An Inconvenient Lie

She was kneeling on the beach, her eyes wide with shock and her once pristine white tank top was covered in a thick layer of crimson blood. Her arms up and her palms wide open, dropping the knife she had clutched tightly in her hands only moments ago, leaving an indentation in her skin of not only the knife’s hilt but the simple curves of her fingernails. She could feel the blood slowly moving down her arms in small slow drops that eventually crashed against the hot sand by her knees. She was kneeling in the boiling sand over the deceased body that was once her loving boyfriend. Her eyes started to sting with tears as they formed in the ducts, glazing her dry eyes over with the salty liquid. Her chestnut brown hair was falling out of the tight bun she had it in when she left her small bungalow just thirty minutes ago. Her heart felt like it was in her throat beating a thousand miles per minute.

A man in khaki shorts and a black and beige colored Hawaiian shirt approached her. He had his detective badge proudly displayed on the waist of his shorts. The gold emblem on the black leather oval shaped badge reflected the sun making it hard to read detective on it. He had his gun holstered on his other hip and his handcuffs tucked in the waistband of his shorts on the low of his back, secured by his pleather black belt. “Ma’am,” he spoke clearing his throat, his hands raised in surrender since he knew she was not only in shock, but that she could come out of it at any time and grab the murder weapon, turning it on him. “Can you stand up for me?” He asked as politely as he could.

She could comprehend he was there and what he was saying. She could only hear her breathing and the detective who was talking to her. She shook her head reluctantly. Her entire body was numb with the realization that she had just killed the one and only person on this earth who actually loved her. Her body was heavy with guilt and she soon heard every mumbling voice of the passerby and the other beat cops who were taking witness statements. She heard the wailing siren of a few more patrols making their way to the scene. She heard the calm, serene ocean colliding against the hot sand, just barely hitting the body laying in front of her. She heard the siren of the ambulance and the sound of a body bag being unfolded so they could load up the cadaver.

The detective took a small cautious step towards the distraught woman who had mascara streaks running down her cheeks from how hard she was crying. “I’m going to help you up, okay?” The detective spoke quietly so she could focus on him instead of everything else that was going on. She nodded to his question once more knowing she couldn’t get up if she even tried. He took a large vigilant step to close the space between them. He grabbed her by the elbows to slowly lift her up from the sand. The excess sand falling off of her sun kissed knees and shins. She stood there looking over the scene in front of her and the blood soaked sand around the body she had just stabbed fifty two times in the torso. Her boyfriend's mouth was gaping and his eyes were glazed over and dead. His once bright blue eyes were now a dim blue full of hatred and regret.

The detective slowly moved her hands behind her back, holding them there as he grabbed his cuffs from their secure spot in the low of his back. He slapped the cold metal against her delicate wrists causing her to wince in pain. As soon as her eyes closed the small stray tears came streaming down her face and crashing against the sand with a faint sizzle sound. He tightened the cuffs to fit her wrists perfectly so they were nice and snug, but not too tight. She watched a crime scene technician walk right up to the scene and grab the knife with a gloved hand, stashing it in a plastic bag that had EVIDENCE written on it in big bold red letters. She observed beat cops closing off the scene with that horribly ugly yellow police tape as the detective walked her to the police car that was sitting on the outskirts of the scene. She watched as camera crews and news casters were talking to on scene police and some of the eye witnesses to get any juicy nibble they could land to hopefully get that headlining spot in the newspaper or that big promotion they would kill for. She winced every time she heard the click of the camera and the sound of the flash. The detective had his arm out to fight off the rabid dogs that were the press who were foaming from the mouth wanting information. He hated the press and everything associated with them. He wanted them as far away from his crime scene as he could get them, but with a scandalous story comes the press.

Another cop, whom she assumed was the head detective’s partner, opened the squad car’s door with a slight frown curving his lips. The head detective placed his hand on the top of her head to ease her into the unmarked squad car. She adjusted in the seat to make herself as comfortable as she could. The air conditioning was blasting in the running car, quickly drying the blood on her caramel colored skin. She looked around and it felt like the world slowed down. The press were like sharks, surrounding the car as the head detective and his partner said a few official statements. Everyone was moving in a lethargic way. Their arms holding microphones and tape recorders to get every last juicy detail from the Miami Police Department’s lead detectives on the case. The reporters made eye contact with her and cameras were snapping unflattering pictures of her so they can include visuals in their reports. They looked remorseful, not just for the deceased and his family who would be affected by the news of this tragedy, but they looked remorseful for her. They knew this was a cut print kind of case as she was caught with the weapon. They had all the evidence they needed to close this case today, so all they needed was her confession. If she pleads guilty to the murder, she was looking at life with a slim chance of parole.

The sound of the car door slamming from the detectives getting into the car made reality finally hit her. Her stomach turned into a knot and an even larger lump formed in her throat. Her eyes glazed over quickly in tears as she realized this wasn't all one awful dream she was having. She blinked quickly to try and suppress the tears, but it was no use, she started to bawl her eyes out in the back of the squad car. She wasn’t looking for remorseful looks or for people to feel sorry for her. She bent over her lap and she cried into her still sandy knees with her eyelids squeezed tightly together.

The head detective let out an audible sigh when he looked into his rearview to see her bent over from her stomach cramping from fear, anxiety, and regret. The partner turned around in his seat and handed her a pack of tissues she couldn't even use due to her hands being behind her back. When he realized his mistake, he pulled a couple out and started to dab her cheeks with the soft cotton like material. There wasn’t much more he could do considering how much of a germaphobe he was. He turned back around in his seat, sighing inaudibly against her wails of mourning.

When they got back to the station, they cleaned her up, took her prints, took her mugshots, and changed her into the unflattering blue jumpsuit with a grey tank top. She looked at her mugshots that were sprawled on the cool metal table in the interrogation room. Her eyes were swollen and beet red from how much she had been crying. Her brown hair had fallen out even more to the point it was out of the clip she had it set in. Her makeup was smeared along her eyes and cheeks, and there were still some droplets of blood splattered on her face. She looked like those crazy, drug addicted ex wives. They had the crazy right. She lifted her hands but was soon restricted from the cuffs that her delicate wrists were bound in under the table. She wanted to look at the processed crime scene photos to make sure this wasn’t some sort of deranged dream.

The detectives came into the room with three cups. The youngest one came around to where she was sitting with her head down. He placed the paper cup filled with water on the table. They knew she wasn’t a threat to them and that what happened was just a momentary lapse of judgement. He unhooked her wrists from the warm metal rings. She looked up at him with her sorrow filled chocolate brown eyes, and he looked back down at her with a small hesitant smile. She massaged her wrists once they were free from their metal bindings. It was a feeling she would have to get used to. “Drink. You must be thirsty.” The older detective spoke, motioning to the paper cup in front of her with his head. She looked up at him for a moment before quickly grabbing the cup and pressing the soft edge against her lips. She wetted her lips with the ice cold water that was cooling down the paper cup. She slowly dipped the tip of her tongue into the water glass. She closed her eyes as she felt the small drops of water immediately cool down her parched throat. She took a few small sips of the water trying to savor every last drop she was given.

They had moved to the chairs on the other side of the table, slowly sitting down in them so they were now the same height as her. The head detective was spreading out the crime scene photos on the metal table so she could look at them. They had a pretty decent idea of why she did it, but they needed her to say why. It wasn’t the first time they’ve seen a jealous wife or girlfriend stab their significant other. It was a pretty common occurrence in not just Miami, but all over the United States. He sighed softly as he folded his hands on the table, watching as she enjoyed the water completely quenching her thirst. “What happened today?” He asked in his slightly fading Puerto Rican accent. She set the cup down with both hands, keeping a soft gaze on the head detective. She leaned forward to look at the pictures on the table. She raised her hand slightly to pull them forward, looking up at them to get their permission. They gave her a simple head nod and she pulled the pictures close to her. They were generalized pictures of the brutal mutilation across his entire torso.

She ran her tongue over her dry lips almost instinctively. She cleared her throat as she spoke in a soft tone of voice. “I lost it…” She mumbled, pulling the picture closer to her. Her eyes started to well with tears once more, but she knew, no matter how hard she tried, she wouldn’t be able to cry anymore. She ran out of tears for the man she once loved, but who never loved her back. “I had always thought that he was cheating on me. I had my suspicions early into the relationship since he had never been in a serious relationship before, but I decided not to look into it. I didn’t want to believe that this…perfect man was a cheater. I pushed all my suspicions back because I didn’t want to ruin the best relationship I have ever had. He never laid a hand on me, he never lost his temper around me even when I was being the ditziest person alive. He would just laugh and tell me he loved me. I didn’t want to ruin that by accusing him of sleeping with other women. He came home to me happy, loving, and stress free.” She choked softly on the lump that was forming in her throat reliving the happiest parts of her relationship.

She grabbed the cold paper cup and took a large gulp to wash down the lump in her throat so she could continue to tell them exactly why she snapped. “We used to live in a quiet little town in Pennsylvania. It was quaint, but I couldn’t take the looks he kept getting from every woman in that God-forsaken town since he had slept with them all, even a few towns over. We moved to Miami to get a fresh start. He said he had relatives out here who offered to help get us back on our feet. We were only out here for a couple of months until my suspicions came back, and why wouldn’t they with all the exotic looking women strutting their stuff barely a few feet away from where we lived. Nevertheless, I kept my fears hidden.”

“He was out late partying with his friends or his coworkers. He started coming home absolutely plastered almost every night. He would yell at me and tell me this was all my fault, that I caused him to start drinking. I would tell him the next morning that if he didn’t stop he would become an alcoholic. He usually tried to slap me across my face and tell me I didn’t know what I was talking about. I finally walked out on him. He had his fun until he realized I wasn’t there anymore. He came crawling back not two months after I walked out. We set our terms and everything seemed fine. Our life was cookie cutter. We were happy, sober, and more in love than we had ever been.”

“One night he came home drunker than can be, stating it was a one time thing and that one of his friends at work just got promoted and he took everyone out for drinks. I believed him. It was two weeks later I found him on the beach drunkenly hitting on some girls. I pushed it back because I figured it was just the alcohol making him act like that. I kept hiding the way I felt because I didn’t want him to get angry at me again. I loved this man with every fiber of my being and I couldn’t stand the thought of some other woman touching him or even making eyes at him, but I could never tell him these things because he would say I’m just overreacting and that I am the one he truly loved and wanted to spend the rest of his life with. I believed him as any naive hopeless romantic would.”

“Today, I snapped. I couldn’t control my actions. I was at home, preparing lunch because I knew he was going to be hungry after he came back from his surf lessons, something he's always wanted to learn, but there aren't exactly many bodies of water you can surf on in Pennsylvania. I was in my own mind, dancing and singing along to the songs on the radio when I heard his phone go off. It was typical for him to leave his phone at home when he was going to go out on the water. I tried to ignore the small ding and the fact that it might be another woman texting him. I took a deep breath hoping to pull it from my mind, praying that the message belonged to his mother who called him frequently. Then it went off again, and again, and again, and finally I had enough of that annoying little ding sound he had set as his text message sound. I walked over to his phone just to see who it was.”

“I nearly dropped the phone when I read who it was from. It was from some woman he met at a work party a couple weeks back. They had been fooling around ever since the party and she wanted to know if he was free so they could do…things. I was infuriated. I couldn’t believe after how faithful I was to him, this is what he was doing in his free time. I cooked, cleaned, and made sure he was okay every second of every day. I was there for him no matter what. After I walked out on him, I didn’t fool around with anyone then either. I stayed faithful to him, and only him. The whole cheating thing didn’t bother me as much as it should have. What was making me angry was that my gut feeling about him was right, but I ignored it. Through everything I ignored it. I loved him and he could never feel the same about me either.”

“I grabbed the nearest thing I could, which was the kitchen knife I was cutting onions with. I ran out to the beach, watching him blatantly hitting on his surf instructor. He had asked for the female instructor, and I thought it was a bit weird that he specifically requested her, but he said that his buddy at work recommended her to him. I brushed that off. The rest of what happened is one large blur because I couldn’t see much through my tears. I couldn’t hold them back as I yelled at him for being that rat he was. I know for a fact I pushed him over on the ground and I stabbed him once or twice while I was over him. After that, I was seeing red, almost literally, and my adrenaline took over. The next thing I know, I’m in a squad car being detained for murdering my boyfriend.”

“Everything about him was a lie, even his tan. It was all fake. He never loved me like I thought he did. He didn’t mean it when he said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. I have a hard time trusting people when it comes to my feelings. I’ve had bad past relationships. They've all been abusive, and they always say they love me after the fact when my lip was swollen and my eye was black. He shattered my trust in him. He made me trust him, and he made me love him. He was never capable of real feelings…If it wasn’t me, it was going to be someone else. I’m just happy it was me.” She sighed softly and pushed the pictures of her deceased boyfriend away from her. She felt proud of herself for what she had done. She knew he was a pest on this Earth and someone needed to get rid of him.

The head detective sighed and packed up the file with all the pictures, closing it. “Thank you for your time.” He said softly. He nodded his head her way, and he and his partner both got up and left her in the room alone. She reached forward and downed the rest of the water in the still cold paper cup. She exhaled faintly as she tilted her back, her eyes falling shut. It was like a weight lifted off of her shoulders. She never had to deal with him ever again. She never had to stress herself out over if he was cheating on her. She never had to lose sleep over worrying if tonight was the night he was actually going to heavily abuse her because of his alcoholism. The story she told the detectives didn’t do him justice. They had really high highs, and some really low lows. Life seemed a little easier now that he was out of the picture. She knew where she was headed, to a federal prison where she would eventually wither away to nothing and die. No one remembering her or her cheating boyfriend. Their legacies are dying with them. His ex lovers living in utter regret, denial, and shame as they're forced to live with the fact that they were the other women. They caused this. In her mind, she was the real victim.