Chemical Romance.

She dosed him with small amounts of methamphetamine daily, raising his tension level in minute increments as she increased the dosage. She married him for his money in the first place and for the last six months he’d been boring her to tears with his constant droning about past exploits and business dealings. The drug mischief helped break the monotony, watching him twitch involuntarily, battling bouts of insomnia and paranoia- sometimes it really gave her something to laugh about. It was better than the soaps- she regretted she didn’t have hidden cameras in the house- she could have made a mint off of the reality television angle. In the end it was really simple- she told him she’d locked her keys inside the house and while he was crawling in the window she ran around and let herself in the front door. He fell inside the window with a clumsy thud, and standing there dusting himself off he died with a surprised look on his face as she unloaded four thirty-eight caliber rounds into his chest. By the time the police got there he was dead, lying in a pool of his own fluids, a kitchen knife clenched in one hand. She was in tears, hysterical. There was obviously nothing else she could have done. After months of abuse at the hands of a drug-addled madman she had no choice. The toxicology report pretty well proved it.