When Murder is Not a Crime
by Kyrah Banks
October 14, 2014 10p.m.
So, this how it feels like stabbing someone. I am letting my rage strengthen my body. He is not producing any sounds of anguish anymore. I can’t count how many times I let my kitchen knife penetrate his chest, probably nine or eleven times. I don’t know… and I don’t care.
September 10, 2008 8 p.m.
We were deliriously happy. For a moment I want to freeze the whole world just to be in this moment forever. Eight years, we both waited for this moment. I remember back in college, I would practice my signature once I become his wife. I should say he is my happy-ever-after.
March 18, 2012
It is true that you will never know what kind of person you’re married to not until you lived with him in the same roof for several years. I am alienated with the person I share a bed with. We are now two strangers living in an empty yet decorated Victorian house. Although we still talk, having conversations of anger, of complains and of “I am leaving” threats.
I think we are stagnant. We don’t have children. I think that’s a huge factor why he is not romantic with me anymore. And the time came when we both stopped trying.
It started on harsh shouts of how stupid I could be by forgetting to purchase his shaving cream. Months passed, hurtful words became painful pushes and grabs in my arm for not unplugging the iron and several other classic stupidities of mine. I understand him. He might be stressed in work…and frustrated in not impregnating me.
I almost dialed my parents once to report this tremendous abuse. I tried threatening him on filing a case, and he would stop for days because he doesn’t want to stain his clean records he carefully kept for his aim to be an associate in father’s law office.
I had been avoiding mirrors these days. The last time I looked, I simply cried for hours. I saw a woman who was once lively is now an empty vessel full of despair. It tore my heart. I lost myself. I lost interest in the book that I’m writing. I lost the motivation to live. What happened to us?
I hoped every day that he will change. Or I will change and suppress my natural talent of doing stupid things that annoys him. Probably he is hurting me because I am allowing him by not fighting back. I read somewhere, people treat us the way we allow them to. Why am I letting him?
Before, I can’t believe that there are husbands who rape their wives. I thought it is absurd, not until I became a victim myself. After he hit my head on the table or wall, he would squeeze my neck while he forces his self in me. I was pleading him to stop yet he never did. As if he was deaf from my agonizing screams and weeps. For a moment, I thought I died. I would wake up in the kitchen floor or sometimes the corridors grasping for life and aching with severe pain in the depths of my body. I feel so humiliated. I should say he is my beloved merciless monster.
October 6,2014 11:15 p.m.
He did it again, the uninvited violent penetration of my being. This time, he constantly hit my head on the floor while doing his degrading act. He was never contented on making me feel miserable. While he was doing it, I can still feel the pain of the hot liquid that burned my chin down to my chest. He threw his coffee at me this morning when put I too much sugar in it.
I was knocked down that night, and I don’t know for how long I was out. I woke up on a rotting smell and an unforgiving pain. I looked down and there was blood surrounding me. Helpless, I called an ambulance after I cleaned myself. I don’t want anyone to notice that I am battered by my own husband. The media will feast on this scandal, for sure. And my so-called “friends” will love talking insincerely about it behind my back.
When I came back from the hospital, I made a strong decision of ending my misery.
“I am not a murderer”, the words I repeatedly say whenever I was tempted to finish him. Yet I justified myself, if I have the most valid reason to do it, the authorities will not convict me of murder. They might perhaps thank me for removing a cruel person in this crime-infested world. This thought made me remember the line in the movie Wanted, “Kill one to save a thousand.” And besides, I will never let him hurt the little Stella growing inside me.
To all the abused women in every corners of the world, this is for you. You are strong. –Kyrah Banks
FEATURED PHOTO Model : Kyrah Banks Photographer : Mae Manahan
People and events in this story are purely fictional. The story doesn’t suggest murderous acts as right.