I've Got Nothing
I've got nothing, that's what I last said to her. I couldn't tell her what I really wanted to. I had to keep my mouth shut or else risk the truth getting out. The truth got out anyway.
My wife was a beautiful woman, red-haired, soft brown eyes, curvy lips, wide hips, and tits made of dreams. She had a big smile. Her laugh was free and wild. My jokes tickled her and often caused her to blush. I enjoyed her, I enjoyed having her as my companion, having her laugh at my jokes. I enjoyed having her support, her affection, her passions.
The years passed and we grew closer together. At least, I thought we did. She knew everything about me. She knew my favorite foods and how to perfectly cook them. She knew what T.V. shows I loved, even my favorite characters, and she knew when I was upset. She was golden and I loved her. I treasured her.
"Mark, come to bed will you?" she moaned in my ear as she walked past me. I was sitting in the living room, on the couch, on my laptop. I couldn't turn down such an offer, so I followed her to bed.
She was in bed, beneath the covers, eyes shut. When I saw her there, when I saw this sleeping beauty in my bed, I became angry. My boxers, loose as they were, quickly had become too tight for my rigid body; yet there she was, asleep, uncaring of the effects of her coquetry. I moved angrily towards the bathroom instead and prepared for a frustrated sleep.
When I returned to our bedroom I shut off the light and slipped into bed quietly. I laid on my back and in trying to adjust the blanket my hand brushed my wife's body. She was naked. I let my hand rest on her belly and I let it lightly move up to the underside of her breast. What a horrible tease of a wife I had. I was too angry to keep exploring her body, so I turned my back to her and rested on my side. I was drifting away to sleep like an angry child who had been crying for hours after being denied his toy, when I felt her moist lips on my neck.
"I'm surprised you gave up so easily," she half laughed into my ear and that was when I lost control. I turned around and took her.
The next day she couldn't walk right and I was proud of my handiwork. I was in my office reminiscing of her moans and screams of lust. I called in my secretary. She came in and we went through our Monday routine. She bent over my desk, lifted her skirt, and I did my job. I loved my wife and I loved my secretary. Cliche perhaps, but sometimes the heart cannot decide and I think it is cruel to deny someone love for the sake of simplicity.
A few weeks later, during a quiet summer night, I walked into our living room. I was tired from work and all the extra effort I had put out that day. I walked in and I remember clearly being startled when I saw my wife there, silently crying. She was holding my laptop which I had forgotten that day. I knew what she had found.
"How could you do this to me?" She got up and threw the laptop onto the couch, causing me to wince at the thought that my expensive laptop might break. "How could you do this to me?!" She yelled one of those nerve wracking yells.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, exaggerating my surprise.
"Do you think I'm a fool? I just saw the messages between you and Jess."
I stood there quietly. The truth was that somewhere along the line the love I once had for her turned into something else. Somehow my love for her turned into this purely carnal and selfish thing that I slowly came to abhor myself for. Somehow I convinced myself, I tricked myself into thinking that I loved her, but it had all become routine. It was out of habit that I made love to her; that act that blurred between being habit and necessity became repetitive and empty. My body enjoyed it all, but it was a vacuous act. Going to dinner parties, hosting dinners, spending time with her, became a shell of an existence. I hadn't realized it until now that I sit here alone with trembling hands. What have I done? But in that moment, with her there disheveled, I couldn't speak.
"Well, say something!"
"I've got nothing." Her brown eyes widened and it was as if she sucked in all the emotion she had previously spewed. Her tears and emotions evaporated instantly.
She walked past me, not looking at me. I was startled at the suddenness of her movements, but I didn't stir. I only hung my head, wallowing in the moment I knew someday would come, the moment when this whole farce would fall apart. It was then that I heard the grumble of my car's engine. She took my Jag! Now that did piss me off.
The days that followed were hell on earth. My wife became unbearable. She did everything possible to make me miserable. At every moment she would bring up my secretary, Jess. It was on a chilly Thursday that I decided to come home early. I was somewhat surprised to find that my wife was not home. I heard a phone ringing in our bedroom. I followed the sound and found my wife's cellphone underneath our bed. I picked it up and saw a missed call from our neighbor, Edward. I decided to snoop and went through her phone. Oh look, my wife naked in bed, with Edward.
My blood boiled inside my veins, my skin tightened around my bones, my lungs shrunk, and I began to choke on anger and hate. What's more is she seemed to have taken possession of the Jag. And so, I decided to carry on is if I knew nothing. I began to plot my revenge.
My wife had decidedly taken over the Jaguar. Perfect. Two weeks after I discovered her infidelity, I went into the garage when she was not home. She was out getting groceries but I am sure she was with Edward. I went into the Jag and fucked with the wiring, specifically the brakes.
The next day I left for work happy and with a newfound spring in my step. I came home late in the evening, around eight. The house was empty and the Jag was not in the driveway. I sighed my relief, finally I was free of that harpie, and set my precooked dinner on the kitchen counter. The front door slammed shut and I jumped at the sound. I was certain that my manipulations on the Jag would not fail me. I didn't move from the kitchen counter, frozen by fear and the dozens of questions I had. I heard the click of heels, my wife's heels, in the foyer and then in the living room.
"Hi honey, sorry I'm late. I brought you dinner." she said as she burst into the kitchen with a few bags. It was the first time since her discovery she had actually spoken to me, let alone called me honey.
I remained speechless. She looked at me, cocking her head slightly and marking her face with concern, "What's wrong love? Listen, I know these past few weeks have been difficult on us, but I just want you to know that I have come to terms with what you did." she moved about the kitchen, expertly putting things away and serving me a plate of food. "I forgive you, Mark." she smiled kindly as she pushed the plate towards me.
She seemed all the more beautiful to me. "I, I, don't know what to say."
"Oh, nothing! Not necessary! Let's just move past it."
We sat at the dinner table and she was quite chatty, updating me on the neighborhood gossip. I only nodded and chewed my food mindlessly as I wondered about my plan's failure. I finally worked up the courage to ask her about the car, "Where'd you park the car?"
"Oh, outside in the driveway, of course," and she chewed on.
"Oh." I picked up my plate and as I moved across the window I snuck a glimpse at the driveway. The car was not there.
"How was work?"
"Work was not so bad today. Got to close a deal today, so that was good." As I spoke I moved to the kitchen with my empty plate. When I was hidden from my wife's eyes I yelled, "The car is not in the driveway." I hoped my statement would unravel her lie.
"Oh! Silly me! I'm so tired I forgot I actually parked it in the garage." She came in to the kitchen suddenly and grabbed my plate from my hand, "Leave it, I'll take care of these. Go on, go watch Gotham, it's about to start."
I smiled quickly and left. I rushed out to the garage to check the validity of her comments. I opened the garage door and walked into the darkened room. The car was not there. My heart raced and I could her the sound of my blood rushing to my head. But I forced myself to breathe. I looked around, I needed a weapon to defend myself. I grabbed a hammer and I put it in my back pocket, hidden.
I went back into the house and I could hear my wife humming as she did the dishes. For a moment I thought that it really was my wife, but I reminded myself that the Jag was not there. The Jag was not there. I couldn't have possibly had dinner with my wife because she was not there. None of this was real. I walked into the kitchen, but it was empty. The water wasn't running and she was not there. The sounds she was making stopped as soon as I turned the corner into the room.
Now, here I am, sitting alone in the living room, staring at my own hands, feeling the insides of my skull burn with her words.