Wait until he is asleep.
The needle should be sharper than his tongue. Imagine your hand is a cat creeping under the covers for warmth, fingers whisker-tickling his toes before you strike. There. Pinning the biggest ragged nail to the biggest callused toe to the shred of trouser sock until he howls himself out of bed.
They don’t call it whip stitch for nothing.
If you don’t like his railing, consider a gag. Proceed in even stitches as small as you can make them, smaller even than his esteem for you, bigger than his heart. Machine knits will repair easily, but their absorbency is poor. Take care the thread doesn’t become clotted with blood.
When the petty hole, so little compared to the one he tore in you, is closed, knot the thread and trim the ends.
Wash your hands.
Pack a bag.
Call the police.
Jillian believes in oversharing, strong coffee, and settling conflicts with a d8. Visit her website for more of the ridiculous and mundane.
Illustration by Chelsea Dicken.