Under Strain

Under Strain

The days were becoming longer and each day more heart-wrenching than the day before. I, Elizabeth Wagnall, was once a very happy woman. Until I married the man of my dreams and he turned out to be something entirely different. I just wanted what was right and all he thought about was himself. He only cared about what was best for his needs, never once thinking about mine. I felt alone and useless compared to the kind of man he had become. I thought of all the fun times we had had before our marriage and the love that he had once showed for me and then it felt as though that that had been a dream and nothing more.



He had fooled all of us, into thinking he was a kind person. He had even fooled my parents, who thank god didn’t know that they had allowed a monster to marry their daughter. My beloved parents hadn’t lived to see the man that he had become and maybe that can be counted as a blessing in disguise. This man was William Wagnall, a business tycoon. He had appeared a successful, honest and responsible man, hence the reason I had fallen in love with him. My parents had believed him to be the same as well; they encouraged the romance and ultimately the marriage that would follow. I thought he cared about me and wanted to make me feel safe and secure, oh how wrong I was.



I hadn’t known the type of work he really did, until I married him of course and he made me swear to secrecy. He was little more than a criminal; William didn’t believe that he was doing anything wrong. It was all about the money to him and the fact that he was the one in control and no one could take that away from him. We have now reached our third year of marriage and each and every day feels like a struggle just to survive. I don’t think that I can go on any longer; it is getting too much to bear. All the secrets, it’s making me feel dishonest too for I know it to be wrong. As his wife though I have my duties and have to abide by them at whatever cost.



He steals, he murders and he knows things that he shouldn’t, but he says that this is all a part of his work and is necessary. I don’t think he realizes I know so much and if he found out he would probably kill me. I am beyond being afraid now, for I live with fear day in and day out. It is a part of my existence and I have learned to accept that fact. The question remains though, how much longer can I continue? I’m already nearing breaking point; I’m becoming fearful of what I may have to do in the end.



After long and hard days at his “job” I’ve already cooked and cleaned for him but he sees none of that of any importance. Sometimes I don’t believe him to be human what with the way that he acts sometimes and the anger that I see behind his eyes. It doesn’t appear natural, the dark way in which his eyes cloud with anger and he lashes out. It isn’t always me that he lashes out upon, it is others too. I sometimes think myself lucky as he stops before he gets too far with me. Others aren’t nearly so lucky and are usually found in some stagnant pool of dark and murky depths days later punctured with bullet wounds. I don’t pity my life, as in many ways I’m thankful for what little life I’m allowed and at least I’m still living and not swimming with the fishes like some of those poor souls.



I remember back to the old days, at the very beginning of our marriage or even just before. It brings tears to my eyes, just thinking about it all. William is a real looker; dashing features of near perfection. He is made up of a sleek, muscular frame with smooth dark hair, which is always impeccably in place. And then there are those dark and mysterious eyes. I think it was mainly his eyes that attracted me to him at first, but not anymore though. It was his eyes now that I feared the most, second to his actions I guess.



That man is gone now, the one who fussed over me and bought me presents and made me laugh. Even his laughter is gone now from our home. I remember its sound and how it made me laugh along with him. But now all he does is make me cry and be ashamed of the things that he does. It is this feeling of being ashamed of being associated with him, of being his wife that makes my days feel endless and almost treacherous. I keep thinking that the police will come soon and I will be an accessory after the fact, because I knew what he had done and didn’t tell anybody. I would reside in some dingy prison cell as well, maybe not for a long as he would, but still long enough.



Who is there to turn to, with a problem of such? I don’t think that anyone would believe that the friendly, middle-aged Businessman from New York would be a murderer, a thief, a drug-dealer, a wife beater and God only knows what else. There were still many things about him that I still didn’t know, or maybe I did know about them but didn’t completely understand.



For dearest William was a respected man from a decent family, who grew up knowing who was who and what was what. There was never anything that he didn’t know. He had ways to find out if someone was against him, he didn’t suspect he just knew and it wasn’t just an assumption either it was the truth. I guess, that is quite a talent to have in his line of work though, he is then able to deal with those that turn against him and make them regret it.



Nothing could ever be hidden from a man who had contacts all throughout New York and the rest of the States. He had so many friends in high places, mostly the Mafia. Sometimes he would come home with some of his friends drunk or stoned and they would sit around playing cards well into the morning and expect me to stay up and pour them drinks and empty cigarette ashtrays. They would treat me like a scullery maid and there was nothing that I could say or do but what they wished for me to.



Sometimes things can turn out drastically wrong and there may never be anything that can be done about it. This was one of those times and never in my entire life had I felt so utterly lost and alone. I was beginning to feel really isolated, without anyone to turn to not even my parents who were already gone. I had my theories about what had happened to them too. William and I had had an argument not long before my parent’s “car accident”. I suspect he, or someone he knew tampered with their car to punish me. I couldn’t prove anything and really in the end; what could be done?



I knew I should tell someone, then again what could I have accomplished? It just didn’t seem right, not then anyway. There might have come another time when I truly had even an iota of courage to undertake the most treacherous plot of betrayal. Now was not the time though and there was nothing I could do to change that. There were some times when I felt that I had the audacity to say something but then when it came around to it; I just couldn’t do it.



I didn’t know how long I could put up with his treatment of me any longer, so I formed a plan in my mind. I made it so that I was a stronger than him and that I wouldn’t buckle under pressure and would be able to stand up to him without giving in. I felt that deep down I would be able to do what I felt that I needed to, I knew that society would be better off without him. He was a jerk, a pest, a menace to society and he always got his way in everything. Now that was going to change and I was going to see to that no matter what.



I went about my day, waiting for him to come home. He always left before I woke up; it was always an early day for him. He never even bothered with eating breakfast, even if I made it for him. I had given up trying to please him, so I didn’t even bother anymore. I awoke a little before 8am, a strange feeling of nostalgia gnawing at me right from time I arose. It didn’t even fade the whole time I went about my usual daily routine. I didn’t think much of it, as I had plenty to do and couldn’t be distracted right now.



I started in the kitchen, making it spotless. It felt especially important to clean all the utensils this morning and I wasn’t going to question myself why. I preceded the living room, bathroom and ended by doing a load of laundry. It was a strong relief to finish; I even decided to reward myself and sat down to watch some soap opera on television. I remained there for hours, blindly absorbing the monotonous droning of the program that happened to be playing. I began to drift off to sleep by three o’clock that afternoon and began dreaming about the freedom that I deserved.



I started, when I heard the sound of keys in the door. I sat up straight and pretended to be watching television. I felt his eyes on me as he made his way through the dining room and upstairs, he barely made a sound. I then turned and smiled, knowing that he was alone. I passed the kitchen on my way upstairs. I entered our bedroom with the same smile playing on my lips. I did not waver as I came towards him, I couldn’t lose my nerve now.



He was sitting on the bed, removing his shoes. He didn’t even look up as I entered. “What do you want!” he snapped and I shook my head. “Nothing.” I said without moving, but kept looking at him intently. He frowned and looked up at me and then shook his head and stood up and went into the bathroom. He turned the basin tap on and then turned back to me, “Shouldn’t you be making my dinner?” he then gave me a look, like do it now! I shrugged and moved a little closer to where he now stood.



This was my chance and I took it, “Make your own dinner!” I said as calmly as I could, without stopping once or allowing my voice to quiver. He spun around, glaring, I could feel his anger from where I stood in the bathroom doorway, but I stayed where I was. “How dare you!” he sprang at me, then he stopped short and shook slightly, then tried again.



I frowned slightly as I stabbed him again with the meat cleaver I had taken from the kitchen on the way upstairs. I didn’t hesitate as I lunged toward him, striking him in the shoulder with the meat cleaver. William was still stunned from the first time I stabbed him, he stumbled and fell toward the vanity in the bathroom. I followed as he clutched not where I had stabbed him but his chest. I didn’t give this any attention as I struck him once more, it wasn’t under I was kneeling over him that I realized he was already dead. I watched as the blood slowly continued to flow from his wounds, it was almost mesmerizing.



I stood over him watching the light finally fade from his eyes and I felt my nostalgia fade and be replaced with relief. He was gone; I would no longer be tormented and hurt by him. I was unsure what would happen now, I didn’t care and I didn’t think it really mattered.





2,081 words