Lustly(3)
Author: Jennifer Foor

While my two daughters stuffed their faces in the vehicle, I drove silently contemplating on how I was going to handle things. My first concern had to be my children. As horrible as it was, I couldn’t subject them to his infidelities, even though in my eyes he wasn’t just cheating on me, he was cheating on them too.

That rotten bastard had let his dick ruin our family, and I was going to cut it off and stick it in my neighbor’s mailbox for her to keep. Better yet, I’d cook it and invite her to lunch. Imagining the look on my face as I sat watching her eating it was making me smile in the midst of tragedy. I had to let my mind wander, because it was the only thing keeping me from breaking down.

Not only could I not let my girls see me that way, but I knew for a fact that I’d die before I let him know he’d shattered my heart into a million pieces. The bile in my throat was a constant reminder of what I’d witnessed just hours earlier. My dignity was gone, and replaced with little self worth. How was I not good enough for him?

For him of all people.

The man who constantly had shit stains in his tighty-whities.

The man who soaked his pillow every night in drool.

The man who couldn’t order a pizza by himself.

I’d done everything for him our entire marriage, and this was how he repaid me, by f**king my neighbor that I walked with on the weekends.

Come hell or high water, I was going to find a way to make him pay for what he’d done to me. This was not alright. I’d watched enough television shows on crime to know exactly how to make that mother f**ker suffer.

It was easy to get mad to hide the real pain that had overwhelmed me. I think when something like this happens you go through the motions, not really understanding the severity to an extent.

First there was the shock.

Then the pain.

Next comes resentment.

Followed by the hate.

Where is the revenge though? Where is the part where I had money stashed away in a dark corner for this very moment? Where is the handsome man in the butter commercials that’s going to swoop in and make me forget all about Mr. Shit Stains?

While all of this is running through my head, I realized that I’d pulled up in my driveway. As the girls got out I checked my eyes and took a few deep breaths. I’d wait for everyone to go to sleep before I addressed the end of my marriage with my husband. Nothing he could say or do would ever allow me to forget the image of him, no matter how much time could pass.

He’d cheated on me, in my own home, probably in my very bed that I put my head every night to sleep. He was scum, and I was literally in a world of a mess that I had no idea how I was going to get out of.

After a few more very deep breaths, I walked inside of my home ready to put on the best show I’d ever performed. Fortunately, he wasn’t even on the first floor. Our dog, Samson, came up and sniffed my leg, while I relaxed my uptight stance, feeling a bit relieved. That’s when he came walking down the stairs, a big smile on his face, like I recognized whenever I’d been out somewhere.

It hit me like a ton of bricks being thrown at my face. He’d done this to me over and over. “Hi, honey. I was wondering when you’d get back.” He walked over and kissed me on the cheek.

I was frozen, unable to respond in any way. How could this monster act as if nothing was wrong? How could he look at me and feel no guilt whatsoever?

“Sorry. The girls wanted food, so I stopped. Plus I need to go to the grocery store in the morning. We’re out of everything.”

Was I standing there talking to that douche like nothing had occurred?

Yes, I was.

The downstairs became crowded with children, and I knew it wasn’t the time or place. Using a headache as an excuse, I went up to bed a little while later. I wanted to soak in the tub, but walking into my bathroom and remembering what had taken place made me collapse to the floor in a ball. He’d tainted our home, our family, and most importantly all of my dreams. This man that I’d promised to love for the rest of my life, for better or for worse, had destroyed me, and I had no idea how I was going to find an inch of hope out of it.

My husband, whose real name is Charles, but we’ll go with Mr. Shit Stains for now, came to bed a couple hours later. By that time I’d turned to my side and pretended to be asleep. I was too exhausted from crying to talk about it. I just laid there, my eyes closed but never falling asleep, listening to him snoring as if nothing was wrong with the world.

I imagined all of the ways I could kill him while he slept, first by smothering him with a pillow. He’d be too strong and push me off of him. Then I thought about slicing his throat. The mess would be too hard to get out of my five-hundred thread count sheets. I imagined dumping drain cleaner or anti-freeze into his open mouth, all the while laying there calmly next to him.

Sleep never came.

Knocking made me jump off the toilet and look up from inside of the bathroom stall. “Ma’am, you alright in there?”

I’d been reliving the past night while still in the bathroom at the grocery store. I grabbed a wad of toilet paper before responding. “Yes, just finishing up.”

It was embarrassing enough to have to take a number two in public, but to have someone talking to you while it was happening was just ridiculous. I waited for the woman to leave before stepping out, and then I did what every woman would have done in my situation.

I hauled ass out of the store without going to the register or making eye contact with anyone I passed. Even though it was the most convenient to my house, I’d never go back there again in fear of personal humiliation from being known as the woman who got the shits.

Chapter 2

For the first two days I think I went into some kind of denial. I mean, if I blocked it out of my mind it didn’t hurt so much. I could pretend that nothing was happening and there was no way I’d ever have to move out of my wonderful home, and share custody of my beautiful children. They kept me busy, running them here and there, and for once I was grateful to have so much to keep me occupied.

My time in denial came to a direct halt when my husband had to go on a business trip. Where I should have looked forward to not having to pretend to have headaches, or be too tired to communicate with him, I found myself dwelling on the fact that my neighbor was also out of town.

I thought about burning her house down, dousing it with gasoline and watching the bitch burn to the ground. I mean, it certainly would have put a smile on my face knowing that in some ways I’d destroyed a part of her life that meant something, like she’d done to me. Even though I hated what he was doing, my heart still ached for that love that he was clearly giving her, which had once been all mine.