Rain plastered my hair to my head and I continued to walk down the street. Hanging my already soaked jacket over my head with my arms, it was a futile attempt to stay dry. I had to find the next available shelter, whatever and wherever it was.
Heartbreaks are no fun, especially not in the rain and when you don’t even have a car let alone a driver license. A bit of a failure regarding teenage rites of passage, although I’m twenty-eight years of age. I know, quite pathetic, isn’t it?
I imagine you want to know how I ended up in this predicament? I guess I can tell you that. Will you judge me for it? Call the cops I imagine you will want to do. I can’t say I blame you.
Anyway, it all started five years ago when I met him. Blue eyes, dark hair, tall, and handsome. Possibly every woman’s dream if they have any good sense of taste. Yes, he was lovely. His name was Tony.
We had a few drinks, danced, it was love at first sight. Well maybe not love, but infatuation. I wanted him. I needed him. His scent of cologne, the wave of his shoulder length black hair, and the way he walked so confidently. It was a big turn on at the time.
A couple of dates here and there and it was amazing. Three years into our blossoming relationship we got an apartment together. He drove us everywhere. And places were not too far for me to get to since everything was in walking distance. A dream come true in my opinion.
However, things started getting weird. We had gotten pregnant, but I miscarried. Tony never acted the same way again. He started drinking, smoking, and forgetting about me. I saw him cry every night, and although we had still made love, it wasn’t as passionate or as loving as before. It was more like a chore.
Things proceeded to get worse. Tony would stay out late every night. Sometimes he wouldn’t even come home. One day I saw a light in his eyes, the same light he used to have when we were happy together. Enough was enough.
Another time, I told him I would be out late. He didn’t even care, that bastard. So, I came home early and saw them. My Tony and some blond-haired bimbo making love in our bed. I had it! Grabbing the gun that Tony kept locked in our china cabinet, I shot both them while they were in the throes of passion. Something that should have been reserved for me.
Now I’m still walking down another road, seeking shelter. I didn’t bother calling the cops. The smell will become unbearable soon enough and everyone will know their shame. I did however take the gun with me. Yes, there had to be one more bullet left. Wait? How many shots did I fire? Two, three, four, six? No matter, I’m near a bridge now. I am holding the gun to my head. Pulling the trigger, there is only a click. No bullets. Damn it! Aw well, plan “b” it is. I jump over the bridge.