Happy Birthday To Me

I stared at the clock.  11:57PM.  There was only three minutes left to celebrate my birthday.

11:58.

Make that two.

I stared at my phone, furious that it hadn't rung.  It was my birthday and the only thing I wanted was a phone call from my boyfriend.  He hadn't even sent me a birthday text message.  Oh sure, he had said Happy Birthday via Facebook, but that wasn't enough.

11:59.

As time ticked by, my rage grew.  All I wanted was a birthday phone call.  I had told him that at least five times.  Now he was off playing World Of Warcraft or some other online game with his friends, while I sat at home stewing over how insensitive my boyfriend is.

12:00.

My birthday was officially over.

I picked up my phone and sent him a message.  “Thanks for the birthday call.  I really appreciated it.”  I turned my phone off, snuggled beneath the blankets and closed my eyes, hoping that when I wake I would be in a better mood.

My eyes flickered open as the sun streamed in through my curtains.  Despite having a decent night’s sleep I was still crabby.  I sat up and turned my phone on.  There was no reply.

I had a quick shower and threw on a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt.  I laced up my sneakers before grabbing my purse and running out of the house, telling my father I was having lunch in the city with my boyfriend.

I ran all the way to the train station and boarded the next train.

For the next hour I sat in silence, staring out the window.  I wasn't really meeting my boyfriend, but I planned on travelling to his place to rip him a new asshole for not calling me like he promised he would.

Yes, I was still pissed about that.  It was the one thing I wanted more then anything this year and he promised.  He had told me that his word was as strong as oak and that whatever he said he was going to do, he would do.  Clearly, those were just words.

I hopped off the train and made my way through the streets until I was outside his place.  Opening the front gate, I made my way up the front steps before entering the house.  

I stood outside his bedroom door, wondering if I should knock.  A little voice in my head said “Why should you be courteous?  This asshole didn't bother to ring you on your birthday.”

I opened the bedroom door.

My boyfriend was asleep, stretched out in his bed, his mouth open as he snored loudly.  My hands bawled into fists at my side.  Not only did he not bother to keep his promise to me, he was still in bed, sleeping at 10:45AM.

I walked out of the bedroom, entering the bathroom before closing and locking the door behind me.  I stared at my reflection in the mirror.  I could see the rage behind my eyes.  If I didn't calm myself down, I would probably do something I’d regret.

I gave my face a quick wash before exiting the bathroom.  I opened his bedroom door, took one long look at him and let out a war like cry as I charged towards the bed.  

My boyfriend’s eyes opened as I jumped on top of him, my hands wrapping around his throat.  “What-?” he said, startled by my sudden appearance.

I began squeezing his throat, putting all my weight on him.  His hands gripped my arms and pushed me off.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he demanded, rubbing his throat.

I picked up his baseball bat from behind the door.  “You are!” I cried, smiling in satisfaction as the bat connected with his skull with a loud crack.  

I kept swinging with all the force I could muster, watching my boyfriend’s handsome features disappear behind a wall of blood.

With one last swing, the bat snapped in half and my boyfriend’s body dropped to the floor.

“You should have kept your promise, asshole.”

I turned and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me.  I entered the kitchen, my hands shaking.  

My boyfriend’s roommate entered behind me.  “Whoa,” he said, staring at my hand.  “That’s a lot of blood.”

“Oh yeah, I cut myself,” I stammered, turning on the tap and washing the blood off.  “Damn paper cuts.  Hurt more then anything else.”

“Yup, I have to agree with you on that.”

He turned his back to me as he began rummaging through the fridge in search of something to snack on.

Suddenly his arms flailed about as he cried out in pain.  He launched forward, knocking the shelves and food out of the fridge.  I watched as he struggled to reach the handle that was sticking out of his back.

“Here, let me help you,” I said, reaching for the kitchen knife and giving it a good twist.

He screamed in pain.  He reached for the phone but I calmly knocked it away.  

I gave him a shove directly into the wall so that the knife plunged deeper into his back.  “Just.  Drop.  Dead,” I said through clenched teeth, shoving him once again into the wall.

This time he dropped to the ground and didn't move.  Just to be sure, I removed the knife, rolled him over and stabbed him repeatedly in the heart.

When I was convinced that he was dead, I stood up, wiping the blood from my forehead.  

I took a long shower, washing the blood from my body and hair, before changing into some clothes I had left at my boyfriend‘s house.  I wrapped the knife in my T-shirt before throwing it into a bag along with my blood stained jeans.

As I exited the house, bag in hand, a smile crept to my face.

“Happy Birthday to me…”