I didn’t know what I had got myself into. Was this really how life was going to be for me? Wasn’t taking a leap of faith the whole point of commitment? Well my leap was more like a cliff dive. If you had told me that I would marry a man I hardly knew after just two months of knowing him, I wouldn’t have believed you. Furthermore, if you added that I would realise three months later that I was married to a drug addict, I would have told you to get lost. Did I mention the icing on the cake? No? Well, say you wrap that up and grace me with the knowledge that I am married to a drug lord on the run, well I would probably kick you in places and ways I would rather not get into explicitly mentioning.

Surprisingly, all this is true and that’s me in a nutshell. So here I am, no friends, no life, no safety and judging by the black eye he gave me again when he was on a bender yesterday, no love. Could you blame me for trying to look for a way out? I always told my brother, “The worst kind of weapon you can forge against yourself, is a desperate woman.”

So I got cleaned up in the dirtiest bathroom I had ever had the pleasure of using and decided to start cooking. What? Did you think I was going to jump out of the window on the second floor of a dilapidated Mexican drug den guarded by heavily armed druggies and crooks? Cut me some slack. I work cleaner than that. Unfortunately, once you marry a crook, your ways tend to end up being crooked as well. All I could do was cook. A massive meal.

I had minimal access to the outside world or resources but I had some magic seeds. Castor beans, to be precise. Stored and hidden away for a week. I had managed to get some during the few trips I took outside. None of the brutes guarding me had any idea what the plant was. I, however, knew it was my salvation. I carried them from the plant I found in small quantities each day until I had enough for all of them. It was Friday, this is only relevant because it was chili night. Every Friday I would make this, the key ingredient being beans. The only difference was that, today, I would add an extra ingredient. I would taste my freedom and they would too, literally.

Carefully concealed in the redness and cooked to perfection, I served it up for everyone and insisted on retiring to bed because I was not hungry. My ‘loving husband’ got an especially huge serving courtesy of me. It didn’t take too long before the fracas started. Choking and heaving, gurgles and wheezing.

I had made a call earlier and tipped off Interpol about where they could find them and at what time, I left out the minor detail of the state in which they would be found. By then I would be long gone. As I left through the back door, I took one last glance at the room where they were and saw him. ‘Hubby of the year’ clutching his throat, sweat dripping down his forehead and eyes popped out as he rolled on the floor in agony. I felt a tingle at the corner of my lips. What was it? It had been a while since I smiled. I worried though that my grasp on empathy and sympathy had been stripped from me by these brutes and the kind of life they had me living. Who smiles as men choke on poison? Who poisons them in the first place?


Sad and sadistic, but I’m being realistic. Despite your feelings, I got my healing.


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