"What? Are you mad at me or something?" I sat dumbfounded as I watched the streetlights blur through my tears. We had driven this road about a hundred times the past few days yet I couldn't have told you where we were at that moment. I sat numb in the passenger seat and listened to him smirk after he asked me that question. I couldn't even think through an answer. I had climbed into the van after leaving the NICU, where I had to leave my sick little girl for another lonely night without her. I was tired and had asked that he drive up to get me, I didn't feel up to walking through the parking garage that time. When I got in he greeted me happily and said, "Hey. I know you." I responded, "I am glad. The van right in front of you is the same kind and I almost climbed in with him." The all too familiar storm clouds crossed his face and I knew the mood had changed. He growled at me, "Well, maybe you should. It doesn't matter anyways, I know how to take care of you." I asked him what he was even talking about and he proceeded into something that still chills me today. "I know how to kill you, without anyone ever finding out." He then went on to describe how he would fill a bathtub with cyanide and told me in detail how it would start to burn, but by that time my skin would have melted to the tub so I would know what was happening and would not be able to do anything about it. He told me how it would feel as it burned through my skin and ate through my muscle. He said by that time I would probably be unconcious so he would just have to wait for it to entirely dissolve my body and then all he would have to do is pull up the drain and wash me away.
So the answer to his question was no, I was not mad. Mad was nowhere near the emotion that I was feeling. I cried because my body could do nothing else. And his response was, "It was just a joke." I'm still not laughing...