The Devil Inside: The Devil Inside Duology, #1

By Mark David Abbott

There's a fine line between love and hate...

When Matthew Wilson first saw the woman who was to become his wife, he thought she was an angel sent down from heaven itself.

She transformed his life, bringing happiness beyond imagination.

 

But now he wants to kill her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark David Abbott
• Release date: Nov 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223927952

Book preview

1

Iclosed my eyes and took a deep breath, holding it in, feeling a fleeting semblance of calm, but I couldn’t hang on to it. Exhaling, I opened my eyes, forcing a smile onto my face.

You’re right, it’s my fault. I’m sorry. The words tasted bitter as if they didn’t belong in my mouth, but they had to be said. The alternative was much worse. However, it still wasn’t enough.

Across the living room, Clara Wilson—the woman I had shared my life with for over fifteen years, who occupied my thoughts nearly every waking moment, the same woman who had made my heart stop the minute I first saw her—continued her tirade. I tuned out again. She’d keep going for at least another ten minutes. I stared at the TV, the images flickering across the screen but not registering in my brain. Any chance of an enjoyable evening watching the highlights of yesterday’s cricket match had gone. I had wanted to watch it live, but she had put a stop to that. I had to spend time with her, give her my full attention—at least, she didn’t say that exactly, but it’s what she meant. She had a clever way with words that always caught me out. I could never win. I tried, many times, but recently, I increasingly just gave in. It was the lesser of two evils. I was like a prisoner faced with a choice—twenty lashes over in ten minutes or six months in solitary confinement. Neither prospect was attractive, but at least one was over quickly.

I nodded and grunted, showing I was listening. God forbid if she thought I was ignoring her, although once she was on a rant, there was no stopping her, whether or not I paid attention.

Despite my defense mechanisms, the resignation, the hard protective shell I had built around me, created piece by piece as she hurled accusations at me, it still hurt. I tried not to let it affect me, but every word, every barb, every accusation, was another arrow fired into my withering heart.

Was this the same person I had lived with for most of my adult life? What happened to her? I looked up at her again, my subconscious realizing she had said something about me doing nothing in front of the TV. Getting up from the sofa, I wandered across the living room and stood next to the open kitchen. I forced myself to listen to what she was saying, to find out the underlying cause of the latest outburst.

She was still beautiful—tall and slim, with a finely featured face and eyes that used to twinkle with mischief—but right now, the edges of her mouth curled in an ugly twist, and her cheeks flushed red. I couldn’t see her eyes since she refused to look at me. She banged a cupboard door and slammed a pot down on the kitchen countertop, all the while a continuous stream of accusations and invective continued to pour from her mouth—a mouth I had kissed, soft lips that had given me so much pleasure. I looked at them now. They quivered with rage, and a spray of saliva was caught in the light as she made yet another accusation.

She was talking about something I had done seven years ago or was it eight? I can’t remember... it doesn’t matter. I studied her lips, focusing on them rather than the words flowing out of them. Would I still kiss them? Was I actually asking myself the question? She delivered another barb, this one finally piercing the armor I had painfully constructed. The barb wasn’t true, not in its entirety, but that didn’t matter. It was based on a truth, and that was all she needed. All she needed to introduce a seed of doubt—a doubt of my position in things.

Maybe I was wrong? Maybe I was always at fault? Maybe the entire problem was me? Perhaps I really was the cause of all the unhappiness, the sole reason for the decline of a relationship that had once provided so much joy. I shook off the thoughts.

No, that’s what she did. It was her evil superpower. That’s what she wanted me to believe—that I was at fault—but she was wrong. I wasn’t a bad person. I was a good person, and I was going to kill her.

2

I’d been thinking about it for a while. No, not thinking, fantasizing. At first, it was an idle thought, quickly suppressed. How could anyone think of taking another human’s life, let alone the woman they have shared their life with? It was wrong, but as the weeks wore on—as the arguments increased and became increasingly bitter, the vitriol vicious and nasty—I allowed the seed to germinate, feeding it, cultivating it, watering it like a plant, and each fight, each day of silent treatment, served as fertilizer for the soil.

I still wouldn’t actually do it, that would be ridiculous, but the thought gave me something to focus on, an outlet for my anger and frustration rather than focusing on the words coming out of her mouth.

Actually, it was all my fault. The signs were there from the beginning, only I didn’t notice them then. I was blinded by love and the desire to always make her happy. Now, with the twenty-twenty vision that comes with hindsight, it was far too late.

We’d met in a café all those years ago, the memory still as clear as if it was yesterday. It was bitterly cold outside, and I remembered clasping my hands around a coffee cup, the warmth of the coffee going some way to restoring the feeling in my fingers. The café was cozy, warm in temperature and atmosphere, filled with Christmas shoppers taking a break from a morning hunting for presents for their loved ones. Excited conversations about what they had planned to buy, what they had found, and what they might find for themselves under the Christmas tree, filled the air. I wasn’t shopping. I didn’t have a partner and spoke little to my parents, just the obligatory call on birthdays and Christmas Day. They had always been distant, even when I was a child, and once I left home and found a place of my own, we drifted even further apart.

I glanced around the café, observing the shared smiles, the intimate gestures, catching snippets of conversation.