16. Homewrecking Skank

HOMEWRECKING SKANK

I felt cold and clammy. Like little tentacles or fingers were clawing away at my insides. "Say that again?" He smirked, and my head spun with anger. "You son of a bitch, what do you mean you got snipped?" I flew at him, but he just pushed me back hard enough for me to fall on the floor.

Is this a joke? "You liar." I was screaming by the time I got to my feet. "It was all lies." He'd promised when we started the affair that we'd have kids together, that I'd get to have the life I wanted. A stay-at-home mom with enough money to do the things I wanted.

He'd built that dream with me for months until it seemed real. Even when things were getting bad I still had that dream. One of the only ones I had left. I wanted to be a mother; I wanted to have kids with the man I thought he was.

Now, he's telling me that that was never a possibility. "Wait, before we even met? That can't be. You had Sara months after we started dating."

"Sara was a mistake and also the reason you will never have children." He seemed to take pleasure in telling me this.

"I don't understand."

"I got snipped without telling Rachel about it. After the debacle of her first pregnancy, I did not want to go through that hell again, so I went and had it done. Imagine my surprise when she came up pregnant."

He actually grinned and took a sip from the bottle. "I thought for sure she had cheated, but I couldn't accuse her because then she'd find out about the snip-snip. So, I went back to the doctor and he told me it was a possibility that sometimes they fail. So, I got it done the right way. Had she not fallen pregnant, I wouldn't have known."

I felt as if someone had thrown hot oil over my head. In fact, I didn't know how to feel or what to think. "You said it was a drunken one-night stand. That you and she weren't having sex while you were with me. That was a lie, too, wasn't it?"

"Of course, you dumb bitch. I told you what you wanted to hear, and you believed me because you wanted to. So don't come crying to me about it now. You got what you wanted. Me, all to yourself."

"As for kids, no thanks; I've already got all that I want or need." I flew at him again, my rage at an all-time high. This was the last straw. I've wasted too much time on him, and now he's trapped me in a marriage with a deadbeat.

He slapped me hard across the face until I tasted blood, but that didn't stop me; it was expected by now. I tore at the flesh of his face with my nails, and he punched me in the gut. The wind was knocked out of me, and I gagged and fought to breathe. He just stood there laughing.

I wanted to die at that moment because, in his laughter, I heard my doom. A coldness rushed over my body as reality hit me out of nowhere like a freight train. This was my life now. I'm trapped. I have no job, no savings, and no hope.

I started laughing, too, which made him stop for some reason. Stop and stare at me like I was the crazy one. "I lost my job."

"Well, get another one bitch. You've got one week. I won't have you sitting around here on your lazy ass getting fat. And somebody's got to pay the bills and buy my whiskey."

He tipped the bottle to his head and the hate that rose up in me was almost too much. I thought of the many ways I could kill him at that moment. And how to get away with it. He walked back to the couch and sat down in front of the TV, and my eyes followed.

This can't be my life. It can't be the way my world would end. How could such highs morph into such lows so quickly? Where did I go wrong? Which part of the plan went awry?

How could my reality look so different from the one I had mapped out for myself? He was well-established when we met. Handsome, fun, the go-to guy at the company. Everyone loved him and sang his praise.

He was charismatic and treated me like a queen, the way I always wanted and deserved. It didn't matter that he was married with a child; why should I care? It's survival of the fittest; not my fault some dumb bitch couldn't keep her husband happy.

He showered me with attention and gifts, swept me off my feet, and promised me the world. I told him he couldn't sleep with her anymore; it was hurtful for me. He promised that they were in a dead bedroom long before I came along because he didn't find her attractive after the birth of his son.

He promised that we would take his son and raise him ourselves because he painted her as unstable and unfit. I bought it all. He was right, it's what I wanted to hear. When she turned up pregnant, I was livid, but he swore she got him drunk and took advantage.

I wanted to murder her for interrupting the life I was planning. But it was all lies. I looked over at him and felt my heart drop. He didn't even look like the same person. It had only been a year and some; how much worse was this going to get before it got better? If it ever got better.

He'd gained weight, and so did I. I doubt he remembers the last time he took a shower; that sour smell reached me across the room. I threw up in my mouth and touched my busted lip with my tongue. Is this how the abuse starts? How do I get it to end?

I'm sure people are laughing. They probably think I'm getting what I deserve. But no one deserves this; I didn't sign up for any of this. It's not fair….

"I don't hear no pots and pans moving about. Dinner ain't gonna cook itself, you lazy bitch." Words burned my tongue. Words that I knew were going to fall on deaf ears.

I walked into the kitchen like a robot and got out the saucepan. I got out the ingredients for dinner, doing it by rote. These days, he only eats one meal. Steak and potatoes. He's been harping on me to get it right the way Rachel used to make it.

Everything is about Rachel these days. It seems like she could do no wrong when they were married, which begs the question, why did he cheat with me?

I peeled potatoes at the sink while blinded by tears as I looked out the back window into nothingness. I moved around the kitchen, grabbing things here and there; every once in a while, I'd look over at where he sat yelling at the TV and he hadn't moved.

By the time dinner was ready, I was numb. I plated out his food and took it to him, where he sat like a lug. "I hope you made something sweet for dessert." If looks could kill, this bastard would be dead on arrival.

I went back to the kitchen, forgetting my dinner, which was growing cold, as I whipped up a batch of brownies from a box mix. I glared at his back as I mixed the ingredients in a bowl. Like your ass need any more sweets, lard ass.

Oh, I hate him. I hate his ever-loving guts. I Spat in the mix and kept stirring. While the brownies were baking I heated up my dinner in the microwave and ate standing at the kitchen counter. Once the brownies were ready, I didn't let them cool. I put a scoop of ice cream on a square and covered it with whipped cream before taking it to him.

His plate had been scraped clean. Only the bone from the last T-bone steak was left with nothing on it, but the bastard would still complain before the night was over. He gobbled down the brownie, and I smiled.

He looked up as if just realizing that I was standing there. "What do you want bitch? You should be in there on your computer looking for your next job." He turned up the TV and went back to his whisky as I walked away.

That night, I laid there while he humped away on top of me, feeling nothing. I was empty inside. I didn't even have any more tears left at this point, just a choked-up feeling like hands around my throat squeezing me to death.

I let him use my body any way he wanted because I didn't care. He'd been growing more and more sadistic lately, and I thought it was because Rachel hadn't been posting, and he couldn't get his daily fix. But now I realize that it's just who he is now.

The bruises no longer mattered, but the words still had the power to hurt. He hit me because I wasn't her. He abused me for not being who he thought I was, his words. He knows I hate anal sex, that it's painful, but that never stopped him from forcing it on me.

Tonight, I didn't fight. There was no fight left in me. He didn't seem to notice, and the way he was going, I knew he had to have gone back on that stuff I had introduced him to. Back in the day, when my sex drive was off the charts, I'd got him into taking these little non-prescription pills that were just as effective as Viagra.

It could make you go for hours. We'd stopped using them a while ago when life started to interfere, but I know the signs. He gets harder, and his stamina multiplies two-fold. Not that it does me any good. He always was a lazy fuck. I've had to get myself off afterward a lot.

I didn't realize that it was the chase that had made our sex so exciting. Knowing that I was taking another woman's man away from her and her kids that was the high that used to get me off. But that bitch had spoiled even that for me.

Now he's just another fat, balding, almost middle-aged man with no job and no prospects. Things went on like that for days, and since I didn't have a job, I had to spend each day putting up with his demands.

I realized by day three that I was nothing more than a maid to him. The only difference is that I didn't get paid, and I had to have sex with him. I started getting off by imagining killing him each time we fucked.

"That's right bitch. I can feel that pussy getting wet." I wrapped my arms and legs around him and came at the thought of slitting his fucking throat. He thought he was doing something, so he bragged, and I let him.

I looked for and found a job with about the same pay but more hours. That was fine; the less time I spent around him, the better. He started spending money faster than I was making it, so there was never anything left over.

Each time I brought it up, he'd remind me of what he had on me, so I'd back down. My life became a monotonous nightmare, with the same things on repeat.

He got fatter, I got fatter, but at least we had moved on from the steak and potatoes. Now, it was Rachel's lasagna that I had to perfect. I made new friends at my new job. People who didn't know anything about my life. I made a fresh start with a new background story.

I had no interest in anyone meeting Doug, so there was no danger of anyone learning that my stories about my handsome husband and kids were made up. And then Rachel went into labor, and all hell broke loose in my life.

RACHEL

"No!" He moved my hand off him for the second time.

"You're rejecting me?" He looked hurt that I'd even suggest it.

"No, baby, come on, but your due date is right around the corner. The doctor's surprised that you've been carrying them for this long already; I don't want to do anything that will cause you harm."

"But I need it." Damn his common sense, anyway. I woke up horny as shit, and he's playing hard to get. It was still early in the morning, way before the kids were due to be up, and besides, they'd been spending the night in the in-law suite next door where Jacob had moved my parents for as long as they'd like.

They plan to stay here for at least a few months after the babies are born to help out. I didn't know he had arranged all of that with them behind my back but it has been wonderful having all the extra help.

It's strange to imagine that I've had an easier pregnancy while carrying twins than I did with either of my previous pregnancies. Doug never wanted my parents to come stay with us, even though he didn't help with anything.

Not only are my parents here, but I find myself having to beg Jacob to sit down and take a breath. This man doesn't even lift his fork to his mouth until he's assured himself that I and the kids were fine with what we're having for dinner.

He's attentive, excited, and hands-on not only with me and the babies but with my two oldest as well. With the passing of time, I have reached the point where I don't even remember my former life. It no longer intrudes on my thoughts, which are filled with my marriage and how happy I am when I least expected it.

But lately, he's become impossible. He hasn't touched me since my tummy dropped, and I can't help but feel that old pain of feeling undesirable. I sniffled, and he dropped the magazine he'd been reading to look at me.

"What is it?" I just shook my head and tried to turn away. "Look at me." He freaked when he saw the tears in my eyes. "What the hell? Rachel!"

"It's nothing, it's just…" We'd promised to always be honest with each other no matter what, so I had no choice but to tell him.

"For a minute there, I felt the way he used to make me feel when I was pregnant."

"Come ‘ere." He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in close to his side.

"I'm scared!" I didn't expect those words to come from him.

"Scared of what?"

"That I'll hurt you. I can't look at you without wanting you, and I'm terrified that something will go wrong if I take you."

A weight was lifted off my shoulders. "Is that why you've been avoiding me and shutting yourself away in your office most nights?"

"Yeah, but I'm an ass. I never once thought that it would remind you of his mistreatment or that you'd think for one second that I didn't want or cherish you."

Could he be any more adorable? I lifted his hand and placed it on the mound of my tummy. "You won't hurt me, I promise." He studied my eyes as if looking for assurance and found it when I smiled.

We made love. It was slow, sweet, tender. It was everything I needed and more. When it was over, he held me in his arms until I fell asleep, feeling loved and fulfilled.

Sometime during the night, the pain started, and my husband lost his mind. He swore it was our lovemaking that had brought it on. Not the fact that I was ready to pop weeks ago. I was surprisingly calm, because he was doing all the worrying for both of us.

He had me packed up and in the car, had called everyone who needed to be notified, and was heading down the driveway less than ten minutes after my water broke. Helen and Victor were coming over to stay with their grandkids while his parents and mine were following us to the hospital.

I have never seen Jacob anything but in control until that night. He barked at anyone who got too close and wouldn't let the poor orderly put me in the wheelchair they brought out to meet us, preferring to carry me himself.

He had this look on his face as if he was gritting his teeth the whole time, and I'm pretty sure he called the doctor an idiot because the pain meds hadn't kicked in fast enough.

He swore up one side and down the other that he would never do this again. He stopped short of giving up sex for the rest of our lives. When our sons were born, I watched him deflate as if he'd been holding himself up by sheer will alone.

And then another pain hit when we thought all was over, and I thought he would take the hospital apart brick by brick. He stuttered and stammered when our daughter was born.

"Three? Which of you assholes can't count?" He threatened to sue the doctor for almost giving him a heart attack. His precious daughter was too tiny. He swore if he had known she was in there, he would've made me eat more. I think he failed biology.

The hospital staff took it all in stride, but I knew he was strung too tight. When he hit the floor out cold, I think everyone breathed a sigh of relief. By the time he woke up, the babies had been tended to and were in the NICU for observation.

He woke up yelling about where his kids were and who had taken them. He ran those poor people ragged. Our parents were placed on security duty because, apparently, he didn't trust the people he had hired for that job.

He hovered, he complained, he questioned and I loved every minute of it. I've never seen a man smile so damn wide. He spends a lot of time with his daughter because he claims he feels guilty for not knowing she was in there.

I'm not buying it, though; he already spoils Sara; he's a girl dad. As for the other kids, he's been spoiling them rotten ever since we got home. He doesn't want them to feel left out.

He's been reading books about step-parents and terrifying himself. I don't think I've seen him without one kid latched onto him in days. He takes Kevin out for one-on-one time because he's the oldest and the one most likely to get lost in the shuffle. Something he read somewhere, I guess.

Me? I'm allowed to breastfeed, that's it. His mother and mine snuck me out for ice cream because I desperately wanted out of the damn house after two weeks. He threatened to disown them, and they had to sit through a half-hour lecture about why they were wrong for helping me escape.

Both women claimed after that he's nuts; they don't know the half of it. He's always buying me something, always rushing around like a chicken without a head, even though he'd hired every damn nanny in a ten-mile radius, it looked like.

I don't think he calmed down until my first checkup and I got the all-clear. That's when the madness left, I guess. Or it could be the fact that we found a routine that worked for all of us.

He was still salty with the mothers, who had taken to ignoring him, which was funny as hell. He lectured them that they didn't know how hard childbirth was on a woman's body because they told him it was okay for me to get up and move around more.

His idea was to walk me around the room at intervals, usually right after the babies had been fed. When they both reminded him that they, too, had given birth, he scoffed and said things were different back then.

His dad and mine had to sit him down and explain that he had lost his damn mind; he wasn't having it. It all came out later that he was afraid of me feeling the way I did when I had Kevin and Sara. That I wasn't being taken care of enough.

He'd read these stupid books that his mom burned after the second time he told her that I wasn't to step foot out of the house until the babies were three months old. I'm not sure what book he read that in, but she'd had enough of his shit.

He vetted people before they were allowed to enter the house or get near me and the babies. People he had known for years. For some reason, they all came to the same consensus: he was nuts. He didn't care.

With all of that being said. I was able to heal, had time to myself, and my mind was able to relax because Jacob was like Cerberus at the gates of Hades. He's not crazy; he knew exactly what I needed even when I didn't.