Our Little Secret (BWWM)

Part 2

I lie in bed tossing and turning, trying to figure out a plan of action. In the middle of my tossing I catch a glimpse of the clock, 2:00. Dave still hasn’t brought his ass home. He’s probably balls deep inside of his secretary, Nancy. I saw the way she stared at me when I brought him lunch last week.
I shake the thought away, what do I care? At least someone is making some use of his prick it isn’t like I ever get to. Truth is I don’t want to.
The first time he and I had sex after I had Gracie and Bentley, he told me I felt ridiculously loose. He didn’t even have the decency to wait until he wasn’t inside of me to say it. The worst part of it all is he kept going, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. Was it my fault he made me have our children vaginally?
“I don’t want to look at any ugly scars when I see you naked.” I remember him saying…bastard.
I lie still looking at the ceiling. How did my once perfect love turn into this world of abuse and turmoil? He used to be so sweet and caring. He opened doors for me, listened to me when I spoke, gave me love and affection. Our first time ever making love was so sweet and romantic, like something out of a novel. I smile at the memory of rose petals, champagne, and candle light. That night he told me how precious I was to him and how badly he wanted me to be his wife. Like the young fool I was I obliged, now look at me. I can feel a tear slide down toward my ear as I close my eyes and start to drift off to sleep.

   The sound of breaking glass wakes me up. Either one of the kids broke something or someone is breaking in. Eyes wide, I turn to wake Dave but he’s still not here. The one time I need him he’s nowhere to be found, typical.
Quietly I ease out of the bed and grab the small African statue by the door and creep to the stairs. I tiptoe down the first two steps silently enough but the minute my foot hits the third step a loud creak echoes throughout the entire house. I close my eyes and clench my jaw, praying whoever is down there doesn’t come up here before I get to them. I try my hardest to float down the remaining steps like a feather in the wind.
The entire downstairs is so dark I have to strain my eyes to see until the light in the kitchen turns on. I hold my breath, regretting the day I ever married David Russell James.
The noise in the kitchen gets louder and more frequent making me jump with the introduction of every new sound.
“It’s now or never,” I tell myself and grip the statue tighter.
With a deep breath a run towards the kitchen and spin around into the doorway with the statue raised above my head.
“Whoa whoa whoa! Aria it’s me!” David yells, falling back on his ass with his hand raised shielding his face.
For a split second I contemplate hitting him anyway, just for the hell of it but decide against it and lower the statue to my side.
“You scared me half to death David! I thought you were a burglar!” I exclaim, out of breath from the adrenaline rush.
He can barely keep his eyes open or his head up. I realize that he’s drunk.
“Well aren’t you just Xena the warrior princess!” he slurs as he struggles to his feet, “Put that thing down before you poke your eye out.” He pokes himself in the eye sloppily.
If it wasn’t sad, it’d be funny. Here is a man worth more than most of our neighbors homes combined who can’t speak to his wife like she’s a human being unless he’s sloppy drunk. I shake my head at him and turn to go back to bed.
“Wait Aria help me upstairs! Please baby I need you,” he pleads with his arms outstretched like a toddler.
I roll my eyes before turning around to help his ass. He drapes his arm over my shoulder and we stagger to the stairs.

   I throw him on the bed and take his shoes off. He lies there stiff as a board, probably asleep. I shake my head in irritation, how does this happen? He treats me bad, cheats, lies, comes home drunk and yet I’m the one taking care of him. It’s then I make the decision to go out tomorrow night. No matter what it takes I’m leaving.
Suddenly he sits up straight as a board and grabs me by my waist, startling me.
“Don’t leave me Aria. I love you so much. I know I’ve been bad but I’ll change, I promise. I just don’t want to lose you,” he cries, burying his head in my abdomen.
I stand there with my hands in the air, not knowing what to say or do. I was always told that what people really feel comes out when they’re drunk, so do I believe what he has to say?
“Promise me you won’t leave me! Promise me!” He gets louder and louder. I fear he’ll wake the kids.
“I can’t leave you David,” I gripe looking directly into his eyes.
Apparently that answer gives him the comfort he needs because he drops his arms from around me and smiles before falling backward onto the bed, his loud snores aren’t far behind. I crawl into bed and curl myself up into the tiniest ball I can manage as the reality of my statement sinks in. Daniel is wrong I do have to put up with this. At least until my kids turn eighteen.