Dating : I Plotted A Murder — And I Don’t Regret it

My ex of ten years was cheating on me. Avidly. After we dated for 3–4 years, he started fucking my best friend, and I can only assume there were more. I developed a crush on a few people through video games, but cheating never crossed my mind until I found out he fucked my best friend. I didn’t find out until close to eight years into our relationship, and after the whole ordeal I’m About to tell you, we did try to date again, but at almost the ten-year mark, I left him.

Orlando

We invited Orlando to live with us. He was my exes best friend, and he grew to be one of mine over the years. He was a tall black man who had a severe drinking problem. When he drank, he was just goofy and adventurous. We would stay awake all night since my ex worked the graveyard shift, and talk. During the day, we would go to the metro parks for sledding, or we would make funny YouTube videos. He indeed became my best friend.

The mistake

We were in the sauna after swimming one day, and he commented on my bathing suit being cute. I didn’t think anything of it, we both had been drinking, so I just laughed it off. That night, I slept on the floor, and he rested on the couch like usual because we were bored and enjoyed conversing. I knew I was sexually attracted to him, and it didn’t bother me, seeing as how my ex was probably sleeping with multiple friends of mine. We started to play a game of truth or dare, small stupid things like licking a dirty dish or throwing a water balloon off our 12th floor of the apartment. A couple more beers down, and I dared him to give me a foot massage. The foot massage rose to my knees, thighs, and before he got any closer, we both pulled away, shocked.

Falling in love?

Weeks passed without a mention of the foot massage. Until one day, we went to our usual spot in the Metroparks to sled. After sledding and playing in the snow for a few hours, on the way back to the car, he said it. He said he’s falling in love with me. My heart sank because I felt the same. The first couple of months were everything I ever wanted in a relationship. He was gentle and kind, fun, and didn’t push me to have sex. While I was falling in love with him, having sex meant there was no going back to me. Even though my ex was a dog, I just couldn’t see myself doing the same, sexually. we agreed to keep it a secret, at least until we figured out what we were going to do.

Warning signs

More time had passed, and I started noticing red flags all over the place. For example, when I went to bed with my boyfriend, he would drink excessively and blast music. Music that I knew was dedicated to me. In the early afternoon, when my ex would go to work, he was already wasted and waiting for me in the living room. He started to become irate and tell me I shouldn’t be sleeping in the room with him. What the fuck do you expect me to do, Orlando? He told me to figure it out. I get it; we had feelings for each other; I can’t imagine how much that hurts seeing me go to bed with another man.

He started drinking more and more to the point that he would openly make jokes in front of my boyfriend, suggesting us messing around. I assume he was testing the waters. He would pull out his gun, and sit in the room by himself, and not let me in. When we’d have friends over, he’d get territorial and not allow me to be on a team with my male friends. It started to become overwhelming.

The first hit

I confronted him. Asking him what the hell his problem is, why is he being mean? It was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde the way he switched. He was shit drunk and pacing. He told me I’m not allowed to sleep with my boyfriend anymore. Excuse me? I’m not going to sleep in a fucking living room. He looked at me, and there was a shift in his eyes. Oh, yes the fuck you will, or I’ll tell Nate right now. I became angry; I tried to snatch the phone from his hand, he laughed. he dropped the phone on the bed and walked up to me. I’m 5 foot six and 120 pounds; he’s 6 foot two and around 250 pounds. Within seconds, I felt my body lift from the ground; he had put me in a chokehold against his chest. I started kicking, and all he did was laugh. I felt the air leaving my body and was genuinely petrified.

After he let me go, I locked myself in the bathroom shaking. What the fuck just happened? Is he drunk? I didn’t know what to think or feel. I grew up in a very abusive drunk and home. Is this normal to me? I heard him knock on the door profusely, apologizing. Should I open the door? I did; I opened the door. Orlando Stood there crying; he said he was so sorry, he just loves me so much. I believed him.

If you’ve never been in an abusive relationship, you assume that person should just leave. I used to; anytime I saw a woman getting abused on TV, I would laugh and say it’s her fucking fault, she should just leave. It happened to me, and it is not easily done, especially when you fear for your life.

Full-blown crazy

It has gotten to the point where at night time, I would pretend to start fights with my boyfriend so I had to sleep in the living room. If I didn’t, I’d pay for it in the morning. It’s difficult to tell the entire story, so I will give you the most traumatizing moments over the next two months. The moments that lead to me plotting his murder.

• He told me if I loved him, I would have sex with him. He drove me to the store at 120 mph in the rain to pick up condoms. I cried the entire time during sex, when he asked if I had fun I said no. He hit me.
• He drug me up a flight of stairs by my hair because I gave my boyfriend a hug.
• He held me in his car and force-fed me a half a bottle of vodka. He then dragged me out of the car while I puked and up to our apartment.
• I went dress shopping with my best friend for her wedding. He told me to come home, apparently I wasn’t quick enough, so he threatened to murder my cat and kill me with a box cutter.
• He forced me onto the balcony and told me to jump off the 12th floor since I don’t love him. When I cried and begged, he climbed over the edge and held on with one hand until I said I loved him.
• He threatened me with guns, knives, and his fists, on a regular basis.
• he’d bring women to the house and have sex with them, and want me afterwards.

Those are just a few occurrences, the ones that killed my soul. There was a final threshold that I knew something had to be done. After drinking, he told me to steal my exes stashed money and to pack a bag. He was taking me to Georgia. He made me fill a suitcase at knifepoint. He told me in a few hours, after Nate leaves, we will leave. Why didn’t I tell me ex? why didn’t I tell the cops? Why didn’t I tell anybody?

I have to kill him…

I knew that in a few hours, I would be forced out of my home and on the road to Georgia, where I was told I would die if I didn’t marry him. He mentally, emotionally, and physically destroyed me to the point where I was afraid of not listening, but I was at my breaking point. He had to die. I knew what I was going to do. I planned to feed him Drano in every single beer or drink that he opened. After he was drunk, he could drink piss and not notice the difference.

Over several weeks, it would kill him. After a bit of thinking, I knew that wouldn’t work. I don’t have a guarantee of two weeks or longer. I had to make sure he died before we went to Georgia. I had to kill him tonight. I’d Shoot him. I would talk him into drinking a bit more before we hit the road; I knew he would oblige. After he passed out drunk, I would shoot him in the forehead. And then turn myself in.

I was prepared. I knew where the gun was, I was playing along, everything was going according to plan. I was prepared to spend the rest of my life in prison just to watch him die on my couch.

You ready? Baby? I still remember his greasy face and drunken smile, he was genuinely curious if I was excited.

Yes, I am, I love you Orlando. How could he not tell that I hated him?

Let’s take a few more drinks, to celebrate. I already had two shots poured. He explained that he didn’t wanna be too drunk while driving, but that only lasted a few seconds, the piece of shit just had to get a whiff of liquor.

Fast forward forced kissing and dancing and then the cunt passing out on the couch while I “finished” getting ready.

I will never forget this feeling. Seeing him helpless, me knowing that I was about to kill him, I felt strong. I felt free. I started to think about everything that happened before and after. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at the gun I was holding. I just saw the steel out of my peripheral’s.

I’m going to do it.

Just pull the fucking trigger, Meghan.

I couldn’t do it. I put the gun back. I texted my best friend to pick me up Immediately; I was in danger. It felt like forever while I put my cat inside of a bag and slowly snuck out of the room. I remember looking back at him, terrified of what would happen if he woke up and saw me leaving. I could’ve killed him. I could’ve ended all my pain. I could’ve ended that sorry fucking man’s life.

We drove to my boyfriends job, and I confessed everything. He was upset, but more angry at Orlando. My boyfriend and his brother went back to the house and told me to stay in the car, I don’t know what happened up there, but Orlando was terrified afterwards Slinking out to his car, still drunk. It wasn’t long until the cops picked him up.

I still don’t regret the feelings when I decided to kill him. The song cry for you by Jodeci was blasting in the background, that song will forever remind me of that feeling. When you want to kill somebody, there is no thinking, there is no worrying, your mind goes black. It’s not the same as hating somebody and wanting them dead, it’s not the same as being so angry that you could kill somebody. It’s a decision that you make in your soul, and I do not regret learning the depths I am willing to go to protect myself. I have a two year Daughter now, and I would not hesitate to end somebody’s life if they put her through anything similar to what I went through.

This is a message to anyone who is in an abusive relationship right now. It will not get better, they will not change, It will get worse. The fear of leaving is one of the most extreme fears I’ve ever faced, I can’t explain why I was afraid to leave a man who was torturing me. I still can’t. stay strong, and talk to people. You’re not alone.