Save One Bullet

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. The anger boiling out of my heart had frozen my face into a stone mask of fury and indignation. 'Who did he think he was?' I raged internally. 'He was not going to get away with this.'

I tried to calm myself by splashing cold water on my face and reapplying my makeup, hoping to soften the bitter resentment that was showing. That son of a bitch had been cheating on me for months. Without an accidental eavesdropping encounter at the supermarket, I still would have been in the dark. It was a good thing that bastard wanted Swiss Cheese, or I'd never have found out. I'll give him holes...

Trust was a four-letter word, as far as I was concerned. I wasn't going down without a fight. If he wanted that tall blonde with the big boobs he was going to have to claw his way out of my clutches first. Good luck with that, pal.

I was reapplying my mascara when I noticed a fogged section on the mirror. That was odd. There wasn't any hot water running. Running my fingers over the haze on the mirror it was apparent that the fog was coming from the inside of the mirror. Hmm. I touched up my eyeliner and chose a bright coral lipstick to go with my blood-red fingernails. It was time to pull out the femme-fatale on my dear husband, Tom.

Damn. The frost on the mirror was spreading, leaving me with half a lip unpainted. What the heck? Inside the layers of glass and steel, a message appeared, seemingly written by an invisible finger. 'REVENGE', stood out in bold relief behind the mirror's glass. As quickly as it appeared, the word disappeared, leaving the mirror clear once again.

My imagination was running away with me, I thought, painting my lower lip with the shiny coral gloss. Revenge was a pretty good idea. However, first I was going to make him regret turning his back on me. If you are my man, you have to be all mine. I don't play well with other children, and I don't share.

I ran a razor over my legs and massaged his favorite lotion over them until they were silky smooth. The scent of coconut and honeysuckle drove him wild. Exactly where I wanted him, in the wild, with only me. Putting on the scarlet red panties and bra with the lacy teddy, I smiled, thinking of the trap he would be walking into tonight. The black silk stockings and high heels were the icing on this delectable cheesecake. Cheat on me? I don’t think so, cupcake.

One last check in the mirror before my dearest, faithful husband was due home from a hard day at his job, screwing the blonde bimbo who worked at the front desk during office hours and on top of it after. I do so hope he got a raise for all his overtime. Poor dear. Before I flipped off the bathroom light, another message from the fickle finger in the foggy mirror appeared, 'Torture him.'

The mirror and I were in perfect agreement, revenge, and torture were definitely on the menu for tonight. I giggled and went downstairs to await my knight in tarnished armor. After pouring a good-sized glass of red wine, I settled onto the sofa with my legs displayed provocatively, just barely hinting at the secret delights beneath the red lace.

Sipping wine, I waited patiently for the unsuspecting fly to snag himself in my web. My blood boiled as I thought back on the afternoon at the market, hearing that brainless twit giggling about how she would be getting a raise this year because she sure gave her boss a raise. Not on my watch, bimbo. Not on my watch.

I refilled the glass with more wine and checked my phone. It was after seven and there were no missed messages. Hopefully, Tom wouldn't be too tired out from 'working' overtime. Mama had a honey-do list to die for. Maybe he'll give me a raise.

At eight o'clock I made a run to the bathroom to pee an entire bottle of wine into the toilet. That was funny. The wine started out red. Now it was yellow. Huh. It was a miracle.

As I washed my hands the message in the mirror read, 'What are you waiting for? You know where they are.'

That was it. The mirror was right. I knew exactly where they were, and a scrap of an idea was taking shape inside my wine-drenched mind. I threw on my jeans and a loose sweater and topped off the look with one of Tom's dark hoodie sweatshirts. I slipped on a pair of his running shoes. They were a bit large, so I tucked a ball of tissues into the toes so I could walk in them, disguising my footsteps.

Next, I rummaged through the lock box where he kept his pistol. It was a Glock something or other. I checked the magazine and there were ten bullets in it. Good. Five rounds for each of them, if I was lucky. I stumbled into the bathroom for a quick clean-up of my makeup, which had started to run about half a bottle ago.

The mirror had one last message for me, 'Save one bullet for yourself. Or you could forgive him.'

Forgive him? Forgive him? I'd rather eat a bullet.

I snagged his extra set of car keys out of the tray along with mine and hurried out to the slick, icy driveway, with the Glock in the hoodie pocket. The plan solidified as I drove through the city to the building where he and that blonde whore worked. I parked down the street where there were no cameras and walked quickly to the insurance company's parking lot behind the office building.

Quietly opening the driver's door of my husband's car, I slipped into the seat and kept the door open just a crack, so I'd be ready to pounce when my prey appeared. It was almost ten o'clock before I saw them, arms slung over each other's shoulders, laughing loudly at something terribly witty, I'm sure. The blood was pounding in my head and the parking lot turned to a red haze as they approached his car.

About twenty or so yards from the car, Tom must have noticed the overhead light on before the bimbo did. "Hey, what the heck? I hope the battery isn't dead."

My heart was trapped in my throat as I fumbled, trying to pull out the handgun. I tore the hoodie pocket, extricating the handgun. I couldn't remember if the safety button was red or black. If the safety was on, I wouldn't be able to get off a shot before Tom cornered me. It was getting more complicated the closer they came to the car. What was I doing? If he left me for that woman he'd be gone and if I killed him, he'd still be gone. Either way, I would lose because I still loved him and my heart would be broken without him, no matter how he left me.

I remembered the last mirror message, 'Save one bullet for yourself. Or you could forgive him.'