AnRo: I Shoved the Gun into His mouth

Before I thought I knew,before he grew into this raging lunatic. It was just his personality, his “thing”, if you will. But then it wasn’t. He came home, sure those puckered bits of flesh circling his torso and wrapping their way down his arm mattered. They mattered to each of us in different ways though. I was fucking thankful he was home, I’d never wanted anything more ever in my life than to see him smile at me again. I should have known something was off when he came home all sorts of happy-sappy-love of my lifey.
Flash back to six years ago, his grandmothers house and what I would ultimately end up considering one of the three worst days of my life, “we joined up babe.”
His ride or die attitude scared me a little that day, but it was so him, so the type of person he had always been. He had never been soft or pliable, he led his life rigid and full of angst for things he’d never get back and we worked that way. I didn’t need flowers or candy because I knew he’d die for me if it came down to it and that was what I needed. We fit. And then he fucking joined the army. He left me for that. No regrets, no sloppy goodbyes, just a few quick kisses and a “just remember you’re mine.”
Two years in and we eloped in San Diego on one of his leaves, didn’t really change much except that after five years of being together we finally lived together. If you could even call it that. He fit into the army like I knew he would and he didn’t stay stateside for any length of time if he could help it. I played the part of army wife well. I fit in with the other wives, it wasn’t all bad. When he surprised me at my college graduation, standing still against the backdrop of the bleachers I thought for the first time that maybe he’d stick around a while. Maybe we could get it together. Wrong.
Fast forward that tape three months and as I cried with one of the other wives at the life that suddenly disappeared from inside me, I couldn’t even get in touch with him, second worst day ever. I loved with that for over two weeks before he was finally able to contact me. “So we try again.” It was the first time I hated him.
Now he’s back though, and it’s been different. It was different in the hospital, and just never went back to what I’d always had with him. Six weeks he’s been home and while they didn’t discharge him yet, he says he’s not going back. He dotes on me, constantly wanting me around, being this person who I feel like I barely know. As my belly swells, I begin to hate him for the second time, this isn’t the person who nearly choked on the words I love you when we got married.
I’m not surprised the tv is on, he’s been having trouble sleeping. I waddle out to the living room and I stop dead in my tracks. Flashes of from the tv illuminate the coffee table and the pistol there next to the bottle of johnny walker. It doesn’t take him long to notice me, he hasn’t lost that instinct. I flip the switch binding him for a moment with the bright light and when his eyes finally find mine there are tears just pouring from them, I ghasp before he can turn away.
Without a second thought I rush towards the gun and pick it up, the metal cold on my hand and before I know what I’m doing I shove the gun into his mouth, “what the fuck, who the fuck do you think you are?” I scream waiting for him to fight back.
This has all been an act. The doting soon to be father, the perfect man who returned to his loving wife… third worst day ever. Who wants to wake up and find the man they love, or the one who looks and feels like him, sitting contemplating fucking suicide during the shamwow infomercial plays in the background. Of all the things I thought I’d see in my life this was never one of them. While I’m holding the gun in his mouth he doesn’t move. Not even a flinch. I can only imagine what eight months of pregnant crazy looks like, but I’m pretty sure I’d be the goddamned poster girl.
“This is what you want? Taste that, does it taste good? After all the shit you put me through, all the shit I had to go through alone and now you’re here, at least somewhat, and you’re gonna do this??” I’m screaming again. Finally he reaches up and calmly covers my hand with his, pulling the gun from his mouth. He manages to get it from my death grip and sets it on the table.
“Have you always been this fucking crazy, woman?” He says with a chuckle.
“Don’t. Done even fucking laugh about this…” I scream at him.
“Look at the table, Jesus, did you think I was gonna off myself?” He says running a hand through his hair.
“What are you crying about? What…” I say finally allowing myself to see the cleaning kit.
“I couldn’t sleep, I needed something to take my mind off of the shit, you know? And then I squirted the cleaner and it got me,” he says trailing a finger down my arm.
I can’t even look at him, I just can’t. As much as I’m not sure about this new version of him, I like it and I blame the baby. It’s making me crazy, I damn near could have killed him and he wasn’t even… fucking worst day ever.

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