by Dawn Cano
Bucket List
by
Dawn Cano
Copyright © Dawn Cano 2016
Cover art copyright © Lewis Duncan
Published: 2016
Publisher: Dawn Cano
The right of Dawn Cano to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement or the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
‘Bucket List’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication:
To Daryl Duncan – You kept me motivated with encouraging words and your fantastic sense of humour, and you saw my strengths when I forgot they were there. I hope this book makes you proud.
“The difference between winning and losing is most often not giving up.” - Walt Disney
Acknowledgements
Alex Davis – Thank you for helping me choose the film to be included in this book and for not thinking I'm weird.
Matt Hickman – As always, your help was invaluable.
Matt Shaw and Tim Miller – Thanks for letting me use your names and stories.
Mark Gunn and Karen Paul – Thanks for letting me pick your brains regarding your occupations.
Mike Duke – Your feedback is much appreciated. Thanks for taking the time to make this story the best that it can be.
Beta Readers:
Lisa Swearingen
Dixon Arthur
You're the best. Thanks for all you do.
Bucket List
“I'm sorry,” she said in between sobs. “I didn't think. I was lonely and now we're both going to die.”
I sat down on the sofa, resting my head in my hands, my mind processing the fact that my wife of almost ten years had cheated on me. If that weren't bad enough, she contracted HIV in the process, sentencing us both to an early death.
“How many times did you fuck him?” I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer but needing to know.
“I...that's not important...”
I screamed. “Like hell it's not important! How many times?”
Tears streamed down her face and she stared intently at the floor, not wanting to look at me.
“It went on for three months.”
The statement hit me like a sledgehammer. Three months. My wife had an affair for three fucking months, and I didn't have a clue. I sat in silence listening to Emilia cry, not knowing what to say. The shock was too great.
“I need to see the doctor then?” I asked, tentatively.
My wife stood rooted to the spot, still staring down at the floor. She didn’t reply, she merely gave an almost imperceptible nod.
I spoke quietly, “Get out.”
“What?”
“I said, get the fuck out. Pack your stuff and go. I can't stand to see your face.”
“Mike, I...”
I roared, “Get out!”
Emilia, Em, as she liked to be called, didn't bother gathering her things. She grabbed her handbag from the coffee table and left.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered as she walked out the door.
I walked to the phone, deciding it was time to make an appointment with the doctor.
1
I had been feeling sick off and on for a few months now, but credited my illness to stress and lack of a proper diet. Although Em and I both worked full-time, we still found it difficult to make ends meet and argued every day as a result. The fact that she was fucking another man made her even more distant, causing more arguments.
I first noticed my symptoms about six months ago, which according to Em, was a month or so after her affair ended. At first, I thought the fever, chills, and night sweats were due to contracting the flu and although it took longer than usual for the symptoms to go away, I was never concerned because I always seemed to have more pressing issues to deal with.
The doctor sat behind his desk in his office.“Mr. Hickman, I'm afraid the infection has developed beyond simple HIV. Your CD4 count has all but bottomed out, indicating your immune system is severely compromised. In short, you have AIDS.”
I repeated the word, somehow, unsurprised, “AIDS.”
“I know a diagnosis like this is difficult to come to terms with, but AIDS isn't the death sentence it once was. As long as we start you on a strong series of antiretroviral medications, you can lead a somewhat normal, productive life. You'll need to take the drugs every day to help defend against infections and cancers, and of course, you absolutely must prevent infecting anyone else by using a condom or abstaining from sex altogether.”
“So I'll have to take a lot of tablets just to survive? I'm sorry, Doctor. I just need some time for this to sink in.”
“I understand, but let me warn you not to take too much time over your decision. The sooner you start on the medication, the better off you'll be. If you'd like to take a day or two, that's fine, but please, don't take any longer than that.”
I sat staring at the doctor, unable to find any words. I finally stood, “Thank you, Doctor. I'll be in touch.” I turned and walked out of the office in a complete daze.
After leaving the doctor's office, I went to the car park, where I sat in my car for an hour, pondering what to do next. Dying wasn't something I was afraid of, in fact, the subject fascinated me, but the circumstances of how I got sick and what my life was destined to become, bothered the hell out of me. There was so much more I had wanted to do with my life, like getting out of England and visiting America and Australia, having a child, planning a future that didn't involve handfuls of pills just to stay alive. Everything that happened to me is through no fault of my own.
It's just not fair.
Is it my fault that Emilia had to look for sex in other places? Did I drive her to fuck another man? She was the one who became withdrawn and never let me touch her. I had to resort to having a wank in the shower every day; why couldn't she have done the same? Why didn't she talk to me if she was so unhappy?
I quickly put a lid on the can of worms that I didn't want to open. This wasn't my fault, it was hers. She is the reason I'm sick. She is the reason I'm dying; that fucking whore has taken my life from me. Trying to calm down, I wondered what was next for me. Do I spend the rest of my life living on medication? How much time would I have left without it? The thing that bothered me the most, was the fact that I knew my life would deteriorate very quickly. I am, well I was, a strong and healthy 34-year old man and the thought of having someone take care of me – feeding me, helping me on the toilet, or even worse, wiping my arse was something that I couldn't fathom. I won't let it come to that.
I drove home from the doctor's office and pulled onto my drive, becoming increasingly angry by the minute. Maybe something snapped in my mind, but by the time I got out of my car, I had decided that suicide was the best option. For the first time, I noticed that the exterior of my house was in quite a sta
te of disrepair, because I had never had the funds to improve it. Em and I live in a small, two-bedroom flat with dull, red brick and a scuffed and dingy grey front door, which as I recall, used to be white. I got out of my car feeling tired and weak, feelings I've become accustomed to, and made my way up the two tiny concrete steps that led to my door. Unlocking the door, I stepped inside.
As I walked in the house, I stepped into the small, dark living room. Against the wall on the right hand side is a small settee, covered in stains that I won't bother trying to explain. In front of that is a scratched, dark brown coffee table littered with mail, takeaway containers and fizzy pop bottles. I stopped and stared around my least favourite room in our home, knowing that I wouldn't live long enough to see it improved.
Walking straight through the living room, I glanced at my entertainment centre on the left hand side, opposite the settee. Lined up along the shelves at the bottom are hundreds of horror films; films that Em always refused to watch with me. I have always loved horror and although a great extreme horror novel by Matt Shaw or Tim Miller is great, I'd much prefer to watch a horror film. Just observing my collection brightened my mood considerably.
I continued walking through the living room, until I reached the kitchen and I removed a beer from the ugly yellow refrigerator that sits on the right hand side of the room. Sitting down at my small white table, I began trying to make plans, but my mind kept wandering back to Em's confession. This time I couldn't keep my anger and betrayal contained and stood up quickly, upending the chair that I had just occupied. I couldn't think straight and needed to try to relax so that I could get my thoughts in order.
Snatching my beer, I walked back into the living room, stopping in front of my collection of horror films. The genre always seemed to relax me and the more bloody and gory the film, the better. I enjoyed putting myself in the role of the “bad guy” and at this moment, felt that a gritty horror film was exactly what I needed to focus. After staring at my selection for what seemed like an eternity, I chose Nekromantik; a German film that, until recently, was banned here in the United Kingdom. Although it's one of the seedier films that I own, the thought of having sex with a corpse had always appealed to me, not that I would never admit that to anyone.
Popping the DVD into the player, I pressed ‘Play’ and sat down on the settee. After a few minutes, I found myself completely immersed in the film. Nekromantik tells the story of Rob; a poor guy who has a dead end job cleaning up body parts from accidents. Rob, like me, has always desired corpses, and his job allows him to interact closely with the dead. As the film progresses, Rob brings home a dead body for himself and his girlfriend to enjoy. It was during the first sex scene that I became aroused, and I stroked my penis throughout the remainder of the film, enjoying a staggering orgasm by the end. God, how I wish I could do that to someone. After cleaning up, I stretched out on the settee and allowed my eyes to close.
I fell asleep, and whilst I napped, I dreamed. I was Rob from the film and I loved fucking dead bodies. The body that I robbed from the graveyard in my dream was Emilia and I did despicable things to her corpse. The dream didn't last nearly long enough and when I awoke, I welcomed the throbbing erection that I was sporting. As the brain fog cleared and I stroked my cock, I felt like I knew exactly what I needed to do. In that instant, I added the first item to my ‘bucket list.’ I wanted Em dead and I wanted it to happen in the most fucked up way possible. Once she was dead, I could kill myself whilst I remained relatively healthy.
Emilia did this to me. She's sentenced me to a slow and painful death and I bet she's already on the medication needed to prolong her life, thinking she'll live to a ripe old age. She's shortened my life - ruined my dreams and plans. It's time I returned the favour.
My thoughts took a dark turn that I didn't know I was capable of, after bringing myself to orgasm once again, I set out to put my new plan into action. First thing I had to do was get something to ensure that Em was suitably tranquilised.
2
As lazy as I felt, my plans motivated me to make the drive to Tesco and pick up some antihistamine tablets. Whilst there, I also picked up more beer and some tea bags and sugar. Returning home with my purchases and feeling excited, I gave Em a call.
Em answered the phone, sounding tired. “Hello?”
“Em, It's Mike. Have you got a second?”
She replied, sounding guilty,“Yeah, I guess.”
“I...could you come over so we can talk this thing through? I feel awful about how things went down and I want a chance to make it up to you. I need to talk to someone about this, and – well who better to discuss it with than you, since you're going through the same thing?”
“I’d like that. So...,” she hesitated. “You're not angry?”
“I'd be lying if I told you that I wasn't angry, but more than that, I'm hurt. Let's save that discussion until you get here, okay? I'll get the kettle on and we can have a cuppa whilst we talk about it like adults.”
“Okay, yeah. As long as you're sure?”
“I'm sure, Em. Come on over. See you in a few minutes.”
I disconnected the call knowing Emilia wouldn't waste any time in getting here. I walked into the kitchen, flicked the power switch on the kettle on and opened the package of antihistamines. Crushing three tablets with the handle of a knife, I dumped the powder into her cup and finished making the tea. Em arrived at the precise moment that the tea was ready. Instead of walking in, she knocked.
I yelled from the kitchen,“Come in.”
Emilia walked in and stood in the doorway. I greeted her carrying two cups of steaming hot tea and placed them both on the coffee table.
“Sit down, I don't bite,” I told her, trying to hide my annoyance.
She sat down and I handed her the cup. “Two sugars, just how you like it.”
She sipped the drink but avoided looking at me, instead staring vacantly into her cup.
At least she hasn’t noticed any difference in taste.
“Em, the first thing I want to know is why. Why did you fuck another guy? What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing, Mike. I can't blame you for the mistakes that I made. I chose to cheat on you.”
“Stop, Em. Just stop. We weren't having sex, we were fighting day in, day out and the fights were getting worse. I know I'm the real reason behind this. If only I'd been a better provider, a better husband, if only...”
“No, Mike. It was me. Remember the Christmas work party that I had, the one you didn't want to go to?”
“That's when it started?”
She looked down at her tea,“Yes.”
She wasn't drinking quickly enough. “Don't you like the tea?
“The tea is fine.” She took a long drink before continuing. “I met...him...that night. I was drunk, as you know since you had to collect me, he came on strong, giving me the attention that you hadn’t given me in months. Initially, he made me feel beautiful, then later on, he made me feel sexy. We started kissing...”
I jumped up to my feet and started pacing,“Spare me the fucking details, please. Did you ever think that by talking to me, we may have avoided this – mess? Instead of telling me how you felt, you went running into the arms of another man. Did you ever stop to think of how that would make me feel? You used to talk to me about everything. We kept no secrets from one another. What ever happened to us? I loved you.”
Em took another sip of her tea, lifted her head and tears were streaming down her face.
“Mike, I'm sorry. I was weak. I didn't know what else to do. I wasn't going to tell you. It was a mistake.”
“So you're trying to tell me you were weak for three fucking months?”
Emilia yawned and placed her empty cup down on the table. “No, but...”
I turned my back to her and stared out of the small, dirty window for a while before replying, “But what? What excuse could you possibly offer me to make me forgive you? You've screwed around behind my back for three months, and y
ou've sentenced me to an early death. What the fuck could you possibly say to me to make any of this okay?”
She offered no reply, so I turned back around and noticed she was sitting back, slouched on the sofa. She was fast asleep with her head resting on her chest.
Fuck, those tablets work quickly!
I sat opposite Emilia and slapped her cheek hard, ensuring she was really asleep. When I was convinced, I grabbed her under the arms and dragged her to our bedroom where I threw her down onto her back on the mattress. Heading back out to the kitchen, I grabbed my roll of silver duct tape from the cupboard where I had left it and headed back into the bedroom. I stopped at the edge of the bed and stared down at my wife's sleeping face. It amazed me to think how much I used to love her and how quickly that love had disappeared when I found out what she had done.
Our bed is my grandmother's old four-poster bed, which made it easy to secure my wife. I taped one arm to each headboard post and taped her legs together at the ankles. Securing a piece over her mouth and eyes, I left her there to sleep off the medication.
Whilst Emilia slept, I used the time to grab a left over pork pie and a beer from the fridge. So far, everything was going according to plan, but I still had no idea what I was going to do next. I finished my food and grabbed another beer before walking back into the bedroom. She was still out cold so I took a moment to sit next to her.
“I really wish things could have been different between us. I would give anything to turn back time and try harder to make you happy. Believe it or not, I'm not saying that because of the disease. I'm saying it because I loved you. You were everything to me once. You were the person who made me a better man. You were my future, my one true love. Now, you're nothing. When I see your face, I feel nothing but contempt and hatred, feelings I didn't know I was capable of, especially when it came to you. I never wanted to live without you and now, I just don't want to live. Unfortunately for you, my dear, you won't live either.”