My Pledge

I, Jean Krubick, was twenty-nine years old when I left university and decided to kill my wife. I was a fresh graduate of Law and Psychology and loved the odd mind game or two, and liked to think that I rarely backed down from a challenge. I had decided I could possibly pull off such a brutal act as murder, and get away with it just because I was educated. You may think I am arrogant. Never! I am just a confident man, not an arrogant one.
But now, these white walls shall not confine me.
I had been married just over ten months. By that stage I was convinced that her departure to wherever such a shrew might go when death took her, was the only means to break free of the marriage completely. Our marriage was a prison cell! And I was in it, and she was the masochistic security guard in control. So with that analogy in mind, you might ask: 'Did I ever love her?' Listen to my story, and you can decide that for yourself I am absolutely sure. There might have been a time when I loved her. But do not be fooled as you read; bear in mind that the brutal nature of my words is not as raw as what my mind can do. My mind aggressively beats my mouth and its words to a bloody pulp. The power of my mind will be seen.
Early life with Charlotte was average, but bearable. I enjoyed myself, relatively speaking. But then things got old. Then there was the wedding. And I must say, what fun weddings are! Even better if you are the groom. Nobody ever suspects the groom of much more than adultery... Nevertheless, it was a large, exalted wedding that took place under the picturesque olive tree in the front yard of my parents’ luxurious estate.

That day I decided that it could be where I might bury her!

Much aside from this, there was the wedding itself; another reason for my decision. Despite getting cold feet three times, Charlotte eventually warmed to the function that was my wedding. It was a peachy success with people eating, drinking and partying to excess. They claimed it to be the most fun they had had in their lives'... Married or not.
The bride, formerly Charlotte Jesmond, who cashed in her maiden name for 'Charlotte Krubick', tossed the bouquet of flowers, drank the overpriced white wine, and had in general, a cracking good time. However, I remained the same; only emerging from the wedding with a little extra baggage – a wife. After all, parties were never really my scene. I will be the first to admit it, and Charlotte would have been the second. What was the trouble with Charlotte's admittance? She would admit it all too readily. Because she was a slut, on so many more levels than sexually, that's why. (You will see what I mean.) I too partied, but also planned my escape from the mistake of a lifetime. I had seen the fear reminiscent in Charlotte's eyes as she said “I do” without a breath for hesitation. Since that moment, I had my mind settled on doing something about it. I was fucking livid with anger. What would I do? Well goalposts move don't they?
Initially, it always seemed like a good idea to directly take her life. I would have done this with the serrated kitchen knife, the one my beloved Charlotte used to butcher the tomatoes and bread with, morning after morning. It was always the sharpest blade. It had a beautifully curved handle; smooth and elegant, like the gorgeous body of a woman neither refusing to fall at my feet, nor willing to dominate. This was a blade that worked with me! It was ergonomically designed to kill my Charlotte, by slashing her throat over and over, deeper and deeper, until she died. It sat in my hand, the perfect balance between beauty and day to day comforts... I could relate the knife to Charlotte quite easily. Beautiful, and comfortable. But nothing more. Like a best friend with very deadly benefits. Call me a Coward Ford! I couldn't care less. Her death needed to happen, and I was not going to stop at anything. I'm adamant.
So, I knew if I was going to kill her, I mig