This is what I should have done. I should have pulled the trigger instead of hesitating long enough to talk myself out of it. The son of a bitch would be dead.
I’d be in jail, but I’d be free. Free from nasty, hate-filled smirks...narrowed eyes a searchlight for any excuse. Free from waking up and not being able to get out of bed because something else might be broken besides the perpetual promise of “Never Again.” Free from my now twice-weekly duty of being a Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robot.
I should have pulled the goddamned trigger and blown his fucking brains all over the pillow while he snored, sleeping off his latest binge of whiskey and Whack-a-Me. Why didn’t I? Was I afraid I’d miss and he’d wake up, snatch the gun out of my hands and shoot me instead? He was so far gone that a KISS concert wouldn’t have disturbed his peaceful slumber. The gun had a brand new clip in it, so what if one bullet went wide...there were more. I could have put a sweet plug right between the motherfucker’s eyes and ended both my pain and his.
Too late for that now, I think, as I set my face in grim determination to endure another round with the Raging Bull. He is between me and where the Glock lies hidden. All I can do now is take the blows and admonish myself.
Why the hell did you even buy the goddamn thing? I ask myself as his wrath begins raining a hailstorm of blows.
Go on, I silently urge him. Get it done.
Get it done and go to sleep.
I may have just enough strength left.
And this time, there will be no hesitation