Sloppy Wet Kiss: Stranger in my Bed (8)
By Tashinga Wazara, Zimbabwe:
They say you should never dance with the devil because there's always deception in his charms, and he'll always be a step ahead of you. Well, in the past twenty-four hours, I have realized that I not only danced with the devil, I married him too. It all started early this morning when a nurse from the township clinic came to my house saying that she had something important she needed to tell me. I recognized her from the last time we had been to the township clinic with my husband, Max and his wife when they all got tested for HIV. I figured that whatever she had to say was important. I let her in and when we sat down she went straight into it.
She told me that last year she had a relationship with my husband that lasted for about six months. When she told me this I got quite irritated but I tried to control myself as best as I could and said, 'Ok, I hear you. But if you've come here to apologise then…'
She cut me off before I finished my sentence and said, 'I'm HIV positive and your husband is too.' I felt a sudden chill go down my spine as her words sunk in. For a few moments I didn't say a word. I didn't even move. I then regained my senses enough to get up and walk towards the front entrance. She followed me and as I opened the door to let her out she said, 'I'm really sorry' and walked out. I barely heard her because so many thoughts were flooding my mind at the same time but one thing was clear: I wanted this girl out of my house.
I then went back into the lounge and sat down, still in a daze. I felt like I was in a dream, a very bad one. I began to process the five minute encounter I had just had with this nurse that had seemingly put a dagger in my heart. She might as well have walked in with an AK-47 and blown my brains out. At this point it would have been a better, less painful option. I began to think, 'My husband, Pastor Malcom, HIV positive? It couldn't be. What about the HIV tests we went and had done with Cynthia and Max? If he was HIV positive then surely the results would have shown? So if he has it, do I have it too?' As all these questions were going through my mind I began to panic. I hurried and went and got my car keys and headed for the hospital. I had to get tested.
I got to the hospital and they took me through pre-test counseling which was torture because it seemed to last forever then finally I got tested. The results came back: HIV positive. I wasn't surprised, I mean, we weren't having sex every other day but we still did have sex and so if he had HIV then I must have had it, and I did. During the post-test counseling session, they asked me what I was going to do now that I knew I was HIV positive and I told them that I was going to go and tell my family and that with their support I would be able to make it through. This of course, was a lie. I had no intention of telling anyone anything. I left the hospital and went straight to the pharmacy and bought four bottles of pain killers. I then passed by a bottle store and bought a bottle of whisky. After that I went home and locked myself in my room and switched off my phone. I then thought about where I wanted my husband to first see my dead body, in our room or in the bathroom. I decided that the bedroom would be more memorable. This image of me lying on top of our bed, dead, was meant to haunt him forever.
I sat on the bed and started writing my suicide letter. It started off with something about how I loved Malcom and our family and then started going into how much I hate him for what he had done to me and that I was killing myself because of him. He had to know it was his fault. I then started writing a letter to my son, Max, who incidentally was also suffering from HIV and told him that I would miss him and that I hoped he would forgive me for what I had done. During my letter to Max, I broke down and started crying. I couldn't believe that I was actually about to kill myself but I had made up my mind. I was going to do it.
I sat on the bed and had the first bottle of pills, about twenty in total, and washed them down with some whisky. I waited for a moment to see if it would start taking effect but then in that brief moment, my heart started to beat fast. I got scared. 'I'm about to die!' I thought. In that moment, I realized that I was about to make a big mistake. Why should I die because of someone else's sins? That wasn't justice. It was a feeble, pathetic way of dealing with this situation. My death wasn't going to help anything. The person that needed to be punished was my husband. In fact, I was about to kill the wrong person. I then rushed to the bathroom and made myself vomit. I unlocked my door and went outside for some fresh air. I was shaking.
As I stood outside, I felt so angry. I was angry at myself for my attempted suicide, but I was even angrier at my husband. He was the cause of all of this. How could the pig give me HIV? I didn't do anything to deserve it! The more I thought of it, the angrier I became. I had to get my revenge. Suddenly, my face lit up a little. I knew exactly how I was going to do it.
When he came home at about 6pm that day, I welcomed him home as usual then I made him dinner and we sat and watched television while he told me about his day. It was difficult for me but I faked a few smiles and pretended to care then at around 9pm I asked him if he wanted some tea. He said yes and I went and made him some tea and then at around 10:30pm we both went to bed. He fell asleep almost as soon as he got into bed but I stayed awake and waited. I waited, and waited, and waited.
Then suddenly a few hours later, he woke up coughing and out of breath and I got up and turned to him and said, 'What's wrong honey?' as if I didn't know what was happening. I knew alright. I knew that you never drink an angry wife's tea, especially a wife you've infected with HIV…