A Plethora of Prompts - 6. PT Prompt #124 - Murder Dream

“Tell me what brought you here.”

“Well, I’m not sure I really need to be here, but my best friend told me therapy was probably a good idea after everything that happened, so here I am.”

The therapist steepled his fingers and nodded sagely. “You didn’t have to listen to your best friend, so something must have struck a chord with you.”

“Yeah, I suppose. He’s usually right, the bastard. And I do think it would probably be good to talk about it.”

“Tell me what happened.”

The man sitting across from the therapist inhaled deeply, raising his shoulders, and held his breath. After a few seconds, he let it all out in one go, shoulders falling. “So, a couple of months ago, I had this dream. George was starting his shit again, ranting and raving about the most ridiculous things. It was all triggered by the fucking electric bill…” he paused and looked at the doctor. “Sorry about the swearing, but it’s hard not to swear when talking about George.”

The therapist smiled; the edges of his eyes crinkled beneath his glasses. “Trust me, I’ve heard it all. Please don’t hold back on my account.”

“Well, I got the electric bill and tried to hide it from George, but of course, he found it. It went up by five bucks from the previous month. Five freaking dollars! You’d have thought it was going to bankrupt us from the way he carried on. You know how as a kid, our parents would bitch about leaving lights on and ‘wasting electricity’? At least mine did. And apparently so did George’s.” I rolled my eyes. “George was obsessed with the stupid electric bill. Every single fucking day for the past fifteen years, all I heard about was how much electricity we were using. Seriously. We couldn’t have the AC set lower than 80 degrees in the summer or the heat above 60 in the winter because it used too much electricity. Leaving an unnecessary light on in the house? The end of the freaking world. It was bad enough during the day, but for it to invade my dreams?” The man pounded his fist on the edge of the couch.

“I can see how that would be frustrating. What happened next in the dream?”

“Well, I was in the kitchen, chopping some onions for dinner, when he came in and started in on the electricity. Every single light in the house was on. He screamed and yelled at me as went through the entire house and turned them off, one by one, stopping in the kitchen. His face was bright red, eyes bugging out of his face, hair flying everywhere—he had the most gorgeous long, brown hair—spittle flying into my face. He called me all sorts of horrible names. Said I was stupid and useless and, well, you get the idea.” The man gripped the edge of the couch so tightly, his knuckles were white.

“So, I took the knife I was using to cut the onions and stabbed him with it.”

“What happened after you stabbed him?”

“It didn’t stop there. His eyes were so wide I thought they would fall out of his head. His mouth gaped open like a freaking fish. He finally said, ‘What the fuck, Jeremy?’ and then I screamed and stabbed him again. And again. And again. I screamed the entire time, letting out every insult, every passive aggressive comment, every verbal abuse he piled onto me for the past two decades with each cut of the knife. When I was done, there was nothing left but a pile of blood and chopped human. It was pretty disgusting.”

“How did you feel when you were finished stabbing him?” If the therapist was rattled by the imagery, he didn’t show it.

The man’s face contorted between a grin and a grimace. “Honestly? It felt pretty fucking good!”

“What happened next?”

“I woke up. The dream was so real, I truly thought George was dead. I sat up in bed, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. I felt this incredible sense of relief that I wouldn’t have to deal with all the abuse anymore.” The man made a strangled sound. “My partner of over 20 years… and I was happy to think of him dead! Then George let out a big snore next to me, and I was honest-to-God disappointed. What kind of person does that make me?”

“It makes you human,” the therapist replied. “Go on. What happened next?”

“I went on with life. For the next month, all I could think about was that dream though, and what it meant. So, I started planning. I knew George wouldn’t let me leave him without something serious happening, so I talked to my best friend about what to do. He was so relieved that I finally ‘came to my senses and was leaving that festering pimple on the ass of humanity’.

“It took another month for the plan to come together, but it finally did. We chose a day where George was going to be several hours out of town for work, then packed all my stuff, shoved it into a U-Haul, and left the state. George has no idea where to find me.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Relieved. Safe. Free for the first time in a long time.” Jeremy grinned.

“So, this dream….”

“Was the catalyst I needed in order to leave my fucking asshole of an abusive husband.”

“That took an immense amount of courage. Now, let’s talk about moving forward.”

Be sure to check out Cole Matthews' response to the same prompt.  I bet you thought I was going to have Jeremy murder George for real