Her name was Anne and she is beautiful.
I am not ashamed to say I love her. I like to think she loved me back.
We would take long walks in the evening and she would ruffle my hair playfully. We would lie down by the fireplace and she would tell me stories of her childhood. We would go running in the morning, before the sun rose; our breaths colliding together in the foggy glow of morning light. She would cook something delicious and feed it to me. I would gobble it all up with a smile on my face. Sometimes, when I do something wrong, she would just look at me and gently let me into her bedroom where she would proceed to talk to me in a low voice.
Sometimes she drinks something and she acts strange. She would hit me more often, and I think it's because she is angry at someone and needs to let it out. So I bow my head and accept the pain. She loves me, I know that. She trusts me enough to take out her anger on me. I'll love her anyway.
But one day she came home with another man. I could tell he didn't like me and he hit me for fun. She laughed as she watched me and I was overjoyed, knowing that I was the one who could make her happy. Even though the man's strikes caused blood to run down the side of my leg, I welcomed the pain. I love her and I know she is allowing this to happen for my own good. He stopped after a while and I sighed in relief.
But when I stood up on my legs, I accidentally knocked over his glass of wine. I watched in horror as the red liquid seeped through Anne's white dress.
That's when they both started beating me. I know she loves me, and she's doing this for my own good. I'll always love her.
I closed my eyes.
His name was Chance and I hated him. He shed everywhere and it cost so much just to feed him. My grandfather left him to me and he loved that old dog. He told me that if I can take care of his dog, then I can take care of his fortune. So I took the dog in to live with me, just to prove that I am worthy of his money.
I was forced to get out of bed to give him his walk in the evening and I ruffled his fur to annoy him because I was bored. Every time I lie down by the fire place the stupid dog would lie next to me and my shirt would be ruined by his fur. But my boyfriend would call and I would spend hours talking to him about our memories as children and how much I missed him. In the mornings I have to let Chance go running and I usually use him as an excuse to run and get my weed faster. At least the dog is useful for something. I tried cooking disgusting things for him, just so he can choke on it and die so he could end my misery. Worms, fish bones, one time I even put some nails. None of these worked. He would eat everything in his plate and be perfectly fine. One day he peed on my carpet. I took him in my room and threatened him with what I would do to his body once I killed him if he ever did it again.
The stupid thing just pants and stares.
Then my boyfriend came over for the first time and he hit the dog. I laughed, mostly because I was drunk and it was funny watching the thing get hit. I saw blood running down his furry golden leg and I laughed anyway. After he was beaten, Chance stood up and knocked the wine on to my most expensive Gucci dress.
Red blazed my vision as I hit and beat the thing they call a dog. My boyfriend helped and we kicked him until I heard bones crack. The pathetic thing just whimpered and kept his head low.
And then Chance stopped moving altogether. We stopped our assault and stooped to check on him. He stopped breathing. His once lively brown eyes were now closed, forever.
I should be feeling satisfaction. I should be happy I won't have to take care of Chance anymore.
But instead I felt like I lost the one good thing in my life who loved me unconditionally, no matter who I am.
My name is Anne and I killed my most beloved companion, a golden retriever named Chance.
I love him.