A Woman With a Gun

She could hear Martin and another woman’s voice talking rather intimately out on the front porch. They were discussing her, and how Martin was going to deal with her. The other woman stressed to Martin that she wouldn’t stand for anyone else in his life, she had to be the one and only. In a moment of crushing dread Victoria gasped and stumbled backwards knocking over a flowerpot.

Martin came inside shortly after, inquiring what was wrong. Victoria pulled her best acting job and explained how she clumsily knocked it over because of not being fully awake. She sealed her story by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him good morning. Inside she recalled the woman from the cab and her mind embarked on a dark journey of speculation and suspicion.

For the next week and a half she began counting lapses of time that he couldn’t account for. She noticed the way he acted when he came home on some nights. And on several occasions she could smell the faint aroma of perfume on him, never her brand. It had become rather evident at this point that she was sharing him with another. Her heart was broken, her despair grew, then soured into rage as it fermented.

She just wanted to know why. Why he would propose to her if he were involved with another. Or how he could have fallen out of love with her so quickly if he didn’t know this woman at the time he asked her to marry him. Either way, there was no just answer, she would ask, but it didn’t matter. Nothing he could tell her would change her mind, for this was the end.

The key entered into the doorknob and rolled across the tumblers sliding the deadbolt to the right and out of the slot in the doorframe. It was the signal to prepare and she stood up, seconds later the key entered into the main latch and the knob turned shortly after. Martin opened the door and flipped the nearby light switch. Victoria had purposely positioned herself so that she was the first thing he saw when the room lit up. The color drained from his face as he was struck with the vision of that cold barrel gaping at him.

"Victoria…"

Her eyes were cold and stern, and her hand was as steady as a corpse.

"Martin" she replied prosaically.

"What…what are you doing?"

He looked genuinely confused.

"Good act dear, but I think you know quite well what I’m doing."

He shook his head and held a pained expression as if his mind were actually straining to make sense out of a situation he was clueless to.

"I guess you chose the wrong woman to double-cross. I have a streak Martin, you know that, an unstable streak that is rather unpredictable. You tore my heart out and broke it in two, so now I’ll put a bullet through yours."

"Victoria… I love you, why would you say these things about me? It’s me darling… it’s your Martin… I would die before I ever hurt you, you know that."

"Your order is backwards… you’ll die now, after hurting me. I saw you that day… I saw you and I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but there you were."

"What? What day?"

"Three weeks ago, Labor Day weekend, I was coming home from the market and I saw you enter a cab with her, then put your lips on hers you filthy dog… was it worth it? Was it worth your life?"