You watch with morbid anticipation as Hunter tears open a snack-size bar of his favorite candy, Mounds. Hunter eats Mounds instead of the objectively superior Almond Joy because, in his words, “coconut is mouth sex, chocolate is mouth orgasms, and almonds will literally kill me because of my nut allergy.”
Hunter disclosed this information to you before he decided to start cheating on you with Shawn, that unbearably flamboyant bartender at what used to be your favorite tavern, The Glory Watering Hole. Shawn has already been dealt with, unbeknownst to Hunter, and all that remains now is to dispose of your soon-to-be former lover.
Hunter always carries a few Mounds in his jacket pocket as part of his revolting pick-up routine. He has a disgusting habit of swallowing the treats whole, and an equally nauseating habit of telling promiscuous service industry workers he does so because he “loves feeling something semi-hard sliding down the back of his throat.” Thinking about how he must have used this line on Shawn makes you so mad you clench your fists until your knuckles go white.
Tucking the wrapper into his pocket (at least he doesn’t litter), Hunter pops the candy into his mouth and swallows immediately. You watch as his eyes widen in surprise and curiosity. “That’s weird,” Hunter remarks.
“What’s weird?” you ask, knowing full well what’s weird.
“Felt like there was something hard in the middle of my candy.” Almost immediately, Hunter begins to cough and scratch at his throat. The surprised look in his eye gives way to desperate horror.
Seeing his realization and not wanting your thunder stolen, you dispense with the planned slow build of your revenge monologue. “There was something hard in your candy, Hunter,” you explain. “It was an almond. I switched out your Mounds with Almond Joy and resealed the packaging.”
So severe is Hunter’s nut allergy that less than a minute after swallowing the Almond Joy in disguise his throat is swollen and he appears to have lost the ability to speak. He falls to his knees, choking. He is no longer scratching his throat: he’s violently clawing at it as if trying to rip a hole in his neck to breathe through.
“Maybe in the next life you’ll think twice before sleeping with everything that moves while you’re in a committed relationship, Hunter.”
You watch as your dying lover falls to the ground, his breath slowing, his violent clawing fading as his body shuts down. When you are sure he’s taking his final breaths, you dip to your knees and position your face above his. You move your lips to the side of Hunter’s head, and as his world fades to black, the last thing he hears is your whisper in his ear.
“I guess sometimes you feel like a nut, Hunter,” you whisper coldly. “…and sometimes you die.”