I thought I heard it raining while I was sitting quietly on the toilet. The only sound I’ve heard for the last twenty minutes is the plop of shit in the toilet bowl and the whirring of the bathroom fan. I’ve come in here to think, so far I’m not doing too well.

Thinking is always something I’ve had a problem with, not ordinary stuff like what to eat or drink, but like, real thinking. I have never been able to get into my head, discover the real me, mind you, I don’t think I want to. People have told me I’m mean and selfish, if that’s what the real me is like then I don’t want to know.

When I say people, I actually mean one person in particular, the person I have been trying to ignore for the last half hour. She is out in the kitchen with that look on her face. That look, God, I hate that look; I actually hate everything about her, well I love her, but you know what I mean. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe nobody ever knows what I mean; sometimes even I don’t know what I mean. Still, I’m digressing. She is out there, with that look, waiting to finish what I started. That’s another thing I hate about her, an argument isn’t over till she says it is. Well, this time it is over, maybe not just the argument.

(I’m staying here till I hear her leave, or at least till the steam stops coming out of her ears.)

I know that she’s not gonna let this one go, that’s why I’m in here, and I needed a crap. Then again I always need a crap, even when I don’t, I still do. My dad is the same, I believe most men are; not the same as my dad, just in terms of toilet habits. Women can go for days without pulling Churchill’s reflection, but most men go daily. God, I sound like a toilet expert, maybe I am, after all I spend enough time in here. Again, I digress.

So, I’m in here cause we’ve argued, as always, or at least as always lately. It has something to do with the fact that I really do hate her. I think, (oh, what d’ya know, I thought a thought) I’ve always hated her, for seven years. But before, at the start, I loved her as well which made things interesting. I thought, (jeez, another one, I’ll be on Mastermind, before you can say ‘I’ll have a P please Bob’) I still loved her, till I came and sat on the pot. Then suddenly, BAM, it hit me, my first official brainwave. I’m 27 years old and yet it has taken me this long to use the grey matter for anything other than deciding how to pay for beer at the supermarket. “Are you paying by cash, card or cheque, sir, which one?” Even that’s caused me to deliberate for 5 minutes before making a rash decision. But now, at last, I’ve made I decision, a life changing, awe inspiring decision. A decision that will not only affect me, but the bitch in the kitchen as well.

As I said, I used to love her, but not anymore; now the only feeling I have is hate. I have never hated anyone before in my life, she has turned me into this, thing! I do accept some responsibility for this change, after all I let her do it; for that she’s gonna pay. That is my brainwave. I’ll call it payback, revenge even, the best ending to the worst years of my life.

(Surely you must know what I mean now, you must understand. I know you don’t know me but you must understand. I’ll make you understand.)

I’ll take you back a few years to where all this hate began, explain things, so you’ll know why I’m gonna do what I’m about to do. So, here we go, are you sitting comfortably? Who used to say that? God, who was it? See, I told you, this brain is useless. Anyway, let’s begin.

Three years ago I asked her to marry me. For weeks she’d been dropping hints about the perfect valentine’s present, my candy floss brain took it all in and decided to act upon the information received. I went out and spent a month’s wages on a diamond ring, a solitaire, the best one in the shop. I invited friends to a surprise dinner party to be held on valentine’s night and began working on my speech.

The evening was perfect, the weather was not, but that didn’t matter. I took the day off work, without her knowing, and created a feast fit for a queen, fit for her. Our friends arrived dead on time, greeted with a glass of champagne and a plethora of exquisite smells wafting in from the kitchen. We ate seafood, Mediterranean potatoes, crusty bread with sun-dried tomatoes, cheese and ham, it was the best food I’d ever made, and tasted. Then, after coffee, I got down on one knee, in front of all our friends and spoke my words of love:

“We’ve been together for four years, I love you, you love me, we are perfect for each other. So, let’s do it, let’s take the plunge and get hitched!”

(T’daarrr! Surprised or what?)

That wasn’t what I’d rehearsed, I had planned to sweep her off her feet, speak of her beauty, but no. Still, our friends were chuffed, I could tell. Probably thinking, ‘about time’. She just looked at me, mouth open, eyes wide, as ugly as sin to be honest. Months passed, the food went off and our friends died of malnutrition, or so it seemed. Actually, it was only a matter of seconds before she said, “No.”

(‘HA, HA, HA, HA!’ my brain said, ‘told you so, you STUPID bastard’.)

No-one deserved that, she made me make a fool of myself. She dropped the hints, she even bought bride magazines, what a bitch. “No”, simple as that, she even smiled after saying it, like it was the answer I wanted. I felt as though I had been stunned with a cattle prod, my brain exploded there and then, quickly followed by my heart.

Our friends made their excuses, “Up early for work”, “The dog’s been left all day and night”, “Your bird’s gone mad, so we’re off”, and left immediately. They left me with her, the...the...slag! She went to bed without saying another word. I tidied the mess then fell asleep on the settee. She woke me the next day with a kick in the knackers; actually it was tea and toast. She had never bought me breakfast-on-settee before, and just for a second it seemed like the heartbreak and embarrassment of the night before were all a dream. Then she said, “Fancy embarrassing me like that in front of our best friends. I don’t need you to say sorry or explain, just don’t mention it again.” So, we didn’t, not until about an hour ago.

Over the last three years the solitaire ring box has been gathering dust, sitting on the end of a shelf in the living room. She hasn’t even seen it, perhaps if she had she would have said yes. I haven’t looked at it since that night, I haven’t really looked at her either; I couldn’t tell you what I’ve done for the last three years. I know that I’ve woken every morning and slept every night, I’ve eaten and drank, worked and acted quite normal considering the fact that the blood in my veins has been boiling for three whole years! But as far as any other activity goes, I haven’t got a clue.

Today is Valentine’s Day, I know that much. And, after one thousand and ninety five days, I felt it was time I re-opened the whole can-of-worms marriage thing, so I did. This time I didn’t invite friends, I didn’t cook, I didn’t rehearse any speech, I just said, “Marry me or get stuffed.” She ran like a panther to where I was standing; then with her huge paw she slapped me in the face, slashing my cheekbone with her claws. My boiling blood dribbled to my jawbone, down my neck and onto my white shirt, just like that red syrup you get on 99’s from the ice-cream van man at the end of the street.

I walked away mumbling, leaving her screaming obscenities from the kitchen. I’ve been here ever since, shitting and writing, bleeding and plotting. I want her to leave, not for her sake but for mine. The brainwave I have had involves a certain degree of brutality, and unfortunately, I’m a bit soft. But, the idea I’ve had is too big to ignore, after all it’s the first time my brain has worked, well, worked properly anyway. So, I’ll have to be brave, it’s time to get my own back on the bitch in the kitchen, if she’s still there. I haven’t heard her leave, so the time has come to finish my last will and testament and go sort my life out.

I’ll conclude by saying that I am not going to be sorry for what I am about to do. I am of sound mind and although I’m nervous, I am prepared to carry this out. You may be wondering at this stage why I don’t just kick her out. Well the answer is quite simple. She has to be stopped, she has wasted my adult life and made me into a monster, she must be punished for that. She has made me jury, judge and executioner, and as I sit here, with my trousers round my ankles, I know that what I am about to do is justified, it is self-defence.

If she has left the building then I can flush this down the toilet with the rest of the shite. If however, she hasn’t then you’ll find this and us, and I only have one last request. Make sure the press realise that I am not the monster she made, but the anti-monster that I have created. I hope that after reading this letter, well, suicide note I suppose, that you’ll understand my plight. I can’t allow her to say no to my proposal again, please understand that if nothing else.