It’s Not What It Looks Like

courtesy of

courtesy of

“Honey, it’s not what it looks like,” Tracy nervously and repeatedly shouted moments after I had walked into my bedroom finding her in my bed with another guy.

His name was Joshua. Tall, shabby hair which I gathered was from the scratching – Tracy was one of those, baby faced, a bit broke – I could tell from the cheap Samsung on the bedside table and a little bit shy or was it the guilt!

I posed for several seconds a few feet from the door, my mind dashing with ideas. I could literally hear my brain pacing back and forth. After much thought and contemplation, I calmly walked into the bedroom, took a seat on her dressing table and asked, “Uhuh! So what is it that it doesn’t look like?”

I instantly noticed a change of scene, my calmness and that sort of question put her on tension perhaps because given the situation, Tracy expected a much more violent reaction. She was shaking like a leaf on a windy afternoon.

Sharply staring at me without blinking, she tried to speak but squeaked, her voice failed her.

Joshua on the other hand was quiet. Just standing in the corner of the room, arms positioned in a steady posture as if he was waiting for the worst to happen and quickly defend himself.

“Tracy? What is it that it doesn’t look like?” I asked her again.

This time the voice gave way and she started, “See! Jo…Jo… Jo… Josh… Joshua is my friend and we… weeeeeeeee!” she tried to explain or lie I should say, but the anxiousness wouldn’t let her.

There was dead silence for about 15 minutes. The only audible sounds were Joshua and Tracy’s deeply in taken breaths at tremendously rapid intervals. I occasionally stole glances at them and whenever Joshua caught my eye, he used hand gestures to signal either “I am sorry” or “please forgive me” whichever it was.

At this point I walked out of the bedroom, locked the door behind me and headed straight for the knives cabin in the kitchen. I carefully examined all the knives looking for the sharpest. In my mind, it was about to be a crime scene and so many thoughts were running through my mind of how exactly to make it as dramatic as possible.

I was nervous, but my determination to teach the both of them a lesson over powered the nervousness. Tracy and her lover boy would get the full dosage of my wrath today. Some of us may not even leave that bedroom – reflectively an evil grin usurped my frustrated face.

I continued to search through the knives making up dialogue of what I’d say before the deed.

Eventually my choice was made, my dad’s “Dexter Russell S5197W” Chef’s knife was going to execute the deed. The perfect weapon no doubt. It looked as sharp as I needed it to be.

Thus cautiously inspecting it, I felt the blades and they were up to the task. In my now psychopathic mind, I was rather impressed with myself and I couldn’t wait to make them pay.

In the company of my dad’s knife, I walked back to the bedroom, stopping by the door and placing my ear against it to eavesdrop in case they were having a discussion. But there was absolute silence or was it that the door was too thick for me to hear a thing! I didn’t care, they’d be permanently silent in a few minutes anyway

I slowly unlocked the door, one twist at a time, I flicked the nob and entered stamping so hard they could feel the ferocity in my steps. My dad’s knife led the way and once we were both in the room, I locked the door and put the key in my jean pockets.

“Judgment is upon us all, shall we begin…”

*** TO BE Continued ***


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