Something happened to my wife. It doesn’t seem to be anything supernatural as far as I can tell. I don’t think she’s possessed or replaced by a doppelganger or anything like that. Something set her off and she just… snapped.
We’ve only been married for a month now but we’ve been together for a few years. Our time together has been amazing; I can’t imagine life without her.
But here we are, with me bleeding profusely while she lays unconscious at the bottom of the stairs while I wait for the police and ambulance to arrive.
All because of a fucking pimple.
It started yesterday afternoon. I had just gotten out of the shower after a trip to the gym. She was in her upstairs office on the computer when I walked in wearing just a towel around my waist as I leaned down to give her a kiss.
“Sexy man kissing me in just a towel. Tease,” she said, tugging at the spot where the towel cinched around my waist.
“I don’t want to distract you from your work,” I said.
“Work can wait, come here,” she said before kissing me and wrapping her arms around my back.
As we kissed, I felt her fingertip brush over a raised spot on the upper part of my back. She must’ve felt it too, because she pulled back from kissing me as she circled her fingertip around it.
“Oh, whatcha got there?” she asked.
I went over to the mirror, pulling my elbow forward so I could get a good look. I could see a red spot just underneath my shoulder blade where a small whitehead was forming.
“It’s a pimple,” I said.
I had awful acne all through my teens from wrestling. My face, neck and back were covered in red splotchy skin, so to this day I am still pretty sensitive about acne. Once my mat career was over everything seemed to clear up, but whenever I get a pimple I revert back to an insecure teenager wanting to hide my skin.
My wife’s reaction was quite the opposite. Her eyes lit up with excitement.
“Oh let me see! Let me see!”
Before I could say anything in protest she grabbed me by the arm and spun me around. I couldn’t see what she was doing but I felt a tickle as she rubbed her fingertip over the swollen skin.
“That’s a good one,” she said. In the mirror I could see her eyes widen.
I felt a sharp pain on my back as her fingertips pinched together. I flinched and spun around.
“Ow! What are you doing?” The spot was already throbbing.
“Come on! I almost had it,” she said.
She grabbed my shoulder and tried to turn me back around but I resisted.
“No! I’m not going to let you pop it, that’s gross!”
“Don’t be such a baby,” she replied. “We’re married now.”
She again tried to get at it but I again stopped her.
“Just because we’re married doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with you doing that!”
She gave me a look of contempt. “You’re being silly. Couples do these sorts of things for each other. It’s ready to go, just let me get it for you.”
She went after it again, trying to squeeze it. I grabbed her by the wrist to stop her.
“No, I’m not doing that. Please stop.”
She stared at me for a moment, her arms crossed. Then let out a little huff as she turned back to her computer to work.
“Okay,” she said in a flat, go fuck yourself tone.
I left her alone for a bit, going to the bedroom to get dressed and put on a shirt to cover the inflamed skin blemish.
Before I went downstairs to check on dinner I popped my head back in the office.
“Are you mad at me?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” she said. She didn’t even look up from the computer.
Great, our first marital fight is over a pimple, I thought. I shrugged and left the room.
She came downstairs about an hour later as I was getting dinner out of the oven. She greeted me with a warm smile and kissed me on the side of the face. Her sour mood from our earlier disagreement seemed to have dissipated.
“Smells wonderful,” she said. Her eyes shifted as she smiled at me, a quick glance at my shoulder. Almost unnoticeable, but I caught it.
“You’re not going to try to pop it again, are you?” I asked.
She shook her head, laughing it off. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me up there. It’s just one of those things that couples do for one another.”
I hugged her and gave her another kiss, staring into her brilliant brown eyes. “I told you about how I got picked on as a kid for my acne, I’m still self conscious about things like that,” I replied.
She nodded and kissed me again. “I know, and I won’t make a big deal about it. I promise.”
“Enough pimple talk,” I said with a grin. “Who’s hungry?”
We finished getting dinner ready, ate, did the dishes, and then settled down on the couch for a movie. She buried her head against my chest and snored softly as I stroked her hair. I smiled as I leaned down to kiss the top of her head. The perfect couple.
I must’ve dozed off as well, because I was awakened around 2am as my wife was trying to roll me over and lift up my shirt.
“What’s going on?” I asked, very groggy.
“Go back to sleep, you’re dreaming,” she said.
I felt a sharp pinch in the middle of my back. I shot up, wide awake.
“Ah! Jesus, what the fuck, Gina?” I yelled, jumping up from the couch.
She threw her hands up at me, shaking her head.
“So I can suck your dick but I can’t pop your pimples,” she said. “Is that how it is, Ben?”
She circled around me. I turned to keep her to my front.
“Where the fuck is this coming from?” I asked. “Why is this such a big deal for you?”
She stomped her foot down. “We are fucking married now, that means they’re mine! They’re mine!”
She pulled at my shirt, trying to get at my back. I grabbed her by her wrists but each time she broke free of my grasp and went after me again.
“Gina, stop it! This is fucking stupid,” I said as I backed up against the living room wall.
She tugged at my arm, “They’re mine! They’re mine! We’re married now!”
I spun her around and pinned her against the wall, screaming so loud in her face the windows rattled. “STOP!”
My heart thudded against my ribcage as I held my new lovely wife against the wall. She was panting, gritting her teeth as she leaned into my hands, not resisting but not making it easy.
I looked up at the clock and shook my head.
“It’s 2am, this is fucking crazy. I’m going upstairs to bed and I’m locking the door. Good night.”
I pushed off her and turned to go upstairs.
The second my back was turned, she lunged at me.
She knocked me to the ground and was on my back, clawing at my shirt. As I landed my head bounced off the hardwood floor. I felt a loud crunch in my nose. Blood poured down my face as she dug her nails into my back, ripping into my shirt.
“Just let me get it!”
“Gina, goddammit stop!” I yelled, trying to flip over.
She grabbed the back of my head and smashed my face into the ground. Blood splattered from my nose all over the floor.
“Stop fighting me and let me get it and it will all be over!”
I was dazed. She gripped my shirt by the back of the collar, pulling back so hard that it was choking me. All over a goddamn pimple.
I never thought my amateur wrestling experience would be needed to reverse out of a back mount from my wife on the floor of our first home together, but that was my reality.
I reached back and grabbed her hands and pulled her forward as hard as I could, flinging her off of my back. Before she could get up, I was on top of her, locking my legs over hers and putting her in a rear naked choke hold.
“They’re mine! They’re mine!” she hissed.
Spit foamed from her lips as she dug her nails into my forearms. I screamed in pain but didn’t let go.
I tightened my grip, expecting her to come to her senses. Instead, she clawed her fingernails deeper into my forearms. Blood dripped down my elbows as she dug in, sending white hot pain up my arms.
She wasn’t going to let up. I had no choice but to cinch in the hold tighter until she passed out.
Once she was limp, I tied her to the newel post and called the police. My shirt was wet with blood front and back and my arms looked like I went toe to toe with a mountain lion.
Oh, and the pimple was still there, unpopped. The only spot on my back she didn’t shred.
After washing myself up, I came upstairs to type this out while waiting for the emergency services to arrive. Left a message for my lawyer too; there wasn’t scenario I foresaw where I don’t at least spend a night in holding, even if I was acting in self defense.
I can hear her now downstairs, kicking at the newel post trying to break it so she can untie her hands.
“They’re mine Ben! Don’t you know that? They’re MINE!”