In a perfect world I wouldn’t have killed Benjamin’s new girl friend. It was actually cited as an accidental death, due to an overdose of an unexplained substance.
It was antifreeze. Tasteless in Red Bull.
Stalking Ben was a hard habit to break. It pulled me to him. It got me a restraining order. Three months in the slammer and a lifetime achievement award for masturbating to a crumpled, soggy photograph. The one of Benjamin, on the floor of the bathroom, naked from the waist down, passed out on Sambuca, at the Riviera Hotel in Malaga.
I don’t know why I liked that photo, but I did. The downy fluff on his backside, caught by the over-the-sink light.
After all, Benjamin burned our wedding album, the people in those pictures had heads. he destroyed it in a fit of rage, over me draining the savings account. So, I had no pictures of ben from the waist up and facing forward.
I opened a letter yesterday from his solicitor. Benjamin was demanding that the three embryos we had remaining in the fertility be destroyed. But, I have rights too. And he wasn’t going to have a baby with that Bimbo, no way.
So, I disguised myself as a clown, the entertainment for the evening. white face, ball nose, curly wig and size 20 shoes, but with a proper man’s 3 piece suit, as to not look too obvious.
I waited ’til they took to the dance floor. I went over and spiked her drink and spent the 20 minutes making animals out of long coloured balloons that I was blowing up in the corner. The squeezing plastic drowning out her wrenching and spitting.
She hit the floor with an almighty crash. But, no one noticed, as it was last call and by then Benjamin had moved on to someone new.
I almost felt sorry for her, so I wiped away some of the foam bubbling out of the corners of her mouth with a cocktail napkin.
I stood up and left out the side door, tucking my bag of balloons in my side pocket.