Peanut Butter

He awoke with a start, the horrifyingly familiar sensation of his throat swelling closed. He was having an allergic reaction.

"How?" He wondered, as he quickly got out of bed to retrieve his epi-pen from his bedside table.

It wasn't there.

He turned, she wasn't there.

Panicking, he quickly got out of bed and began frantically searching for his epi-pen. He could feel his breathing becoming thinner, he could feel his lungs struggling with the inadequate amount of air.

Where the fuck was his epi-pen?

He turned, and in his blurring vision he saw his new bride's silhouette in the doorway. He held out an entreating hand to her, and she walked away.

That's when he knew.

He chased after her, as far as his failing body could take him.

She seemed calm, as he haltingly followed her from their bedroom to the living room. She sat in the recliner. He collapsed to the floor, wheezing.

He wondered if she had the epi-pen on her person? He feebly, desperately, began to pull himself towards her, but what was only few feet was too much for his ever swelling body.

The air was just a life giving trickle now, as his throat had almost completely swollen shut. His eyes were so swollen he just saw shadows, but knew his wife was now standing over him. Was she just going to watch him die?

The horror at this being how he died shook him, and he felt his eyes fill with tears, his lids too swollen for the tears to fall. This was how he would die, murdered by his wife with a fucking peanut allergy!

He barely felt the injection as she violently stabbed his bulging neck with the epi-pen.

Oh air! Oh beautiful air! Elation and relief flooded him as the swelling began to subside and he could breath again.

His wife silently observed as he began to recover. He took deep breaths, each deeper than the last as the medicine worked its way through his system. When he could sit up, his wife finally spoke.

"Never hit me again," she warned.