Empty Words

"Hello my love," he said as he kissed my neck. Mere rhetoric, I thought as he crossed the kitchen. Out of habit I responded in kind. Without taking my eyes off the knife sawing through the bread, I chastised myself for feeling too afraid to speak and tell him that I knew.

Love, he'd said. Love had left when he told me he was going to be late coming home and then promptly picked up his briefcase and escorted the new secretary to her warm bed not two hours ago. I knew because I was sitting in the parking lot ready to surprise him when they walked past and climbed into her car. I clenched the handle of the knife a little tighter.

I didn't hear him walk up behind me before I felt the same tongue that delivered those hollow words follow the curve of my ear lobe. "Make love to me." His breath fell into the scoop of my neck. It use to tickle, but now it enraged. I turned sharply and he fell into my arms, the knife ripping through his heart and the deep red of his love staining the two of us forever.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***