Grace Under Pressure

Grace under pressure, Cooling palm across my brow, Eyes of an angel, Lay me down

She picked up the gun; its cool grey metal fitted perfectly into her hand. As if the gun was solely made for this moment. She loved this gun more than she’d ever loved. She considered it better to love a gun than a person. It couldn't hurt her.

Guns don’t hurt people, she mused, cradling the pistol in her hand, people hurt people.

He would be home soon, and then she would do it. Once and for all.

She had tolerated the ‘secret’ weekend rendezvous’, the messages she found on his phone.

Even when she had noticed the lipstick on his collar, she had turned a blind eye. The hushed, late-night phone calls, all the ‘overtime’ at the office, his detachment, the fights that he would pick so he had an excuse to storm out of the house, all of them she had endured.

For three years she assured herself it was OK. He loved her; that was all that mattered. He had saved her from her darkest times; he had brought her back from the dead.

But now, she had reached her breaking point; how dare he run off with his mistress on the night of their anniversary? He had overstepped the line.

She looked around the wide open room, all her things lined up in their places on the walls, all waiting for the confrontation. The cold steel of the kitchen gave her confidence in her cause; it, like her, allowed nothing to hurt it, remaining ever clean and smooth. The books lined up on the wall of the lounge watched in approval as she made final adjustments to her outfit and fixed her already perfect hair in the long mirror hanging by the dining table.

The preparation for this night had been faultless; her auburn hair pulled back into a neat French roll, flawless makeup, a dark green top which hugged tightly to her angular frame and newly enhanced chest. Her black pants, designer of course, were paid for without his knowledge using “our money”; the same account that he had used for his stay at the five star hotel for the previous ten nights. As an added stab at him, the pants had cost more.

A wicked smile appeared in her reflection; she would make him regret his little fling.

*

His hands were wound tightly around the steering wheel. Guilt consumed every thought. He had never felt guilty. For years he had been doing this, she had never suspected a thing, he had never worried but tonight he felt different.

Overwhelmed by the feeling that something would go horribly wrong, a knot of fear began to rise in his throat.

He pulled into the driveway and shut off the car. Unusual stillness covered the night, not a sound could be heard. Cautiously, he followed the path to the front door.

*

She heard his key slide into the lock and, as the calm light of the moon overpowered the warm flickering glow from the frantic tongues of the open fire, he entered the room.

“You’re late”

As she turned around his eyes flitted to the dark grey pistol in her hand.

“What’s going on?”

She let out a laugh, the first he had heard from her in years.

“What do you think?”

His mind raced, what could he do? Every muscle in his body urged him to run, but he didn’t want to risk it.

“I…I don’t know… Please…don’t-don’t hurt me…I…I haven’t done anything wrong…”

Again, she allowed herself an echoing laugh, this time throwing her head back as her whole body shook with the force of it.

“Tell me, darling, how was your ‘conference’?”

His stomach dropped. He froze, unable to speak, unable to think, unable to move.

“What? You thought I didn’t know? Come on, you and your little mistress friend always just so happened to be ‘out of town’ at the same time?”

Still, he had no response. His mind worked at a snail's pace, and, like walking through molasses, he slowly realized that she had always known.

“Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Apologize, the only thought he could form, his last and only hope, apologize, apologize, apologize.

“I…I’m sorry…I didn’t want to hurt you…”

She tipped her head back as yet another waterfall of rich laughter flowed from her.

“Hurt me? You were never in a position to hurt me, any more than a dust mite is in a position to hurt a tiger. I am not hurt. I’m pissed; how dare you? How did you actually think you would get away with this? OCD, you knew. Obsessive. Compulsive. Disorder. Do you understand that? Did you really expect me not to notice? Stupid little man.”

He heard the click of the bullet being prepared for its journey, yet surely she wouldn’t do it.

Surely she meant only to scare him, to teach him a lesson.

Surely she wasn’t this unstable.

Surely she couldn’t shoot her own husband in cold blood just for a simple affair.

Surely she wasn’t that crazy.

Surely she wouldn’t…

As his body collapsed limply to the floor she felt an overpowering sense of satisfaction. He was gone. Her life could be Perfect again. She allowed herself a small smile as she padded to the laundry for the bleach...

Lyrics copyright Elbow

[edit] - I've made some changes as kindly suggested by Stella and ReasonInvalid. It's certainly working better now! Thanks guys!!

I know it's pretty repetitive and lame that i only have 'he' and 'she' characters, but I think it helps to avoid getting pretences about the characters ie. Maria - I once knew a Maria, she was horrible to me on the playground when i was a child, i'm going to hate the Maria in this story, she must be mean.