Summery: I married a money chasing looser who poisoned my father and then dropped a car on me to get all the money for himself. I have yet to decide what to do about my husband. I have a hang up about being called Babe and/or Baby. I have been bound only for a less then a year now and have spend the beginning of that time in a Hospice for my inpatient physical therapy rehabilitation and up until a few weeks ago with my mentor, father. 

    My husband murdered me. Not a late husband. Not an x-husband. Not a husband who is finishing a sentence of 25 years to life. My husband that lives in my home. You're probably still thinking about the murder. I know I am. 

    He was an big up-and-coming hot-shot race car driver. Daddy was old money that was invested with one of the companies that sponsored Dublin. HIS name is Dublin by the way. Don't let the name fool you. He was named by one of those woman who loves them the boxed wine you get from that there corner store. Anyway, we met at a business party. One of those parties where you get to put names on paychecks to faces. Not that I have ever had to do anything with a paycheck but I think you get the idea. I was so naive and he was a practiced ladies man. He easily could have had me run away with him that night if he wanted, but he had bigger plans. He was more courting Daddy then me; in a way, and didn't want himself written out of a will for stealing a way the favorite daughter. Only daughter is an unimportant detail.
    After that evening I went everywhere with him. The track. The garage. Pick-nicks. Movies. Roller rinks. Always more then happy to get me home before sunset and keep Daddy happy. Always the gentlemen. Always so clean. I would be literally bouncing on the other side of the door in my little sun dress as I heard the elevator coming up the shaft. This carried on until Daddy took him into a room and told him to propose to me for the sake of an old man's sanity. It was a lavish white wedding in spring. It would have been perfect if Daddy's wake had not been the week before.
    Dublin insisted on keeping me in with the car business as much as possible to keep my mind off of things. Literally the car itself. I became assistant / apprentice to his race team mechanics. "Baby, every day my life is in the hands of this machine. I'd like them to be your hands one day." That doesn't even make since now that I think about it. He says things like that all the time. The way he would hold me and look into my eyes as he said it made it so convincing. He could have been drooling on my forehead for all I was concerned.
    Turns out I was fairly good at the theory of mechanics. They said it was because my head has so much room in it from only learning silly rich-girl things. The physical part took more time. That was to be expected as before the heaviest thing I ever lifted before was a hand mirror.
    Prince Charming lasted for about six months. I tried to complain about how he started to ignore me and pass me off on other people. "That was puppy love babe. This is the real love now." I notice he never ignored or pawned off the weekly allowance checks. This managed to last for over two years. Then one night after a win ("Couldn't have done it without you in my corner, Babe") he was walking me though the garage. He was chatting me up and holding me like old times. I was the one who noticed the extra strong motor oil smell. Dublin all to quickly found the leek coming out from under the car he had won in just hours before. Without a second though I was rolling out the jack to get under it and seal the leak. Turned out to just be a loose cap on the oil pan. Should have blown the engine first lap if this was missed.
    I have yet to figure out a good way to describe a ton and a half of car falling on my chest. It sucks. Very much does it suck. Even more suck is listening to that eFer's gloating. Luckily he gloated quickly. I learned lots of things about our relationship in the moments before I blacked out. Highlights include the complete lack of abstinence to me at any point and poisoning Daddy. He started this as soon as the engagement was settled and screwed it up. He wanted Daddy to give me away and bless our wedding to make it easier to continue controlling me. Instead he turned our wedding into a wake. I'm sure he kept going but I had more important things to worry about.

    The pain in my chest changed from pressure to a crushing despair. I was no longer under a car but driving one. Eyes blurry. A new pain in my chest. A stabbing pain. Blood following down my chest and I can't make a sound.

    I awoke alone in the hospital. A few of the crew tried to visit me but according to a nurse Dublin requested that I have no visitors to distract me from my healing. I saw him for a few moments as he signed the release papers and gave instructions to have me put on a plane headed for the continental divide. Sometimes I wonder if he understood what happened because he sent me to a hospice for my live in physical therapy.
    That may not seem so bad, but try to imagine it. Prince Ken tries to kill Princess Barbie. Princess Barbie lives on to be able to see when sick people will die from their ailments. Prince Ken sends her to live in the Dream House of Dieing People. The vague timer I was seeing above the residents confused me at first; all the way up to the point where I saw a timer run out and their person dropped dead of a stroke.
    I wanted out of the place. I wanted away from the things I saw there. I signed myself out of the hospice once the therapist was convinced following her instructions for the next few weeks would be good enough. No one should have been there for me, but there was someone.
    Father. He taught me what I was and clarified what happened to me. Taught me how to deal and tried to get a purpose into me. If he hadn't suddenly left me the purpose may have stuck. I don't know what happens next but its not likely to be good.

 

    His name is The Screaming Romeo.He makes no noise but the Silent Romeo doesn't capture how intrusive he is.

    He only manifests as a man and has two bodies, kinda. The first body is always the same. Not quite a silhouette but a darkened body and no distinct features. As I try to focus my mind's eye on him, his body seems to always be stretching and twisting even though he never changes. There's a horrible wound in his chest that pores out blood that seemingly vanishes past his knees. He is constantly clawing at the wound and his neck in a manic manner. I associate this wound with how he died and why he makes no noise. Over the months I've learned that this is likely more symbolic then actual.