Simeon said I was the love of his life, and he would never love another. He said this long enough, I believed him.
It was easy to believe him as he had a kind of power to convince you of your own death, even though you knew you had to be alive to hear him lie to you.
Simeon said he was not addicted to alcohol, and that he was just like every other man who needed a bottle of beer once in a while. I believed him even though I knew from his breath that it was not bottles of beer he took but expensive bottles of Scotch, draining our savings in the process.
Simeon said he would never cheat on me again. He said it fifty-two times, and I believed him for fifty-three; I knew that he had a rendezvous planned the very night he lied for the fifty-second time.
Simeon said he would never hit me again, and begged me not to leave him. He reminded me of his first lie, telling me that he couldn’t survive my absence in his life. He apologized countless times, promising me it would never happen again, I believed him innumerable times, knowing well that the spirit of cowardice was still in him, and he had to hit me to assure himself that he was still a man in charge of his life.
Simeon said that I was too scared of him to attack and kill him. He said I was weak and could do nothing. This time, I tried to confirm his words with twelve stabs to his chest, each one deeper than the previous.
His dead eyes staring into nothing, the sight of red liquid seeping into the rug confirmed it was all lies; what Simeon said.
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