Where’s the passion in Death?

“But why is it called a passion killing?That’s not right.” – My Mother

And then it actually occurred to me.  The term “Passion killing” romanticizes murder.  I understand that what they basically mean is that the person was so overcome with emotion that they committed the act, but let’s face it, murder is murder.

It got my thinking.  I had an ex who used to threaten to kill me if I ever cheated. Now at the time it was funny, I assumed he was playing.  He’d told my best friend the same thing and he seemed more bothered by it than I was.  For some reason I assumed that when someone threatened to murder you and meant it, I dunno, I assumed you’d feel it somehow.

As time went on his behaviour became more erratic, it didn’t help that we were hardly ever sober and our relationship resembled clips out of the “Love The Way You Lie” video.

Still, as things got bad, they were still somehow beautiful. I was convinced we were just two passionate people and the outside world didn’t understand us.  My mother hated him and his mother detested me.  We’d disappear for weeks on end from home and lounge about together until we got sick of one another and one of us left.

He kicked me out of his house a couple of times in front of his friends, threw my clothes out and cussed me out.  There were times he would lock me in the house and not let me go to school  because he thought I’d see other men there. It was a mess.  But I stayed.

We’d break up, have tearful reunions, be happy for a week, cheat, fight, then break up again. One of the last times I saw him we fought and he tried to punch me.  In that moment I realized if I stayed I’d be waiting to fuck myself over intentionally.  I walked out of his house and never called him back/texted him.

 

He lost his mind, drugs and stress caught up with him and his family obviously blamed me. As if I was the one prepping them for him/giving him the money to go there. I was home, slightly broken, but fine. Or so I’ve assumed.

Six months later he shows up at my gate, high I assume, at 8 in the morning on a Saturday having walked from his house, which is on the other side of town, to mine to come tell me we’re supposed to have an arranged marriage.  I listened as he rambled on about his new girlfriend, how he needed money and eventually, how he missed me, then I walked into our yard, locked the gate and asked him to leave or else I’d call the police.

Now,I haven’t seen him since, he left town for a bit, but if what mutual friends have said is anything to go by, he’s still pretty mad.

This wouldn’t mean shit if he was far away,  but he isn’t anymore.

A few nights ago I had a dream that he came to my house and tried to kill me. Odd since I haven’t really thought of him in months.  But the Universe has a funny way of aligning shit and yesterday as I was texting a friend he told me said individual was in the tattoo parlour we usually go to, getting one. I texted a mutual friend to ask if he’s around, and he replied in the affirmative.

Now, I’m a tad bit scared, Why? I’m not really sure. It’s been more than a year. Maybe I’m paranoid but at the same time, rather that than careless,no?

 

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