Death in a teacup

I stood, hypnotized by the mighty whirlpool, the bag spinning helplessly. If I was to be of minute size, I would surely be swallowed In Its hot current, spinning like a pooh stick In an eddy.
I must take care, for too much would kill Instantly, a quick death he would not have. To come this far and fail would be a travesty, he will die a death akin to mine own, I have not died In the physical sense, but for every blow struck, he killed a little more of my spirit each time. Immense suffering will be my parting gift, I have suffered many years at the hands of a man that was supposed to love me. When the poison has done my bidding, I will say a prayer for both our souls and take the poison myself, two hundred milligrams should be enough, maybe three.
Each meal I have lovingly prepared, each mug of piping hot tea, I laced with the Arsenic, an amount no bigger than a grain of sugar would be enough to render him helpless and confused. I cared not that my duties increased whilst I cleaned his vomit from the walls or changed his bedding after bouts of the most awful diarrhoea you could ever imagine, these things were necessary to keep up the pretence that I was truly worried for his well-being. His confusion came often, which I used to my advantage, convincing his troubled mind that the Doctor had been, and diagnosed a stomach bug and that he would be well In a day or so.
I made a promise to myself the day I started my quest, that I would pray for forgiveness as he begged for mine. I would cry tears of regret and fall into a void of depression, as that always worked for him, and when we stand at the gates of hell,(for that is surely where our souls will end up) I can, with comfort, pronounce that I am truly sorry for my wrongdoing. Forgiveness will be mine and my actions will be justified, for I have wept and pleaded for absolution.
I have bruises on my body, In places, I am too ashamed to show. I wear high neck dresses and sweaters so to hide the strangulation marks on my throat. The cuts on my inner thighs are reminders that no matter how much I fought him, he would find a way to force himself upon me. My cuts and bruises will heal, my mind shall never heal, when sleep comes to him, no longer will he torment and torture me, no longer shall I be afraid to speak, in the event that I say the wrong word, or In the wrong tone.
I am calm, more so than I imagined, for I know that this Is the right thing to do, no one would ever believe that a man In his position would commit such atrocities on another human being. He has broken my body and my spirit, for this, I shall repay him In the only way that he knows. For two weeks now he has suffered at my hand, this I feel Is not long enough, but the time has come to bring this to an end. Before I die, I hope to watch his life disappear from his body In the most violent and undignified way possible, I wish to witness the raging tempest of his sickness, escape from his repulsive carcass.
Tonight, we will both breathe our last breath, and forever be condemned to roam the fires of hell. Some may say that my actions are justified and the man who caused our damnation, deserves to die; yes It Is a deserved death, but do I have the right to take a life? did I have enough reason to take his? Maybe I should not take my own life, maybe facing judgement would absolve me. These thoughts have tortured my mind for many months, I still do not have the answer that I seek, so I will continue and hope that, If there Is a god, he will deal with me as he deems fit.
Once, I had hatred for the man that lays In his sickbed, now, pity and sadness fill my heart; all the while I feel something, I suppose I can justify my actions, If only to myself. I stand here In front of my husband, watching his chest rise and fall with short shallow breaths, dried vomit stuck to his pillow, there seems little point In cleaning him now. I have placed two mugs of tea on the table at the side of our marital bed, the scene of many good times and so many more bad ones. Both mugs of tea have the colour of butterscotch, too little or too much milk would deserve a slap...or worse, some habits are hard to break. With a heaped spoonful of Arsenic In both and a small amount of honey to make the taste more palatable, I am now ready. I placed my hand on the nape of his neck, and lifted him to a sitting position, he coughed a little blood onto his bare chest and attempted to open his eyes that were crusted and almost fully shut. His last words to me were,
"Get on with It, what are you waiting for?"
I smiled my cutest smile, placed the straw into his mouth, wiped the spillages from his chin with a napkin and said, "Drink up sweetheart, I've made It just how you like it."
He slurped with a fervour of a newborn child at its mother's breast, all the while, never taking his eyes off me. The full weight of his head pressed heavily on my arm, I laid him back on his pillow with a gentleness that he did not deserve. I knew It wouldn't be long before death came to him, I sat clutching my tea In both hands and watched the steam float serenely Into the air. He did not disappoint me, his eyes flew open and he sat up unaided, with a glassy stare, he screamed, It's hard to describe the sound but I do know that It pleased me immensely. He glared at me with bloodshot eyes, and a look of realisation shot across his face, his mouth opened to speak but only omitted blood-streaked vomit. From the smell that filled the air, It was clear that his bowels had opened, a growing patch of urine, stained the front of his pyjamas, his body was emptying.
I sat In my chair, watching him convulse and twitch. His face turned a beautiful shade of purple, reminding me of the lavender that sprawled over the wall at the bottom of the garden, he shall never witness their delicate elegance again, but I shall. I will leave all evidence of my murderous plan, In plain sight, for all to see. I will face my punishment for I know that the world Is a better place now that his life has been extinguished.
I am truly sorry for my actions, It won't happen again... I promise.