Don’t demand anything.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.” He said, as if stating a simple fact.

“Fuck you! I know exactly what the hell I’m doing!” I screamed, raising my voice for the first time.

“Ruby Ruby Ruby... So defenceless. Let’s call it a night, eh?” He suggested.

I reached behind me and found the glass bowl that lay on the counter. My fingers moulded to the shape and flung it at Vincent as a surprising speed. Vincent ducked just in time as it flew over his head before smashing against the wall behind him, crashing into thousands of pieces.

“Nine years!” I screamed, “Nine fucking years!”

He stared at me, open mouthed at my aggressive nature. “Speechless for once?” I asked, poison dripping from my words.

“Don’t be a stupid bitch.” He mocked.

I shook the gun at him. “Don’t tell me what to do you pretentious asshole!”

He took a step towards me. I aimed the gun away from his lumbering body and pulled the trigger. A deafening blast filled the air and the lampshade next to me seemed to explode. I pointed the gun straight back at Vincent, not missing a beat.

“Don’t underestimate me.” I whispered.

“Left the marriage vows behind eh?” He asked, a sort of pleading had set in.

“You did that a long time ago.” I retorted.

“Whatever happened to in sickness and in health?” He continued.

“Yeah. I know.” I mumbled.

“Then let’s start new, how about it?” He said, trying a new approach.

I took a moment of uncertainty, taken off guard by this new outcome.

“I’d like that.” I said softly, dropping the gun.

His innocent smile returned as he took a step towards me.

“’Till death do us part you son of a bitch!” I screamed at him, bringing the gun up again and pulling the trigger.

He stumbled back and brought his hands up to his chest where the red stain was already beginning to spread. He looked down and brought his fingers up to his eyes, as if not believing what had just happened. Hell, I couldn’t believe what had just taken place. I brought the smoking barrel down and I dropped the weapon as Vincent raised his head. His eyes found mine and a wild fire seemed to rage behind them.

“R-...R-... Ruby...” He uttered before dropping to the ground.

I’ve got two days to live. Weird knowing that, the date of your death. Shit, I know how I’m going to die too. Lethal injection. Texas ain’t such a great place to murder a man. You’d think that it would be a bit harsh to execute a woman who killed the man who abused her. But what you don’t know is that the election was running that month that I killed Vincent, damn my timing, and some political son of a bitch wanted to make an impression on the public. Down with murderers, so down with me.

I write this now in my small cell on death row. In the cell next to me is a woman called Indigo. She’s on death row after robbing a bank and killing four innocent people on the way. She’s singing at the moment, a beautiful voice she has. The song makes me want to weep. But I just can’t bring myself to do it. Just knowing that my time is finally up is enough to make me sick.

It’s kind of peaceful at the same time, knowing that you can go out. And I know that I will leave this earth with a clear conscience, I have no regrets about what I did. I’m writing this now so that hopefully, someone will see me as a desperate woman, and not as an insane wife who shot her husband. You wanna know what the funny thing is?

I feel at peace now.

At peace knowing that I will die by the governments will, and not in that bastards sadistic hands.