"I hate you!! You ruined my life!!"
"What? Say it again if you dare!!"
"I absolutely hate you! I always will!!"

These were the last words before our latest separation in the courtroom...

He was going to get out of the detention center that day. It was shocking for me; indeed, shocking, but also heavily dramatic. More dramatic than anyone can even imagine. After nearly ten years of 'imprisonment,' now, he would come back to the house that he once called ‘home,’ finally.

I, on the other hand, was not sure what to do, or how to react on such an occasion. This fact evoked if it was a simple, regular, daily, and the ordinary decision to welcome on one hand, or to shed the elder wounds as deep as they can get again, on the other. When I look back, it all seemed like a far beyond antecedent era which had been buried literally ‘six feet under,’ and not to be recalled again, ever.

All those tears, fear, and blood filled in my memory overwhelmingly onwards and onwards one more time - my eyes got moistened again, and I couldn't help to let them drop from my cheeks to my neck, then to my breasts through the cleavage on the dress. Several others fell to the carpet lying on the floor, where the victim of a ferocious event had also dropped dead and perished exactly the same time ago. The now-fictional blood marks in front of my eyes were still deemed to be as ruby as my hair dye back then and as rogue as the carpet itself, but the true color of the fabric does not give in the actual warmth of a murder.

Everything had cooperated one more time to cover up such an unfortunate, nearly secret crime, just like that cursed, blasphemous midnight of the past.

It had appeared like the darkest nightmare when I went back to my bedroom to write about my ongoing complaints and feelings in my almost-full-back-then diary and found the dead corpse of Adam Katz on that very carpet, lying in between the fierce fireplace and our sacred bed torpidly, as a massive contrast and even constituting an oxymoron to the usual vivid nature of that huge furniture ornament itself.

His body was in the supine position, cold and naked, where his blood was extremely hot like an independent torch, and his slaughterer was sitting there with the razor blade from our antique weapon arsenal on his left hand, dripping little blood drops on the crotch of Adam without any regret or remorse. The looks in his eyes were loud and clear when I caught his glance; he was acting as the ultimate sovereign power of the room with his breath shouting like "Your ‘beloved’ husband is gone... My father is no more..."

The scare and the utmost dismay came down to the world back from the top of hell that moment. I had screamed as far as in my lies, but that was until I realized that I was not generating a single voice at all. My lips weren’t even parted. I was utterly paralyzed by the shocking sight of the scene. When I decided to approach the sixteen-year-old slayer, the colossal carcass of my husband seemed like his soul was demanding help from hell.

There was no sign of any struggle. I slowly and silently took the blade from the killer’s hand with a swift and steady move, saw its shine in the light of the fireplace, and threw it next to the victim. It exactly fell next to the generously sliced throat of the ex-lover, the soulmate and partner of my life, my one and only husband, my only dear love, my sole, and unique man...

Nothing had whispered from our mouths; neither then, nor afterward. I just hugged my overgrown and touchy ‘son,’ to all extent of attempted caring and wistfulness, and calmed him down. He didn't cry, but I did. He was still angry, still breathing heavily and unguarded; I caressed him with my hug, without looking at him ever again. We stood like that for a period that felt like an eternity.

The live-in maid of our home called 911 shortly after confronting that scenery, I didn’t stop or object to them. The police came a while later and took both men from my life indefinitely. I then realized the indescribable disappointment of my son when he was taken into custody. I assumed that he never expected to be turned in by me, his very mother. I could have covered up the whole thing maybe, but I didn't know what else to do at that moment.

As expected, that also was circulating in my veins as the biggest misery and failure of my life.

With one, single slice, he abolished, he destroyed my only love in this life and my single reason to live any further. With such damage, he had deprived me of the only two men, only two valuable and indispensable beings in my life in a trice. I lost everything in the name of essence, I lost my soul, my emotions, and my senses that night, without getting any explanation in return.

He kept his silence during the trial on the court; accused of murder, but no self-defense claims, or any alibis available in his favor; he was in full acceptance of the matter and acting like a ‘virtuous’ man. This attitude, with no logical or non-logical expositions or any valid or invalid reasons to legitimize this madness, made me drive into complete paranoia. Nobody was there to ratify my spirit, instead of my dear diary. My diaries were my dearest friends, in which I regularly recorded all my most secret and private thoughts and feelings, containing my words for nearly twenty years, filled with the memories from each period of my colorful life.

Except for the writing and mourning, I had no motive left in me to go further in life for months, but interestingly, ‘desire’ and ‘lust’ were the only positive words left in my presence. I began to seduce and bone every man I encountered to have some relief, though never invited them to my house, or did everything outside the crime scene or anywhere nearby. All of this was palliative dress to an abysmal wound but seemed to work for some time – at least it diverted my mind from the case and every curiosity it conjures. But when the verdict was announced, I realized that the only colors of my life were either dead or gone to a detention center for five years and five more in jail after he come of age.

It was a gift from God that we were quite well possessed and needn't work much after Adam became a semi-professional boxing champion and collected some lucrative prize money, sponsorships, and endorsements until his retirement, which was a year before his death. This also brought real attention from local media, as two newspapers, several radio channels, and a TV program were all eager to cover the story and the litigation process. They were all expecting to hear a decent motive or at least a reason, as the background of this event seemed fancy to them – especially when they took the assumed death of one of Adam’s closest colleagues and friends, Ivan, into account and tried to merge the two crimes and generate a ‘crime wave’ perception in public’s opinion.

I was raised in a normal Catholic family downtown, where I had not much to complain about rather than my petite but firm and alluring appearance, which seemed as if it was curved attentively by a divine force from marble as the color of my skin was close to its, with being distributed in accordance with the golden ratio proportions. Such an outlook immediately made me the center of attention after I turned sixteen, where some of the boys in our school and in the neighborhood acted like I was some kind of a local mascot, but many others had a true appetite in their sharp glances toward my body, scarlet hair, and seafoam-green eyes, regardless of my attire.

Though I was planning to save my virginity for marriage, day by day my appeal attracted more and more enthusiastic boys -and even grown men- so I was having such a hard time with being stuck in a dilemma. My parents definitely wouldn’t take it lightly if I was even rumored as a subject to kinky stories and never appreciate if I chose to become promiscuous, but the opportunities for my potential sex life were also very promising indeed. On the other hand, I was also guideless when it came to selecting a major for the university, so I just danced in local bars, drank soft liquors, practiced some yoga all the time, and avoided any debate with my parents about my future.

That was the time I discovered the benefits of keeping a diary, which turned into a habit and stayed with me until ten years ago. It also coincided with my first encounter with Adam, on one of those nights in a bar, where he and his close friends (one of which was Ivan) arrived to celebrate his first minor tournament championship glory. A single glimpse of each other grabbed our attention after we bump into each other on the dance floor while dancing to the “Eye of the Tiger” song. I was unaware of his presence and identity until then, as well as his reason to be there that night.

He was a 6’3”, more-than-200 lbs., powerfully built ‘gladiator’ carrying several deep wound traces on his body, which made him seem invincible or say, unbeatable. His dark Mohawk hair and his goatee, combined with the feral aura around him that radiated the odor of sex had made me get a crush on him instantly, where my 5’, 100 lbs. frame gave him the thoughts of a trophy to be captured as a reward for his rightfully earned success that set the theme of his night.

The fact that my name was Eve would also overlap with the turn of events.

That very same night, I lost my virginity to him, in his convertible Chevrolet, and gained the man of my life in return. The sex was unimaginable and unbelievable – though it was also beyond comparison for me, as I never had a true experience before. The only thing I allowed myself and the countless number of boys was kissing, touching, and oral sex – but the full package was absolutely something else, especially with Adam.

We had sex five times that night, each in different areas of the city until dawn: suburbs, forest, industrial area, baseball stadium, and seaside, without getting out of his car. He was really into the vintage cars of the seventies and made me enjoy this most valuable passion of his like a real queen throughout our dating period. We literally were high school sweethearts, as I was only sixteen years old, and he had just turned eighteen back then and was released from the orphanage where he was raised in.

Oh; one more thing – we both didn’t believe in contraceptives, ever. All I had to do was be careful about calendar calculations, and the rest was just pure joy. He was the only man I knew by the means of sharing my sacred being to the full extent, and I also became his only woman after we met. We were really determined that we were made for each other, and nothing else mattered. We didn't care about anything rather than our love, our sanctity, and sharing each other's breaths, warmth, and destiny.

I was always present in his practices and contests, stood near the ring, and chanted for him. He really became indomitable gradually and we always celebrated his victories in the same manner: fucking each other’s brains out until we passed out.

Then, when I turned eighteen, he proposed to me while having me in a cowgirl position and pulling the ring out from under the pillow as we both were approaching the climax. I already had decided to skip university and become his manager, so accepting his offer and bonding with him completely was just a decent path for me. My parents gave their blessings after they saw our love for each other, and we got married and relocated to California, the heaven of prize fights.

As he carried his success on under the nickname of “The Juggernaut” quickly, we secured our financial situation and decided to have a child, a fruit of our miraculous love, and when, Luke Cain has born, we didn't hesitate to neuter ourselves to avoid any accidents while converging each other unstoppably almost every day, without the need of caring about the calendar math.

We didn't get bored of love, harmless seduction games, merriment, or glee, ever. Humping and bumping, it seemed as if we were blessed by the holy ones. No worries, no major problems; all we were doing was raising a child and traveling around the world whenever possible, enjoying the tastes of life and local fame limitlessly - or, should I say, with each other only.

Our bed, or any place that we name as a bed, was one hell of an endless carnival, with no disappointments to occur, or no unpleasant moves to be done. We always made each other more than happy, as we always seemed malcontent and wanted more than we can get. We did not even need to communicate for making love; as our eyes, gestures and mimics were making the speaking issues for us.

Sex was never just sex; it was a devotion and worshipping for life, to each other's presence. Such fatigue was surely a kind of hormone abnormality in medical terms, which proved its benefit to us, and we didn't complain for a single moment. Our souls were driving our lives, and our genitals were only the intermediation keys that will never get rusty.

Yes, we were the ultimate pair, the model couple; although I usually was the dominant party in our sexual life, he was more than fine with obeying my directives, and none of this did change even once through fourteen out of fifteen years of our marriage, until his retirement. His final professional match was supposed to be a decent farewell; thus, we arranged an exhibition contest in which Adam and Ivan, who, at the time, was also an accomplished boxer, would face each other.

However, the match didn’t go in accordance with the plan – for no obvious reason, Ivan was reluctant to go easy on his friend, and things got complicated after several rounds of scuffling. In the tenth round, Ivan knocked the hell out of Adam, which was a first for all of us, and kept smacking his fists after he fell to the ground. We could hardly separate them, Adam was carried to the hospital by Luke and paramedics, Ivan was still in his tantrum, and his wife Clara, who was an ex-supermodel, was unable to calm him down to reasoning.

Adam had recovered quicker than everybody expected, but somehow began suffering from clinical depression – I never understood the reasoning behind it in full and couldn’t do anything to weather his storm. The press made fun of his situation and he lost many of his endorsements and business deals afterward. He never made peace with Ivan ever again, didn’t even talk to him. I was always by his side during this process and tried everything I knew for him.

But… He was never the same ever again and after a while, this new version of him stopped ‘touching’ me like the way he did until then altogether. Something was broken in his soul and suddenly he was acting as if he was no longer my man, the man who cherished me above all, and I literally worshipped.

He began drinking heavily, still practicing and running errands just like he did in his boxing career but clearly, all the drinking was exhausting him with each passing day. Being unable to cope with his new status, I also started to take some sedative medication which blurred my mind and perception but gave me the serene sleeping ability which I craved for. All of this was bothering me to an incredible extent, and it surely had drastic effects on Luke as well.

Yeah, Luke. He was grown to be a brilliant kid; perfect in every way, worthy of being our child; as he had practiced martial arts since he was eight, swum too good to be beaten by me when he was eleven, and was a chess champion among his peers. With no bad credits in school, he also was the fittest of his age, being fully overgrown and highly self-confident in everything. This was kind of a surprise for us, as he did not see his father’s achievements as a threat or as overloading pressure to motivate him to succeed, at all.

The self-confidence part though was an area in which we may have had put some special and unorthodox methods in his youth period. Firstly, we always let him ask questions and not be shy about asking and encouraged him to earn and learn what he wants. Secondly, beginning from his sixteenth birthday, we considered him as an adult and therefore exposed our sexual life to his presence. We never kept anything especially or intentionally confidential since then – walking naked around was a routine thing for me, for instance. This may have contributed to his flirting skills -as he had learned the art of seduction from our conversations and acts- and his urge to have sex with someone as soon as possible, as he realized what he had to do with women and gain their attention prior to his friends.

This brought him his first sexual experience with an eighteen-year-old babe in...