Hekilledmehekilledmychildhoodhewantedtohurtmehe'sresponsiblehedoesn'tdeserve to live.
I tried my best to hang on to that string of thought. It's the only thing that's making me grip this syringe as I sneaked past the night guards to the patient room.
He came in this morning. Apparently his car got slammed by a truck down at the 9th Avenue that lost control because the driver forgot to put snow chains on the wheels despite it being winter. Guess karma comes at its own pace.
I looked down at him. They managed to stabilize him, and he's sleeping. He won't wake up anytime soon, the drug they gave him was too strong. This probably will be the only chance I'll ever get.
I bring out every ounce of loathing I have for the guy. Every memory, sickening touch, and disgusting caress. When he had invited his friends over, and every time he let them rape me. Every time he demanded for my salary and had me beaten up because I refused to give it to him. When he found out I was pregnant, and he slammed me to the wall because "a baby is too expensive to have" and "I don't want you to love me less".
As if I had ever loved him. As if familial bonds come with love.
As I stick the syringe to his IV, his heart monitor stopped beeping and went screech. I went home to avoid the medics, and start preparing funeral clothes. Two sets for father and me. The hospital gown just won't do.
WC: 255
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