Page 73 of Dissection of a Murder
Rule #8
Be Patient
So many peopleunderestimate the beauty and importance of silence. A pause, executed at the right time, can be very powerful. Everyone is in such a rush these days.
I blame social media. Everything is so instant and available now.
And nobody cares about the proper execution of revenge anymore.
It’s not difficult. Opportunities will present themselves if you really want to hurt a person. You don’t even have to go looking for them. This is where people mess up: they become impatient and force the situation.
It may take weeks, months, or even years, but believe me, if someone has it coming, your opportunity to end them will appear. All you have to do is be patient and seize the opportunity when it arises.
In my case, it came at 1:46 a.m. one cold Saturday morning. I thought it would make things better. It did in some ways, but not in others.
Sometimes, of course, the best revenge is no revenge at all. To simply move on and live many happy, successful years, knowing you’re better than the person who wronged you. It takes a colossal amount of character to rise above. Not many people have it in them.
Declan did. After I shattered his heart into a thousand pieces, he left the next day without so much as a word. No more contact. No drama. Nothing.
Imagine having that much restraint. That much dignity. He simply disappeared, like a ghost.
His silence hurt more than any number of verbal insults could have. That action said,I am better off without you. I do not need you.I wanted him to beg for us to work through it.
He didn’t.His life improved without me in it.Is there any crueler revenge?
I search for him on Instagram sometimes in particularly potent moments of self-loathing, for who I am, for who I could have been.
He’s aged well. In each of his photos, he’s surrounded by his pretty, brunette wife and three beautiful children. Declan is a family man; I always knew he would be. His life consists of splashing around the pool with his little blonde-haired daughter on his shoulders, date nights with his dewy-skinned wife, and team days away at corporate functions. He’s always been well liked. Good for him, truly.
The best thing to happen to him was me breaking his heart. That’s a tough pill to swallow.
I’m trying so hard to shed the skin of the person I was. I know she existed to survive what was happening around her, but I did not like her. I am ravaged with shame because of it, and I think I am a better person now. I try to be, anyway.
But her? Has she changed? I doubt it.
She learned from the best, after all.
37
Leila
20 days before trial
I never enjoyed Christmasas a kid. I was always so jealous hearing about all the nice things my friends got up to with their families. My parents would spend the majority of the day not speaking to each other, sitting in separate rooms of the house, so I’d watch films to distract myself from thinking about how much of a magical time everyone else was having.
The first Christmas Eve I spent without either of them was the best one I’d ever had. I went for a long walk on my own that lasted hours. I felt free. I moseyed into a church I’d never even been to before and attended a mass. As the carols bounced around the magnificent building, I thought about my parents and whether they would have enjoyed it.
I concluded that they wouldn’t. They never found joy in anything.
Every year, Julian and I go out for Christmas Eve lunch and spend the rest of the day cozied up drinking champagne and eating expensive, overpriced food from posh delis. We got together shortly before Christmas, so our first one was spent in a loved-up state together doing just this, and the tradition continued thereafter.
We haven’t booked anywhere this year. The official line is it’sdown to us being too busy to sort anything out, but the real reason is we haven’t been feeling connected lately. And when I say that, I mean I can’t remember the last time we had a proper conversation about anything other than the case. I didn’t tell him about Sienna—it would have been just another thing for him to complain about. We’re working such erratic hours, we’ve even started sleeping separately. I like to work on my laptop in bed late at night; he wants to go straight to sleep. It makes sense that he sleeps in the spare room. But I can’t ignore the siren going off, alerting me that this feels irreversible.
Audrey has gone to stay with her sister “down south” for the week, so this morning I went to check on her house. Knowing Audrey, she’s likely left the heating on full-blast for the entire duration. On the journey there, driving through the dull, foggy weather, I was constantly checking in the mirror to see ifshewas following me. What is she planning? I know she’s planning something.
It’ll be well timed, whatever it is. Designed to cause maximum damage. That’s how she works.
I considered, for a second, whether I should speak to her father. If she’s spiraling, he could potentially get through to her. That really would blow everything up, though, and no matter what has happened between us, it would be a step too far, bringing him into it.
