The Darkness Within

And so it begins...

Bradley's POV

It all started on Tuesday, I had just gotten my paycheck and deposited it in the bank, $1,000,000. This wasn't a strange number for me, I had a very rewarding job, at least money-wise. Driving back in my vintage edition 1960's red Porsche I arrive at my chateau to greet my beautiful wife. After dinner, I descend into my parlor. Clinking ice in my glass, I can feel my body relax as I relish the taste of my usual after-dinner glass of The Balvenie 50-year-old Single Malt Scotch Whiskey. As my thoughts transverse through the events that took place earlier in the day, I remember the only price for all this luxury, my soul. A sudden ring of the phone. An eerie feeling rushed over me.

"Hello, Vincent. What brings your call this evening?" His shaken voice told me I had a reason for concern. 

"Bradley, I heard lingers at the office of trouble in paradise. I sense William has dropped the ball on the firm investments."

 I tried to dismiss his concerns and ease back to my whiskey, but somehow, I knew tomorrow could only bring trouble my way. It was 6 am when I received the call from my associates on Wall Street. I waited to pick it up for I knew I was screwed when I did. On the last ring, I picked up and listened to my worst nightmare as it unfolded in my ear. Vincent explained how William had dropped the ball. My anger rose bigger than ever. I imagined punching William to a pulp, because of him I will lose my job, my life, and probably my sanity. I had never felt the resentment I had burning in my body right now. How could I explicate this information to my employees?

Knowing that their paychecks were going to bounce and we could go under. As I drove to the office, the feeling of loss, grief, devastation, rushed over me that I almost wrecked my car. As my tires slid across the road, I felt the wind in my hair, feeling my life flash before me, my foundation slipping away beneath my feet. The relief I felt was unsettling, if I died, I wouldn't have to explain this to Chelsea. I decided to leave the office early. Arriving home midday, the house felt empty. It never felt that way. As I walked into my chateau, I noticed my pride and joy coming down the marble staircase lined with gold railing, the most elegant steps I had ever seen, I stood still in awe. When she asked me how my day was, I stuttered, for I didn't know what to say. How could I tell her? Our life together was over. She walked over to kiss me and I couldn't resist.

Her lips tasted like cherry however the bittersweet injustice of my job showed through. I couldn't stop and enjoy the love I had with her, I constantly worried. Dinner that night was awkward, I couldn't think of what to say and she kept asking me how I was. I didn't want to lie but how could I jeopardize my marriage. 

It's been weeks since I lost my job. I still haven't told Chelsea; I just can't do it. Whenever I try to talk to her, I always chicken out. I'm starting to lose my mind. I've gotten angry. It's an indescribable anger, when I think about how unfair it was, having to choose between my soul and the job. I believe I would've chosen the job. When I get angry, I can't control it, I put my fist through the wall the other day because I didn't have the ingredients for my sandwich. I'm beginning to take my anger out on people as well. Chelsea told me about her wanting a diamond bracelet and it took all of me to not slap her for being so greedy. Then I remembered I hadn't told her about losing my job.  

I had no right to get mad at her because she still believed we had good money. It's been 6 weeks since I lost my job, my anger still growing like a wildfire with gasoline constantly being poured on top of it. As the days go on, eventually my anger will take over. And I will do something I regret. Chelsea is getting more annoying by the day. Every day I have thoughts of hitting her to make her stop talking. Sometimes she doesn't even have to be talking, then suddenly I get a rush of adrenaline to strike her. My empathy is slowly leaving my body. I used to be scared of these thoughts, now I welcome them. One day as she began telling me about the paper I snapped, yelling at her, calling her names I had never said before. 

She got angry and started yelling back, I stood up and grabbed her neck, and gripped tightly. It felt so satisfying yet so wrong all at once. I felt her breathe slipping away, as I released her throat she tried swinging back, I grabbed her wrist, slapping her across the face. I hadn't felt that much joy in months. The rush of power and strength I felt when hitting her was unimaginable. That night she slept in the guest room; I had no remorse for hitting her, she deserved it. It felt great I hadn't felt that sense of power in a long time. As time passed, I continued to hit her. Slowly becoming more and more violent. Eventually drawing blood. She continued to cower and that just fed my power even more. Chelsea started becoming distant, she wouldn't eat dinner with me, she was disappearing at all hours. This really shouldn't bother me like it does. When I don't see her, I get angry. Wondering where she is, who she is with. 

Is she with another, is she accompanying someone else the way she used to be? I couldn't help but get angry. The next time I saw her I pushed her into a wall. My hand was imprinted in her arm, red like fire. As I cocked my arm back to hit her, she got a punch in. This was invigorating, she was fighting back. This had never happened before. I thought when she cowered that was fun but this was new. This was the epitome of fun. My anger thrived on her hitting back. She struck again; catching her hand I threw it backward as I struck again. I struck again, then again, eventually beating her until she didn't move. The love I had burning in my heart was gone, it didn't exist. As I walked away from my wife, I felt like a man.

 She whispered something through her bright red bruised lips, "I'm going to kill you."

I ignored this comment considering the fact she couldn't even stand up at the moment. I walked into the other room and poured myself a bourbon. I saw my reflection in the alcohol cabinet and noticed my lip had been split. With all of my adrenaline, I hadn't felt her break the skin. I wiped the now dripping blood on my sleeve and went to see my wife. As I walked back into the room, where I had left my wife dying, I noticed her body was gone. I heard a click, I turned around to see Chelsea leaning weakly against the study's doorway with my Colt .45. The gun was cocked and pointed towards me. 

"Chelsea, what the hell are you doing?" I asked, slightly afraid she would actually pull the trigger. 

"I'm finishing it."

 Pow! The gunshot echoed throughout the house.