Categories > Original > Drama


by falloutboyrox728 0 reviews

A cheating husband has his wife wanting revenge.

Category: Drama - Rating: PG - Genres: Drama - Warnings: [!] - Published: 2009-08-13 - Updated: 2009-08-14 - 1044 words

“Where were you last night?”

Those were the first words to leave my mouth when he sat down in the chair in front of me. He looked up from his plate, his eyes bloodshot and his hair sticking up from all angles.

I never looked that great when I was hung over either.

“I told you that I had to work late,” he finally said after a long sip of his coffee. Lord knows he needed it.

“'Til three o'clock in the morning?” That was the thing about men. They always made up the worst excuses.

He cleared his throat, looking over to the left at the stereo that blared 'Thnks Fr Th Mmrs'. The true signs of a liar. “Look, I'm sorry. My boss needed me to stay in late. All that shit you bought doesn't pay for itself, you know.”

Hmmm, true, I thought as I stared down at the shimmering bracelet on my wrist. Pure gold encrusted with diamonds. Nothing but the best.

“I waited for you. I sat on that very couch,” I pointed at it briefly. “waiting for your blue pick-up truck to come rolling into the drive way.”

He said nothing. What a surprise.

“But it never did. After a while, I just gave up and went to bed.”

Still, nothing. That was unusual for him. He was usually filled with excuses that he had prepared for me.

“Now, I'm going to ask you again. Where were you last night? And I expect an answer this time because I-”

Suddenly, he had something to say. Or shout, rather.

“What I do is my own goddamn business, so get off my back!” He had said to me, jumping out of his seat. But that was okay, because I was right up with him! How dare he yell at me after all that he had done!

“Don't you yell at me that way, and it is too my business!” I held up my left hand, pointing at the ring that glimmered on my finger. “Remember this? Remember what it means? It means that I am your wife, so don't you dare say that this isn't any of my business!”

And that's when it happened. A stinging slap across my face that had me sprawling backwards into the wall. My fingers made their way to my burning flesh and I winced.

“That's right. You are my wife, which means you shall not talk back to me and you will treat me with respect.”

He gave me a small pat on my cheek, bringing tears to my eyes. “Just remember that the next time you think about doing that again, okay? Because I really don't want to hurt you.”

He picked up his coat and made his way to the door. “I'm going to work. See you tonight.”

When he left, I sunk to the floor, back against the wall. I put my head in my hands because, oh, the shame I felt! I was hit... by my own husband! Never had I thought that it'd be this way. When I met him, I was sure he was the one for me. That he'd take care of me. He... he had promised not to hurt me. And he betrayed that promise just like he betrayed many others! But what hurts the most is that I picked the husband that was like daddy... and I'm like momma.

After sitting for several minutes, I finally pulled myself up and smoothed out the wrinkles of my shirt. There was laundry to be done.

Upstairs, I pulled out his clothes that he had thrown in the hamper. On the collar of his white dress shirt (he always looked so good in white) was a spot of bright red lipstick. Oh, how cliché.

“I guess I should try to get that spot out,” I muttered to myself before leaving the room for spot remover from the garage.

Back in the bedroom, I put the clothes inside the clothes bin once more. At first, I only added a few small drops. But then, I looked at the lipstick mark again. Lipstick is so hard to get out of clothes, I thought before dumping more out of the container onto the shirt and the rest of the clothes that laid before me.

It didn't take long before I felt the burning heat on my face and the rest of my body. Oh, how good it felt! I always wanted a fireplace.

Smoke curled above my head like the sky on a cloudy day, the fumes entering my nostrils and creeping into my lungs.

I thought of the fire as the child I never had, really. Once you give birth to it, it seems to have a mind of its own, there being no way to stop it from doing what it wanted to do. And it wanted to destroy everything. All of the materialistic possessions that I held so dear to me, all of my husband's hard earned money; all to be burnt to the ground.

Oh, how I loved my child. It did the things that I couldn't do. There was no way that I could burn the curtains on the wall, I couldn't possibly turn the bedspread into ashes. Nor could I have turned my husband's closets full of expensive suits, ties, and black boots into a giant bonfire.

Go on, my child! I silently called to it. Set this place ablaze! Reach every room in this godforsaken house and do what you were meant to do! Destroy!

I briefly thought about lighting a candle, knocking it over to look like an accident. But I brushed that thought away immediately. I wanted him to know that I created this monster. That I started the conflagration that destroyed his home and all of his things. And I was damn proud of it, too.

So there I laid, surrounded by smoke, ashes, and my child, my beautiful, beautiful child, hand clutching a box of matches. And for the first time that day, I smiled.
So, I wrote this for my Creative Writing class, I kinda liked it, so I decided to post it up on here. I know it's short, but it's supposed to be. Hope you enjoyed it.
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