I often wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t let the rage out. Would he have stopped beating me down with the verbal and physical abuse? Would he have stopped having affairs? Its too late now, I’ll never know how it might have ended, I only know how it HAS ended.

It began one night when I was at work. I saw him staggering across the forecourt, obviously drunk already and coming to harass me for more money. I knew he’d left the children without a sitter again and the anger started to build. I’m glad there were no customers to see the embarrassment and shame on my face as he entered.

“I need money, now!” He slammed his hand on the counter to emphasize the point.

“I don’t have any, it’s all gone.”

He leant over and grabbed my hair, “I know you’re lying, stupid bitch, now get your purse and give me the fucking money!”

I know I could have pressed the panic button, or run and hid in the back, but I’d had years of abuse from this man and I’d had enough.

“My bag is in the back, I’ll let you through.” I walked over and entered the code, then pushed the door open. He staggered into the stock room past me, with a nasty sneer on his face. Unfortunately for him he didn’t realise exactly what we had in stock and his expression soon changed when I hit him in the back of his head with a tyre iron.

He dropped to the floor with a thud, smashing his face on the concrete. As he groaned and tried to roll over I raised the tyre iron and bought it down on his head again. “That’s for the beatings, and that’s for the rape!” I shouted as I hit him repeatedly, the rage inside me growing with each strike. “And that’s for abusing my babies!” I screamed as I felt, and heard, his head crunch with my next swing. I paused, waiting for a moan, a breath, any sign that he was alive. Nothing.

As I stood with tears streaming down my face I realised what I had done. I had no idea how I would clean this mess up, but I knew I had to for the sake of my children. I sat and thought, while I stared at my husbands body. There was only one person who might help so I called and explained.

10 minutes later I heard a motorbike pull up outside, I opened the side door and saw with relief that it was my co-worker and only friend. He knew of the abuse I’d suffered through the years and was willing to help me.

“We need to clean this place up and I know just where to dump this piece of scum.” He said as he hugged me. ” I’m only sorry I wasn’t the one to kill the worthless bastard, after what he’s done to you.” He went outside and put the ‘Closed for delivery’ signs out, while I searched for the bleach and other cleaning products. We then rolled the body in a tarp and dragged it out to my car. After scrubbing the floor and walls I put the remaining bleach in the trunk with the tarp, then sat in the office to try and calm down. It was still dark but we knew we had limited time, so my friend persuaded me outside and we drove out to a secluded spot in the forest. We dragged the tarp out onto the ground, pulling it to an area full of rotting logs, which we used to cover the body, after dousing it liberally with bleach.

Half an hour later we were back at work, open again, waiting for my shift to finish. I was on edge, only my friend’s presence stopping me from falling apart.

As far as anyone knows my husband had left me again, his body has never been found. My children are happy, able to have fun without his oppressive character overshadowing them. I’ve moved away to a new and better life, often thinking about my friend who helped because he cared, not because he wanted anything from me.

I’ll never forget the night I allowed my rage to take over.






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