EIGHT EMILY
EIGHT
EMILY
We sit in the main center building surrounded by other couples for the purpose and vision session.
It wasn’t my first pick, but I don’t want to spend too much time coming to these sessions, and it’s the first of the week.
On the table in front of us are scraps of paper, pens, and markers for the vision boards we will be making.
There was a line of couples waiting outside before the doors opened, some I recognized from the bonfire and walking around the campground.
Devin woke up incredibly hungover this morning and didn’t say a word to me after last night. I even slept in a different room. I couldn’t stand the thought of him sleeping next to me or trying to touch me while he was drunk.
As the class begins, Devin keeps fidgeting with the things in front of us, not paying attention to what the counselor is saying.
To be honest, I’m not paying attention to what she’s saying either; instead, I’m watching him.
When it comes time for us to actually communicate and start creating our vision board for the next year, I freeze.
We both look at one another, and I swear I see something I’ve never seen before in his eyes. I saw the monster inside of him for a split second. His eyes narrowed, and a small grin came over his face.
He’s planning on getting rid of me. I know it for sure now. It’ll be either me or him this week, and if he gets to me first, then I won’t have to worry about anything anymore. It’s selfish, but so is wanting to get rid of him.
I keep telling myself it’s for all the women he’s wronged, but I’m also doing it for myself. Not to save myself, but to get revenge for all the years he’s lied and used me. For all the years I wasted being his wife when all I ever wanted was to have a happy and healthy marriage.
Was I supposed to be one of his victims, and he figured I was better off being his wife instead?
Why did he pick me? Bile has risen to my throat, and I swallow to choke it back down again before he realizes anything is off with me.
I’m so fucking exhausted lying all the time—pretending to not know a thing while I have a monster living with me.
“Well, we’ve accomplished a lot since we’ve met. Maybe we can plan a vacation, or spend more time… together?” My voice cracks at the last word. I have to play into this vision board class, but I’m struggling to keep it together now.
Devin shrugs, “yeah, we can do that. Or maybe we can plan to move to the west coast or something. Lots to think about, I suppose.” He takes one of the pencils and starts listing off places to move to.
The west coast? Oh God, is he trying to get away from this area and start off fresh out there? Is he planning on killing me off and moving away to continue his life? My vision gets hazy and dim as I struggle to breathe.
Get it together, Emily. You can’t have a panic attack right now.
I take a deep breath and focus on one breath at a time; he doesn't seem to notice that I haven’t said a word. Or maybe he has noticed and it doesn’t bother him that I have nothing to say.
The room fills with the other people talking amongst themselves. Planning, hoping, and dreaming for their futures together. All the while, I’m sitting here trying not to have a panic attack in front of everyone else. My husband is making plans for himself, not for us. There is no us anymore.
I need to stop being afraid of him; if I let fear wash over me, he will win. I’ve thought about this for so long, and now is not the time to back down.
From here on out I have only one motive: to kill my husband.