“You just don’t get it. No where in our vows did it say I had to be fed mental and physical abuse. The better or worse comment, in my book, means to stay by your side if you got sick, lose your job or something. Not!” Ariel yelled to drive the point home, “to put me through what you’ve done too many times to count.”
Steven sat speechless. His mouth was open, shocked by his wife’s words.
“Can we talk about this?” Steven asked.
“We just did. I suggest you enjoy the last meal my hands will ever prepare for you.” Ariel stood abruptly, and the chair’s legs scraped and sounded against the marble flooring. “I’ll be back at a later date to gather the rest of my things.”
“You can’t give up on us like this. We have a good life together,” Steven pleaded.
“Stevie,” Ariel replied in a nasty tone. “I haven’t given up on us; I gave up on you.”
Steven swallowed a couple more forkfuls of food, then forcefully pushed his plate across the table toward her. The plates collided and split into several triangular pieces. Steven stood, clasped his hands together as if he was praying and began to beg Ariel to reconsider her decision. Ariel never allowed her eyes to leave his. She was frightened, but she blanketed her fear with the notion of a new life, one minus the abuse she s
ometimes took. In one short movement, Steven stood in her space, nearly face to face with her. His compassionate words moved from a soft-toned, sorry-filled sentiment to a scornful, harder, threatening one. His eyes transformed to hateful ones, the red veins prominent as if he hadn’t slept for days. The level of his voice rose with each passing second. Like cannonballs shot at a battleship, the verbal assault exploded against her vessel, rattled her spirit, but didn’t break it.
“See what I mean,” she spoke evenly with a hint of defiance.
Steven turned around, his blood boiled inside. Never did he consider her argument for wanting to end their sometimes strained marriage. He believed marriage was ordained by God and that meant forever. He couldn’t let it end, no matter what the cost, no matter how he acted at times.
“Damn it!” Steven yelled. He knocked over a chair with a frustrated swing. “Think about what you’re doing. We have a good life.”
“Is this and the hostility you’re showing now a part of the”—Ariel raised her hand and made the quotation mark move with two fingers—“good life? If it is, then I’m in search of a better life. There is no shame in that.”
“You’d shame me with a failed marriage.”
“I shamed you when I spoke to Devin when he was with another woman. I shamed you when I played with myself, and now, I’ve shamed you simply by talking about a divorce. It’s always all about you. Know what,” she spoke with conviction while Steven walked back into her personal space. “I’m putting me first, putting what I want ahead of me trying not to shame your sensitive feelings.”
Steven felt belittled. Never in his life had a woman talked to him in such a degrading manner. A familiar thought of putting her in her place spoke volumes to him. The thought lit the blood in his veins like a match to a fuse of a dynamite stick. His flying fist originated from Georgia, possibly south of the equator, intended to prove who was boss. His right arm swung in front of her face with so much force, Ariel felt the breeze from the blow. However, Ariel’s sight never left his revealing eyes and they prepared her for the onslaught. She had one hand resting on her hip and the other supporting her weight on the table. Steven’s blow was fast, but Ariel was quicker. She grabbed a piece of broken plate, held it in front of her as she leaned backward out of harm’s way. The plate cut a gash five inches long and an inch and a half deep into his forearm. Steven grabbed his arm, grimaced in pain as blood seeped through his fingers.
“I can’t believe you’d do this to me,” Steven yelled.
“You tried to hit me with your fucking fist,” Ariel screamed back. “I can’t believe that. I’ve done nothing to you except ask for a new life. You,” she spoke with a shaky voice, “tried to beat me into submission. I have every right to defend myself.”
Steven kicked at her. Again, Ariel dodged his aggression.
“Maybe instead of causing me harm, you should direct your attention to your bleeding arm. It looks fairly severe.”
Steven wanted to dispute her suggestion, but the pain accompanying the blood had announced itself; it couldn’t be ignored. He cursed her, called her everything except a child of God as he walked toward the bathroom. Ariel stood at the bathroom’s entrance and watched him tend to his arm. The compassionate side of her wanted to reach out and help, but the deadly intention of his swing killed all chances of her taking action.
“Do you feel a slight pain in your stomach?” she asked.
“I’ll never forgive you for what you just did to me,” Steven responded.
“Good. Let the resulting permanent scar be a constant reminder that a real man would never strike a woman. More importantly, remember, a woman scorned is a deadly thing.”
“You’re just lucky that I missed.”
“Truly, darling, you’re the lucky one,” she said and smiled devilishly afterward. “If you had struck me with that much deadly force, I wouldn’t be inclined to tell you how to dilute the poison,” she said nonchalantly.
Suddenly, the question about stomach pain resurfaced in his mind. He was unsure if paranoia had set in, but if he allowed himself to feel something other than the anguish of the arm, there was a discomfort residing in his belly. His unharmed arm instinctively held his stomach as if he was holding back severe cramps.
“What in fuck’s name did you do to me?”
“The poison I put in your food was intended to be my safety net. The factor that would allow me to get out of the house without you kicking my ass. As it turned out, the arm accomplishes the same thing.”
“You poisoned me, you bitch! I’ll kill you,” Steven roared.
“Not today. I wouldn’t spend too much energy. It will make the poison spread quicker throughout your system.”