Disclaimer: Law and Order: Special Victims Unit and it's characters do not belong to me. This is purely for fun and my own entertainment. Hopefully, to entertain others as well.
I can tell by the way she's looking at me, she can't believe it. I'm not sure I know how to respond to that as I keep my eyes fixed on the blood. It stains the floors with it's crimson boldness of premeditated murder. The murder that I committed. It's funny because I can freely admit that to myself and not feel bile rise up in my throat. I know that she's looking at me. I know she can't believe that I would actually have the guts to kill someone.
I do my best to ignore her, staring at the one item that caused all this. All I wanted him to do was one thing for me, but no. He was the man. I was the woman. I was his slave.
When I first cut him, he gagged and sputtered derogatory names at me. You slut! he screamed. You bitch! You backstabbing, lying whore! I had heard them all before, only this time was different. This would be the last time he could ever hurt me with those words ever again. I couldn't keep the small smile of satisfaction from crossing my face. I know she's looking at me in horror. I wish I could tell her that I'm sorry, but I'm not.
It was a week ago, when I was at the police station. Her voice was sugary sweet with sympathy as she asked for my statement. I told her everything. The sexual and physical abuse that I had experienced every single day until I couldn't take it anymore. Maybe at some point, he had loved me, but he didn't anymore. I had finally realized that he was just using me. He didn't love me anymore.
Olivia. Yes, that's her name. Olivia told me that she would protect me. That he would never hurt me again. I watched as one of the strong male detectives dragged my boyfriend in, handcuffs adorning his wrists. He glared at me maliciously. There was just so much hate in those eyes. Olivia caressed my shoulder in reassurance. He would never hurt me again.
It was just my luck that he would find some sleezeball attorney who could find a loophole in the law. That my complaining statement wasn't enough to keep him in jail. Olivia tried to tell me that no matter what, he was going to pay for what he did. Unfortunately, sick bastards like my boyfriend could find ways to cheat the law. She assured me, however, that he couldn't run forever. His trickery and lies would catch up to him.
I guess I wasn't patient enough.
He dragged me back to our place and for a week, our lives fell back into our normal routine. In my back pocket was Olivia's card and number. You can call me anytime, she said. So I did call her, crying and trembling. "I killed him! I killed him!"
Soon, all of New York's Finest were at my threshold kicking in the door and finding me in the kitchen. The knife in my hand. His body on the floor. Voices finally registered with me as cuffs were now slapped on my wrists, like I had done something terribly wrong.
"Why did you do it?" Olivia asked, her voice completely bewildered.
All I could do was shrug as I explained simply, "The sock."
She followed my gaze across the room to find a white sock lying on the floor. His sock. I felt Olivia's grip tighten on my arms as she forcibly turned me around to face her. She didn't have to ask. Her eyes were asking me why. Why kill him over a sock?
Olivia shook her head and muttered, "We could've gotten him. Eventually, we would've gotten him."
This detective wasn't married, I could tell. There was no way to explain to her the significance of that sock. A sock that he tore off his repugnant feet and tossed to the floor without a second thought. The same floor I had spent all day scrubbing on my hands and knees. The same floor I was making perfect for him.
I cooked for him. I laid out his work clothes for the next day. I did the dishes, vacuumed the floors, made the bed and collected all the old newspapers he casually tossed aside when he was done. We made love when I didn't want to. I let him hit me when he was angry. I let him yell words at me. Words I had never known existed in the English language until he had uttered them.
For all I had done for him, I deserved more. For all I had let him do to me, he could at least have the decency to pick up his own damn sock.