Bad Karma

Things don't just happen in this world


He was high. Loud and quick to anger. He just couldn’t be calm and sit at still. His attention switching every twenty minutes, making a mess as he went along. Of course, I’d need to clean up after him every single time. Otherwise, the mess would just accumulate. His behaviour got worse after the house was a complete mess. It just became chaos to him, and he would start disrespecting the place terribly; like an animal. I learned quickly to keep a clean house. If only just to please him and do my duty.


I just stared at my phone, trying to let my mind escape from him. Sliding up, why is nothing ever fun to do when he’s finally calmed down? Should I start to date a new guy? I knew everyone here. I didn’t want any of it. How can I meet someone I’d never usually meet?


When he was bored, he’d snatch the phone out of my hand shouting nonsense. He spat on my face. I pushed him away from me. He started clawing at my face in anger. When I tried to be patient and loving and ignore him. He would scream in rage in my face. The police and social work act so caring towards me. Everything will be OK; I only need to talk to either of them to let them know there were any problems. Entirely confidential unless anyone was in danger.

I didn’t have the need to keep count of the days. I’m sure there were more good times than bad times. He’d cuddle and watch TV. Laugh and joke. Play around. We’d go walks to the park. Feed the ducks. It wasn’t so expensive to have the beautiful views in the summer. Winters were hell. High heating costs and less money to keep him happy.


Sometimes he’d get so high, and he goes into uncontrollable rages. Banging doors over, and over again. Overturning all the food in the kitchen and pulling everything out of the packets and wasting everything. He really didn’t care. Surely, he must understand what he is doing to me?


He’d eat junk food, all additives and artificial flavours. I can’t stand that stuff, but his mother really spoiled him when he was young, and now he won’t eat anything else. I’m not sure if these contributed to his high rages. I thought we were supposed to love one another? This feels abusive to me, but I went through with all of this on my own choice. How could anyone understand? There was no proof of anything he did. All the bruises were so negligible.


He’s frustrated that I won’t take notice of him. I just want some peace and quiet from him. He is nonstop and controlling of everything I do. Always following me around the house. Even when I go to the bathroom. He’ll just stand there, and nothing was a problem to him. He’d watch me as I wipe my ass. Turn on the taps and squeeze out the toothpaste when he was angry at me. I would beat him in anger. He would stop hitting me, but he would scream in rage at me afterwards. Using emotional blackmail to pull me back in. Slowly working his way into crying and reminding me a little of why I fell in love with him in the first place. Well, I did know something was a little wrong in the beginning.


It was a little weird to me. I had hoped he would grow out of this phase, but he’s quite persistent. When I try to get some privacy from him, he bangs on the door and demands to come into the room. Screaming and shouting. Slapping my arms. Screaming “No” over, and over again.


In public, he gives me little punches in public when no one was looking. Sometimes little ones that looked like jokes right in front of people. They would just turn away looking at me in shame. Not hard enough to leave a bruise but they hurt. He didn’t even drop character. He just went on as if nothing terrible had just happened. I played along. Smiling.


We were supposed to be in this in the long term. Everyone would judge me if I ended this. But I’m slowly convinced that he is evil. That he is a curse upon this world. How else can I endure this assault? He would get away with everything. There is no proof of anything. It’s a sly, sly game being able to beat someone with a spoon until they die. That’s what this feels like. The skin heals, but my soul is hurt. This is not what I expected this to be. What else is a lie in this world?


Over the duration of time, my will to tolerate him grew weaker. I would pinch his skin when he was sleeping. Softly at first. But in fits of rage, I really could give him bruises too. His endless torrent of sly beatings caused me to snap. Should I take responsibility for my actions? What else could I do? I didn’t want us to separate.  I thought I could at least control him. I stopped and thought about my own actions. This isn’t good. I am supposed to be a good person.


No, he will pay for what he has done. My life will be destroyed. Overnight. If we separate, I have nothing else to live for. This tragedy in my life is too profound to bear. I’m not going to hell for this. God will know why I have done this. He doesn’t deserve to get away with this. No one will believe me.


I put some sleeping pills into his drink. And smothered him with a pillow.


He looked peaceful. I began to cry. He looked like a demon had just left his body. His face was no longer contorted in a sly grin.


“Na Na Naa Naa Na”, he would say in that damnable childish voice. He had learned it from some stupid tv show that teaches kids how to be wrong. That was the absolute worst thing about him. No matter after he had beaten me and cried and emotionally blackmailed me with cries. He always said that catchphrase.


“Na Na Naa Naa Na”, At first, I thought he didn’t realise the true meaning of it. But as he got older, I could really tell in his eyes he was aware of everything he did. He didn’t respect me. I was a slave to him. I literally had to clean up after this shit. Wipe his ass.


Tears coming to my eyes. Well, fuck….


I guess I couldn’t have a little hug of him. He seems so handsome now. He’s the little boy I fell in love with. He’s mine.


My son.


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