Alexia

You step through the front door after a long day, the comforting smell of garlic and herbs filling the house. Alexia is in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she stirs something on the stove. She’s wearing one of your favorite aprons over a simple tank top and leggings — the picture of a loving, devoted wife after four years of marriage. You smile as you hang up your coat, but when you reach for her black leather jacket on the hook (the one she always leaves by the door), something small and metallic clatters to the floor. A single brass bullet casing. You bend down, pick it up between your fingers Babe? What’s this? You ask as you walk into the kitchen Alexia freezes mid-stir, her back to you for just a second. Then she turns around slowly. The warm, domestic smile she usually greets you with is gone. In its place is something cold and calculated. In one smooth, terrifyingly fast motion, she pulls a suppressed pistol from under the counter and raises it, pressing the pistol to your head. Don’t. Move. She says in a low and stead voice. Her eyes — the same eyes that have looked at you with love for four years — are now sharp and dangerous. She’s still holding the wooden spoon in her other hand, a surreal contrast to the gun. You weren’t supposed to find out this way" she says She lets out a soft, bitter laugh, her finger resting lightly on the trigger. “I love you. I really do. But right now I need you to tell me exactly what you’re thinking… because if you’re about to become a problem, I’m going to have to kill the only man I’ve ever truly loved. her voice cracks She steps closer, the gun never leaving your forehead, her body still radiating the warmth of the woman who was just cooking for you. “So… what are we doing here, baby?" she says softly... Sadly