You probably noticed stay at home wife, not stay at home mom. Another tidbit, he didn’t want babies, and I always have. It only added to the depression I already carried for all the years.
We stood at the kitchen island, bills, ads, and coupons spread all over. He was on one side, and I on the other. Our conversation heavy, and full of him hating my writing career once again. Shocker.
Carl’s face was bunched together in a disgust-filled scowl. He refused to look at me, but I could clearly see his control slipping. He grabbed my face forcefully. Before this, he’d never put a hand one me. My fear was as realistic as sharks were scary.
“Why the hell do you write this shit anyway?” he growled into my ear.
He sent waves of unease across my skin. This behavior was foreign to me. The way the vein in his head pulsed put me on edge. The discoloration made me fear him for the first time ever. After reading a few pages of Sassy & Southern Comfort, he called me a porn addict. A fucking porn addict because I wrote smut and enjoyed it.
“It’s not porn. You’ve watched your fair share so you know it has no love involved. Writing brings me peace, and I thoroughly enjoy it. There’s nothing wrong with it,” I reasoned.
I prayed he’d see how much I needed this part of my life. Never had I felt worried or like writing threatened our marriage. Not until now.
I placed my palms on his hands and removed them from my face, trying my best to give him time to breathe. If I said what lingered on my mind, I’d explode. I didn’t want to live life with regrets.
Stalking in the opposite direction, I exhaled the largest gust of air, but he pulled me back.
“Just don’t sit there and fantasize about men like I know you do. I’ll be fine if you keep your thoughts out of the gutter. We both know it’s buff men you imagine while fucking me. It’s disgusting!” He grimaced, and if I were to be honest, he looked like an actual butthole with the sour look on his face.
“I only have eyes for you, Carl. I don’t see why you always act this way.” My tone was soft.
I didn’t want to shove his insecurities in his face, but I also didn’t want to condone this behavior. It’s not okay. If it continued, we’d need counseling, and he’d refuse to do it. Every time I asked if we could go to help our marriage, he’d flat out refuse. My intentions weren’t out to hurt him. I loved him. I gave everything to our marriage, willing to keep it going and be supportive, always.
“I just wish you’d stop and get a real job. You are wasting your life away on a false hope!”
His anger startled me. The redness of his face terrifying me, but I was too mad to back down for his condescending manners.
“This is a real job, Carl. Get a fucking grip!” I yanked my book from his hands and left him in the kitchen alone. I grabbed as many clothes as I could carry, leaving the house with them in tow.
I spent the next week at Stacy’s. When I came back for my journal with all my plotlines, he was fucking a whore. The imagery of them in bed together, our bed, broke what little security I’d gained since high school. Life was funny that way. You’d sit there wondering where it all went wrong when it really was never right to begin with.
I’m ready to move past this. He already filed for divorce. Before this went down, even. Carl had always been a quick one, literally a two-minute kind of guy if I lucked out.
Stacy tapped my shoulder. “You zoned out, babe. Hope you aren’t thinking of that cocksucker,” she chastised. She was typing away but watched me warily.
“Oh, and what are you interested in?” Her eyes zeroed in on the screen in front of her.
How long did she let me sit there before getting my attention? I probably looked like a loon.
“What do you mean? Like men or woman?” What an odd choice of words. “Because les-be-honest here…” My voice exaggerated my words, and I couldn’t help but joke about it. I’d totally switch teams for Ronda Rousey, and we both knew it.
“No.” She giggled. “Do you want hookups, dates, a forever-kind-of-man, a friend, or…”
I felt a blush touching my cheeks. How embarrassing. What kind of site was this?
“Dates, I guess.” An uncomfortable laugh escaped me. Was it hot in here? I feel hot.
“I’ll just pick them all. It couldn’t hurt.” Stacy started drumming away.
No! I’ve never done a one-night stand, and that might attract horny men.
“Stace!” I squealed. My hand’s immediate reaction kicked in and smacked her tit.
“Bitch, did you just titty-slap me?” Her face soured, scrunching up in distaste. Her scowl was the best thing ever. The shock and ugly expression had me giggling. Her anger was forced. She loved to mess around with me.
“Titty slap? Is that even a thing?” I couldn’t contain the guffaw that slipped past my lips while I smacked my knee.
“Bitch, it might be!” Her laughs were as raucous as mine, and we both doubled over.
People stared at us from across the road. It only supplied more gasoline to our flippant fire. We’d been sitting outside for over a half hour, out in the open, and now laughing like bafoons.
A ton of beeps sounded off like crazy.
“Holy shit cheeseballs,” Stacy let out.
“What is with you and these funky new words?” I pestered.
“I’m an author, remember?” She shrugged and checked out her laptop. “Babe, you have thirty hits already,” she said, her voice light with surprise and disbelief.
I know, Stace. I’m a sack of potatoes.
“What the hell did you enter?” I pulled the laptop into my lap and clicked open my profile. There wasn’t a chance in hell that I’d get that many responses right off the bat.
“My name is Rebel Payne, I’m twenty-eight, looking to date, and ready to test drive her hell of a sex drive. Great at conversations and even better in the sack. As a best-selling author, words are my specialty. I can sweet-talk you out of your clothes.”
Oh, she did not!
“What the fuck, Stace? I’d never say this shit.” My growl sounded nearly unhinged. My slacked jaw bound to catch flies from the continual weirdness overload she threw my way.
“I know, and that’s exactly why I wrote it.”
Her shit-eating grin had me readying myself to smack it right off her face. She liked pushing my buttons, and one day, I’d push back with a water balloon in her face.
“You’re absolutely insane, a complete looney tune!” I screeched, unnerved at the audacity of my best friend.
Her eyes widened a smidge, and she winked. “Get your panties out of your ass, and look at the hot ass men IM’ing you. You’ll thank me later, babe.” She grinned and kissed my cheek.
Curiosity getting the best of me, I opened the little red icon showing the twelve new messages.
The first guy interested me immediately. Chad worked for corporate America and loved reading, camping, and gazing at the stars. His picture was of a coffee mug and glasses. Interesting.
“You can select fuck or fuck-off with these two buttons,” she said, directing me to the little peace finger emoji and the heart emoji.
Easy enough.
“What if he doesn’t have a picture because he’s fugly?” Stace questioned.