#being a gods damned stupid idiot who thinks oneself the main character and thus immortal

[fox-bright]

Nine years, tonight, since my rapist ex took an unmeasured or wildly mis-measured dosage of a designer drug, probably a psilocin analogue, and stabbed himself three dozen times. Technically the anniversary is about two hours and ten minutes from now, from what his neighbors said to the cops, at a bit after two in the morning.

I mentioned it to my husband, and he asked if there was anything I needed to do for the man to mark the anniversary. I would not burn incense for him, though, because that feels like an invitation, and I would put up wards to keep him out.

Thinking about nearly a decade of girlfriends he couldn't drive to suicide attempts, dates he couldn't rape, small business owners he couldn't steal from, friends he couldn't play psychic Jenga with until they fell apart in public, because he's dead and that means he can't hurt anybody.

The world is safer without him in it.

Still think it's a bitter waste.