Chapter 21
God I need a fucking drink.
My men are dropping like flies under my hands until I find out who intercepted my drop off. There’s a fucking rat in my helm and if I have to poison every rodent until I find my answer, then that’s what I’ll do.
Pushing the stop button on my car’s dashboard, the deep rumbling engine cuts out, leaving just the sound of my own breathing infiltrating the car’s interior.
I wrap my hands around the handle on the inside of the door and push it open before stepping out onto the driveway, the gravel crunching under my leather shoes.
The dim light of the kitchen travels through the house until a small flicker makes its way out of the front window through the white blinds, the curtains still open.
I see my little wife isn’t where she usually is. I come home to find Annabelle almost always in bed, hiding under the heavy covers, as if that will ever stop me from having access to her.
Walking up the path, I push my key into the lock on the door and turn, it clicks twice before fully granting me access.
I’m met with silence as I enter the house, not a single sound can be heard.
I half expected to hear Annabelle shuffling around but there’s nothing as I stride further into the house, my soft footsteps cushioned by the plush carpet, following the small warm glow of the kitchen light.
The sound changes as my shoes hit the tiled floor causing my wife’s head to snap up.
A crystal glass and my bottle of whiskey stand before her on the countertop.
I don’t question her motives but still, this isn’t her usual behaviour.
Maybe she’s finally realised who owns her, who she truly serves.
Standing still in the doorway of the kitchen, I watch her round the unit, her steps slow until she stands in front of me, her face to my chest. She places her frail, thin hands on the lapels of my suit jacket, tilting her head to look at me.
“Evening, Ricky. How was work?” She asks, her voice the usual small tone. I don’t ever remember a time Annabelle asked me about my work or was ever concerned about it. I brush the thought away and cover her hands with my own.
“It was fine.” I reply, “Nothing for your pretty little head to worry about.” She gives me a small smile, accepting my answer.
My wife rises onto her tiptoes before pressing her plump lips to the corner of my mouth, leaving her mark there for a moment.
She quickly pulls away and I can’t stop the confused expression from sliding over my face.
This she devil is fucking with me. The cocaine that’s still pumping through my system is messing with my head, making me see and believe things.
My wife slides her hands out from underneath mine and drops them to her sides. I match her movements as she begins to speak again.
“You seem tense my love, why don’t you sit down and let me help you relax, would you like a drink?
” My eyes widened at her gesture. She wastes no time in ushering me into the living room to sit down on the lavish couch.
I ease into the comfortable fabric, legs spread wide, the tension slowly starting to leave my tense shoulders.
Maybe this is what I needed, my wife to finally take care of me, like I’ve been taking care of her.
Tipping my head against the back of the sofa, I closed my eyes for a moment, a mixture of colours and shapes burst behind my eyelids, the sensation sending me into a small trance.
In my state of bliss I hear Annabelle return into the living room, coming to stand in front of my parted legs.
A crystal glass comes into my vision, the gold liquid calling to me.
I lift my hand from my side and wrap my fingers around the glass, taking it from her outstretched hand, then bring the rim of the glass to my lips, the rich woodsy aroma penetrates my senses.
Lifting the glass, I let the whiskey slide down my throat, the fiery notes burning going down before dropping to my side as Annabelle retreats back into the kitchen.
My eyes instantly start to feel heavy, the buzz from the drugs fighting against the drowsiness.
My mind is spinning out of control, my limbs are tingling with what feels like a thousand pins being poked into my skin.
Fuck. It feels like ants are burrowing underneath my skin.
Everything feels like it’s moving a million miles an hour, but my movements are slow, almost glitchy.
What the fuck is happening to me? I’ve never taken a bad batch of drugs in my life, my stash is clean.
I flick through the options in my head, opening and closing several tabs until something makes sense.
Nothing is making fucking sense. I don’t know what’s happening to me, I’ve never experienced a rapid change in high before.
I fist my hands to bring some sensation back into the bones and tendons.
My extremities feel like jelly, but there’s also an underlying current of electricity running through them.
My neck strains as I lift my head away from the sofa, the grey tones of the living room come back into view, the shapes of the furniture start to distort and I have to squint my eyes to focus on one thing.
Swiping my hand over the cushion of the sofa I knock into the glass that’s now fallen onto its side, a thin line of liquid trails down the side and, I wrap my fingers around the cylinder shape and bring it in front of me.
White clumpy powder gathers at the bottom of the glass, the whiskey turning it into an odd paste texture.
I dip my index finger into the gloopy paste and rub the gritty texture between my index finger and thumb, the specks of powder spreading over the pads of my fingers.
“That fucking bitch.” I grit out, my molars cracking and grinding in my mouth.
Annabelle’s soft footsteps have me snapping my head up, the glass still in one hand, the traces of powder on my other.
I swear I can feel my eyes darken, the sight of her knocks me sick, the fucking betrayal sets my blood on fire.
Silence surrounds us as I take every inch of her in, my eyes roaming from her face to the tips of her shoes before landing on her trouser pocket, I squint my eyes to focus on the shape that’s taking up space.
“What’s in your pocket my love?” I ask, tilting my head to the side, my voice slurring slightly. Her eyes drop down for a split second before shooting back up to me, she thinks I didn’t catch it, but I did. I saw the lies and the fear.
“What do you mean what’s in my pocket? There’s nothing there. Are you feeling okay?” She questions, stepping closer to me. Her voice distorted and warbled in my ear drums. Taking a deep inhale I manage to will away the dizziness that’s trying to infiltrate my head.
Gripping the glass in my hand, I rise to my feet on shaky legs and launch the glass straight towards Annabelle, the crystal firing past her head and smashing against the living room wall, shattering into a thousand shards. Her hands cover her ears as she ducks down to avoid the spray of the glass.
“Ricky?! What are you doing?!” She screams, her whole body beginning to shake.
Annabelle squeezes her eyes shut as I begin to take small steps towards her, attempting to keep my balance, the room beginning to spin again.
As she goes to stand up the contents of her pocket empties all over the carpet.
Her lies rolling across the carpet in tiny pill form.
Annabelle’s wide eyes dart to mine until both our gazes meet the small white tablets that have scattered across the floor.
“Ricky.. Please, let me explain.” She pleads, her hands coming up to the front of her, her palms facing outwards.
The wedding ring on her finger practically laughs in my face, and I instantly recognise the white pills along with the yellow bottle they came out of.
Her fucking sleeping tablets. This bitch thought she could knock me out with sleeping pills and whiskey, and for what?
The fear that laces her face is enough to flush every ounce of colour from her skin, leaving her a ghostly shade of white.
Gripping the front of her blouse in a vice grip, the fabric tearing at the seams as I lift her body to face me, her heaving chest pushing into mine.
“Did you really think you could betray me like this? After everything I’ve ever done for you.
After everything I’ve given you.” I bite at her like a rabid dog, hot white anger raging through my body, my mouth inches away from hers, saliva spraying across her face.
I shake her violently, her head jerking back and forth.
Her features blur across her lying face the more I shake her fragile body.
The burnt out energy has me swaying on my feet, her body becoming a dead weight in my hands.
She tries to push herself away from me, her palms shoving harshly against my shoulders but I keep a tight grip on her blouse as she fights against me, the soft fabric ripping down the front until it completely comes away, causing her body to fall backwards with gravity until her head hits the side of the cabinet.
Crack!
The sound of her skull coming into contact with the solid wood ricochets around the room.
My eyes begin to see double of her, the burnt crimson liquid pools from her head into the carpet fibres.
The floor seems to rise beneath my feet, the rage wreaking havoc on my system, mixing with the cocktail of substances to create a deadly poison.
Annabelle’s eyes flicker open, her glassy blue eyes straining to focus as she brings her palm to the back of head before bringing it to the front of her face.
The pale skin of her fingers is soaked with blood, thin rivulets begin to rain down her arm.
Her white lace bra and cleavage spill out from the torn fabric of her blouse.