Status: Finished.
To know you is to hate you.
End of the line.
Something told me that all was not well between Brittney and I. She kept her distance that evening after coming home from work. She knew Billie and me had spent the day ‘hanging out’, as we did almost every day, but she had never before acted this way towards that fact.
Even when I questioned her she simply gave me a stern look and brushed it off. After she came home from work that evening (because even if I am rather wealthy, a girl still needs something to keep her busy) our evening continued on as normal. I made dinner, we ate, Brixton was put to bed and then we sat down to watch television. She sat at the far end of the couch, as if trying to avoid me at all costs. She had a book open on her lap, a cup of tea held in her hand and a distant look on her face. She was no doubt reading the book but was finding it hard to concentrate on the words; I knew her expressions all too well.
“You alright Brit?” I asked, taking my eyes from the television for a moment.
She didn’t reply, just nodded.
“You sure?”
The book was snapped shut and my wife stood to her full height before walking by me into the kitchen. Turning off the sitcom I had been watching, I followed her.
“What?” I asked.
“Don’t what me Michael!”
She slammed a fist down upon the worktop. I took a step forward, never taking my eyes off her. She was hysterical, never before had I seen her so angry and wild eyed.
“I know, Michael!” She spat at me, “about you and Billie fucking Joe!”
I opened and closed my mouth like a retarded fish, trying to find something to say. But what possibly was there? She marched over to me and stood, looking directly into my face. Her expression was stern.
“You don’t even have the balls to deny it!”
Before I could even think of a reply the palm of her hand hit hard against my cheek. I stumbled backwards and stared wide eyed at her. Tears flowed down her cheeks, her teeth were bore; like a wild animal.
“Brit…I…I.—“
“No. No. Don’t you fucking dare say you’re sorry.” She took a breath, “How long!?”
“Br—“
“How long!!?”
“Just after Billie was attacked.” I sighed.
She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. The kitchen was silent apart from our ragged breathing and the hum of the fridge. Moments passed were we simple stared at each other. However, Brittney eventually wondered to the stairs and took them slowly, two at a time. I gingerly went to stand at their bottom and listen as I heard her wrecking in Brixton’s room. My heart fell as she reappeared carrying my son in one arm and a bag over the other. The child rubbed at his eyes with his small hands and yawned.
“What are you doing?!” I stammered.
“I’m going to my sisters for a while.”
“You’re taking my son!”
“I don’t want him round you.” She spat, “Don’t contact me.”
I opened my mouth to speak but she silenced me.
“I need to contact my lawyer in the morning.”
“L-lawyer?”
“I can’t possibly stay with you,” she chuckled darkly, “not after what you’ve done to me.”
With that she waltzed toward the front door and slammed it behind her. I stood rooted to the spot.
“She’s taking your son you idiot!” my mind screamed.
I dashed out on to the porch, my heart pounding, tears forming in my eyes. She was already in the car, the tires crunching on the stones of the driveway.
“No! No you can’t do this!”
But it was too late; she already had me in her rear view mirror.
Even when I questioned her she simply gave me a stern look and brushed it off. After she came home from work that evening (because even if I am rather wealthy, a girl still needs something to keep her busy) our evening continued on as normal. I made dinner, we ate, Brixton was put to bed and then we sat down to watch television. She sat at the far end of the couch, as if trying to avoid me at all costs. She had a book open on her lap, a cup of tea held in her hand and a distant look on her face. She was no doubt reading the book but was finding it hard to concentrate on the words; I knew her expressions all too well.
“You alright Brit?” I asked, taking my eyes from the television for a moment.
She didn’t reply, just nodded.
“You sure?”
The book was snapped shut and my wife stood to her full height before walking by me into the kitchen. Turning off the sitcom I had been watching, I followed her.
“What?” I asked.
“Don’t what me Michael!”
She slammed a fist down upon the worktop. I took a step forward, never taking my eyes off her. She was hysterical, never before had I seen her so angry and wild eyed.
“I know, Michael!” She spat at me, “about you and Billie fucking Joe!”
I opened and closed my mouth like a retarded fish, trying to find something to say. But what possibly was there? She marched over to me and stood, looking directly into my face. Her expression was stern.
“You don’t even have the balls to deny it!”
Before I could even think of a reply the palm of her hand hit hard against my cheek. I stumbled backwards and stared wide eyed at her. Tears flowed down her cheeks, her teeth were bore; like a wild animal.
“Brit…I…I.—“
“No. No. Don’t you fucking dare say you’re sorry.” She took a breath, “How long!?”
“Br—“
“How long!!?”
“Just after Billie was attacked.” I sighed.
She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. The kitchen was silent apart from our ragged breathing and the hum of the fridge. Moments passed were we simple stared at each other. However, Brittney eventually wondered to the stairs and took them slowly, two at a time. I gingerly went to stand at their bottom and listen as I heard her wrecking in Brixton’s room. My heart fell as she reappeared carrying my son in one arm and a bag over the other. The child rubbed at his eyes with his small hands and yawned.
“What are you doing?!” I stammered.
“I’m going to my sisters for a while.”
“You’re taking my son!”
“I don’t want him round you.” She spat, “Don’t contact me.”
I opened my mouth to speak but she silenced me.
“I need to contact my lawyer in the morning.”
“L-lawyer?”
“I can’t possibly stay with you,” she chuckled darkly, “not after what you’ve done to me.”
With that she waltzed toward the front door and slammed it behind her. I stood rooted to the spot.
“She’s taking your son you idiot!” my mind screamed.
I dashed out on to the porch, my heart pounding, tears forming in my eyes. She was already in the car, the tires crunching on the stones of the driveway.
“No! No you can’t do this!”
But it was too late; she already had me in her rear view mirror.