18. Homewrecking Skank

HOMEWRECKING SKANK

I came home that day not knowing that my life was about to change. I had no idea that she had gone into labor and given birth to three children. I had no idea that Doug had been sitting at home all day stewing.

My mind had been consumed with my own plans, and I didn't have time for much else. When I opened the door and walked in with my whisky offering, I thought tonight would be the beginning of the rest of my life, that I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I should've known from the look in his bloodshot eyes when he looked at me that something was brewing. His ‘you bitch' wasn't a warning in itself since that was the only way he referred to me these days anyway.

I put the bag with the bottles of whiskey on the counter and started to tell him that I had brought him a gift when he got up from the couch and charged me. For a second there, through the ringing in my ear from the blow to my head, I thought that he had somehow found out about my plans, and I went into panic mode.

But then I caught on to what he was saying in his garbled drunken slurs, and something in me finally snapped. I was already long over his bullshit, but this was just too much, even for his stupid ass. The man has absolutely no self-awareness whatsoever, and his whining is about as attractive as a baboon's ass.

When the ringing in my ear subsided, and I shook my head to clear it, I forgot all about the poisoned peace offering for now and turned my anger and wrath on him. I'm still a woman, after all, and the shit he was saying was just too damn much.

"What is it to you that she's had her husband's children?" Even though I didn't want this piece of shit, it still bugged my ass that he was always going on about her. How was I supposed to feel when his every word made me feel like he regretted leaving her for me like I wasn't good enough? He was constantly throwing her up to me like she was the best thing since sliced bread.

As I said before, his words have been tearing me down over these last few months, almost worse than the physical blows, and I guess because I knew what I had planned for him, I felt brave enough to talk back this time around. Well, that only seemed to enrage him more, which I must admit I didn't give a shit about just then.

"What did you say bitch?" He got closer, his spit all but giving me a facial.

"You heard me. It's none of your business what your ex-wife is doing with her husband. It's not like she cares about you. She's moved on; you should do the same." I moved past him feeling better for having spoken those words out loud. It was time he heard them, way past time.

Even I, who hate Rachel, know that she married way up and probably hasn't given him a second thought in months. He'd missed the last custody court case, which was just the last in a long line of others, and I'm pretty sure he'd lost his rights to his kids by now. I could've reminded him, but why the hell should I? I was no longer interested in them or their lives.

Once, they were a means to hurt their mother and keep her in her place. I only wanted them if it meant that there wouldn't be any more dealings with her, no reason for her and Doug to have to interact with each other, and no way for old feelings to resurface.

But that slick bitch had left me with her trash of an ex and moved on. What the hell did I want with her brats? And what's more, I don't want their father either so there was no reason to show him what a great mom I could be to his kids.

It's funny because now, she and her new husband were the ones who no longer had to deal with her ex. They could move on with their lives, free of that headache. I wonder what they plan to tell the kids about him. About us? Sara was too young to know, but Kevin might be old enough to remember that he had a father. Then again, the life he's living now, why the hell would he remember this turd of a human.

I went to the fridge to get tonight's dinner out of the freezer because I wasn't in the mood to cook for his stupid ass. He came up behind me, huffing like a bull, and punched me in the side. I lost my wind for a second but breathed through it with thoughts of him dying soon, keeping me on my feet.

I ignored him and went to put the food in the microwave, totally ignoring his rants behind me. But then he said the wrong damn thing. "You fat ugly bitch, you were never as good as Rachel. You tricked me into fucking you and destroyed my life. Now my wife and kids are living with someone else, and I'm stuck here with you."

Oh, he was in fine form tonight. "Is it me you're mad at, or are you mad that your ex and your kids are doing much better than they ever would have if they'd stayed with you? I should call Rachel and charge her for the upgrade. If I hadn't taken your worthless ass off her hands, she'd be stuck in a dead-end marriage with a loser like you."

I don't know where I got the nerve to answer him back, let alone say all those things, but as I said, just knowing that I would soon be rid of him gave me the courage I'd been lacking. I guess I wanted to get all of the anger and bitterness out before it was too late.

I didn't want to come home from work one day and find him dead on the floor before I got the chance to tell him just what I thought of him. My plan was to make it look like alcohol poisoning, so I've been collecting his bottles and keeping them under the kitchen sink where he would never look so when the time came, there would be more than enough evidence.

I guess my last crack was too far over the line because he punched me in the chest hard enough to lift me off my feet. I didn't feel fear until I realized I was going to come down with my head against the counter, the granite counter, but by then, it was too late.

I opened my mouth to scream, but it got cut short when I hit my head with a thud before slumping to the floor. I knew something was wrong before I passed out. I couldn't feel my body, and there was no sound coming from my mouth as I looked up at him from my place on the floor with my mouth open in horror.

BASTARD

I've heard about people becoming sober immediately but never knew it was a real thing. As soon as her head hit the counter, that's what happened to me. I stood there for the first few seconds before sprinting into action.

That sickening thud had wiped every vestige of intoxication clean out of my head, and I saw what I needed to do clearly before I did it. It was as if something else was guiding my movements, and self-preservation was the name of the game.

Each time panic threatened to set in, I kept reminding myself that there was no one else here, no one to give a true account of what happened other than me. So, even though I had to fight back nausea every step of the way, I did what needed to be done.

I poured some of my whisky all over her and the floor, then got a glass and poured some whiskey into it, forcing some into her mouth just to be safe before laying the glass next to her.

The story was set in my mind, and I went over everything in my head about ten times before calling for the ambulance. All I needed now was to remain calm and not appear guilty. Those moments of clarity were fading fast, and I needed a drink in the worst way. My hands shook, and it felt like I was going to shit myself any second.

I knew she wasn't dead because her chest was still moving, and I could hear her fighting to breathe, but I also knew it didn't look good. I rushed to open the door as soon as I heard emergency personnel pull up outside. I gave the EMTs the story I had come up with as I led them to her lying there on the floor.

She was drinking and slipped in the kitchen while preparing dinner. Soft, succinct, and to the point. That way, I don't have to remember too much. It was exactly how it looked.

There was still the meal in the microwave if anyone cared to check. There was a glass next to her hand, whisky all over her clothes and floor from the spill, and her breath smelled of alcohol.

They got right to work checking her over, and I thought for sure they were going to call the cops, but they didn't; they just took her to the hospital with me in the back of the ambulance, playing the dutiful husband.

It was hours before I heard anything, and I needed a drink. I spent every second scared that the cops were going to show up and arrest me, but it never happened. I thought for sure she was going to wake up and tell them what really happened. Then the doctor came out and told me the bad news.

Wendy was paralyzed from the neck down. She'd snapped her spinal cord and was non-verbal. As things looked, she'd be on a breathing tube for the foreseeable future, but they would see more as the days went on. At least she was awake for a while before passing out again.

I went into the room and looked down at her, not feeling or thinking anything. What was there to think about? She was trouble from the get-go and now the trash had taken itself out. I almost smiled but wasn't sure if there were cameras in these rooms, so I did my bit with the tears, holding her hand and kissing her fingers.

A nurse came in and gave me some paperwork and talked at me about aftercare and what comes next, but I wasn't interested. She didn't know that, though, because I played the attentive, caring spouse to the hilt.

Some of the shit she said got through to me, though, and it looked like that bitch was still going to be a thorn in my side. If I left her here, people might start to wonder about the truth. Someone might put the pieces together. No, I can't have that.

I was numb when I left there. I wanted to run away, as far away as I could get from this situation, but I knew that wasn't an option. At least not yet. I have to play it safe for now. The nurse had said that it wasn't looking good and that there was no chance of recovery.

Wendy had snapped something inside of her that took her voice away, which was good. She couldn't open her big mouth and tell anyone what had really happened to her. She couldn't move her limbs, so there was no way for her to write that shit down either.

The numbness came from knowing that I might have to spend months looking after that blob, who was no longer any use for anything, not even a good fuck. Then again, she didn't need to feel for me to get off. I doubt it would be much different from the last year or so.

I let myself back into the house, and that's when I remembered the bag she'd brought home. It was still sitting on the counter where she'd left it. I had no real interest in it, thinking it was just some groceries she'd bought to make another one of her tasteless meals.

Imagine my surprise when I opened it to see the bottles of whisky. I felt guilty for my thoughts and my treatment of her. Maybe she did care after all.

I opened one of the bottles and took it to the head as I made my way to the couch. I gave some thought to the food in the microwave, but food was the last thing on my mind. I have to find someone to take care of that bitch because it's not going to be me.