Behind Closed Doors

by B.A. Paris

‘What colour will it be?’ asks Diane. ‘Red,’ says Jack. ‘It’s her favourite colour.’

NO?????

‘Then could I have your email address?’ ‘Sure. It’s jackangel@court.com.’ ‘Isn’t that Jack’s address?’ ‘It’s mine too.’

oh I hate this

‘Don’t be so hysterical, it doesn’t suit you. Something’s come up, I’ll see you in the morning.’

are you fucking kidding me??? I will literally cut your manhood off shut up

Surely I have a right to be angry!’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘You don’t. You have no rights at all.’

I would murder

Had it all been a facade, had he covered his true self with a cloak of geniality and good humour to impress me?

He prides himself on uttering only the truth, and enjoys that I am the only one who understands the meaning behind his words.

I fucking hate this guy

The door opens and he stands in the doorway, my handsome, psychopathic husband.

he thought she had never looked more beautiful.

I--

but Jack’s.

I AM OUTSIDE MY FUCKING BODY OH MY GOD

It was then that I didn’t only vow to kill Jack, but to make him suffer as he had made Molly suffer.

AND EVERYBODY REJOICED.

‘So, have you told the neighbours that as well as having a manic-depressive wife, you have a mentally retarded sister-in-law?’

oh!

In her mind, where the line between fact and fiction is often blurred, murder is simply a solution to a problem.