You worthless scum!
Though the words sliced through her as she kept recollecting them, a crooked grin formed on her lips as her brain worked. As thoughts began to manifest themselves, she glared at some distant point in space. She felt something growing inside of her; something cold yet burning her insides. It gave her pleasure. She sensed that change; she physically felt it and enjoyed every second of it. She swore vengeance on that son of a bitch who did this to her.
Again, the familiar pangs of pain returned, stabbing her, but this time she virtually grabbed hold of that painful instrument. She collected all her fury, all past and current pains and projected them onto a world she did not care for anymore.
Hers was a conscious decision to hurt. At that moment, she’s the goddess of her own existence; she’s justice as she saw fit. Her smile grew. Suddenly, she realized the sheer power of human emotions. That thought lingered in her mind as she got up and went to hunt down that good-for-nothing ex-husband of hers.
She was unnaturally energized to fearful extents, and felt capable of grinding him down with her bare hands. She recalled all those painful memories with dread. All the lies and deceptions, all the tearful nights and heartache, and for what? In the end, everything came crumbling down on her head. After all she’s done, he blamed her, as if he was a sinless angel when in fact, he was a sadistic devil.
The fury turned cold inside her. Her head was crystal clear, her thoughts systematized. She knew what she needed to do. She knew for a fact that he never wanted a child with her, she saw it in his face the day she told him the big news. She giggled at how naive she was back then. She knew it in her heart that he had something to do with it, she thought of it as a matter of fact that he secretly ingested her with some sort of pills that resulted in her miscarriage. Tracing back the steps, she remembered the bitter taste of the dinner he fixed for her “Because he loved her” he had said. The stabs of memory found their way to her heart.
She took out her smart phone and began to search all those crazy symptoms she felt before the miscarriage. Cramps, vaginal bleeding, headaches, anxiety and pelvic pain. All these symptoms were side effects of a drug called Mifepristone. All her symptoms matched the side effects perfectly. Symptoms he said were normal for a pregnant woman, for he was her OB/GYN. Her heart raced thinking about this, rage kept brewing inside of her.
She knew where he was, but decided to go to their old apartment and wait for him till he gets back from the hospital. The thoughts of what was to come gave her a sense of satisfaction she never knew before. The power she felt was overwhelming to some extent. She reached the apartment and got in with her old key, because that dumb-ass was too lazy to change the lock. She snooped around the apartment, then went to the bathroom and searched the medicine cabinet to find a bottle of Mifepristone pills.
She found none.
The doubt found its way to her heart. She forced it out by ransacking the whole place for that damned bottle. She walked into what would’ve been the baby’s room, her heart suddenly filled with awe. Oh how she wanted to be a mother. And, with that abortion, her chances at ever having a child of her own were close to none. She slammed her bare hands against a locked cupboard in the kitchen that she couldn’t pry open and it broke. That was when she saw it. A small cylindrical plastic bottle, white in color, a sticker with the words ‘Mifepristone Tablets’ on it.
She picked up the bottle and poured some of the hexagonal-shaped white pills in the palm of her hand and peered at them. In a twisted way, she wished she hadn’t found them but, now that she did, her shock was insurmountable. She broke into tears. She thought about the monster who invented these tables. However, she knew that the tablets were just a tool used by an even greater monster to kill her unborn child.
“He will pa—” but before she could think it, she heard the rattling of key and the front door of the apartment opening.
She froze. She couldn’t move a single muscle in her body. The hair on the back of her neck stood as she heard his footsteps. She heard him groaning and breathing hard. She collected herself and slowly walked out of the room, her senses at full attention. She stopped at the door as she strained her ears to hear him. His groans grew louder. His steps were slow and heavy as he moved.
She lay on her stomach and shuffled forward. She saw him collapse in his chair with a cigarette in one hand and a silver flask in the other. Her stomach turned. She had forgotten what he was like when he drank. She shuddered at the memory as the cold rage returned.
She watched him drink himself stupid, like a tigress would watch her pray. She waited for the perfect timing. Patiently, she watched him drown deeper and deeper into oblivion. As she waited, she planned her move to perfection. She slid to her old bedroom, picked up an old brass lamp, took out the shades and made for the living-room.
As quiet as a mouse, she moved towards him, lamp in hand. He was passed out on the chair, the lit cigarette still in his hand. Even though he was already passed out, she struck him with the lamp on the back of his neck. He sprang off the chair with a startle and landed on the floor. She froze for a second as he stumbled onto the floor, delirious and in shock. She forced herself to focus and struck him again. He lay dazed on the floor, his eyes still open.
She got the pill bottle from the room and came back. She had a whole speech prepared, but at that moment; words did not matter anymore. She popped open the bottle and she began what she came to do. Amidst his daze, she fed him the pills, one after the other, making sure he swallowed each one. With each swallow, she smiled as the fire inside of her eased, but somehow, all the pain she felt did not fade away. He choked and coughed, unable to control his own muscles. His helplessness gave her a stange sensee of satisfaction and fairness.
He stared at her in terror ad he began to bleed out. It was thirty minutes after forcing him to ingest all the pills. She wondered what the pills would do to him, and when. She wanted to watch him suffer, and that thought on its own sacred her. It seemed as if she was a ghost watching over the scene. She wanted him to die, to suffer, to rot in a hell similar to the one he put her in.
Somewhere amidst the chaos, she mused at her own abilities. She felt like an onlooker, not part of what was going on. Who would’ve thought that she, a 150 cm tall woman from the suburbs, could do such a thing? And, with that thought, she struck another powerful blow to his already gushing head with the bloody lamp in her hands.
Alas, under enough pressure and with the right blend of circumstances, she was truly capable of anything, even this act of vengeance.
She wiped up the lamp with the end of her blouse then put it in its place in the bedroom. She picked up the bottle, wiped it up and put it in his hand. She went to the bathroom to wash and groom herself in front of the mirror. She stood over that pig and looked at him one last time.
She gracefully walked out of the apartment with an air of a strong woman, one who could rule her own life. She threw her past behind her. She did not care for tomorrow, she did not bother thinking what could happen next. All she thought about was the look of terror in his eyes; she grinned.