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“Only
the thunder knows
What
drives a man in his darkest throes
Fortune
and poverty
They’re
oh so close.”
-The Alarm, Only the Thunder Knows
ETHAN
 |
She didn’t seem so fucking cruel and heartless when I met
her. I thought she was sweet, caring and nice – maybe a little sad, even. Not
the bitch she turned out to be. I remember when I first saw her, wearing tight
jeans and an obvious hangover, with that cute little girl of hers running
around. Cindy told me she didn’t like her from the start, that she knew she was
trouble and no-good skanky, but hell, I’m a nice guy. I don’t see anything but
the good parts of people, especially when they’re in trouble. Rachael was a
drunk with a kid and no daddy for that little girl anywhere to be seen. That’s
trouble. Every kid needs a daddy – I know my life went to shit when mine had to
leave. And I knew as soon as she started talking about her ex and her life that
she needed help. My mom always said that was the best thing about me, but what
everyone in my path took advantage of – my big heart.
That girl showed me love that I didn’t think was real until
her. Anything I asked her to do she’d do without thinking, and I knew that soon
I wouldn’t have to ask because she loved me that much. She’d take off my boots
for me at the end of the day and rub my feet, and the girl could cook, too. At
night she’d be there, ready in the dark, fuck my brains out and then get up to
fix me a sandwich. She’d rub my back in little circles until my eyes got heavy
and I fell asleep. Man, I remember thinking; a little work and she’d
make the perfect wife. She was young, almost ten years younger than me, and
still needed a little learning in how to treat a man. I never blamed her for
that; she’d had a kid and then the piece of shit walked out on them. But I was
patient enough to teach her. I grew up with my mom and two older sisters; I
knew how to deal with women since I was a kid. Rachael wasn’t just right when I
met her. She was dumb and easily led – she’d let anyone stay in her house, eat
her food, spend her money. I made sure to move in with her pretty fast – faster
then I would’ve wanted, to protect her. She had that kid, Melissa, and I knew
it would kill some of my free time. But I knew she needed help. Her fatass
friend Mary was sleeping on her couch every night, loading her up on booze and
watching her kid while she whored around before I stepped in. But I loved that
kid, my little Missy, and I cared enough to step in before her dumbass friends
sucked her dry. I’d just come back to the East from Louisiana when I met her,
anyway, I had been spending my winters in the South and my summers in the North
for seven years – endless summer, endless party. Cindy always wanted me to stay
with her, being her only brother ad all, plus I helped her raise the only kid
the State hadn’t gotten. Figured I’d just live that way forever, I had no
family, no house, and I made money when I needed to and when I ran out just
made more. Easy. I wasn’t expecting Rachael to fall in to my life the way she
did. It was God, I think. I always used to tell him, if I can have a wife and a
family, you better give her to me quick. So I guess he did, in His own sick
way. My dad used to say we were descended from Job, my family. It took me some
time to figure out that he was right, but I learned. He used to tell me all the
time, “Boy, you’re hard headed and stubborn as shit, but you’ll learn.” And
most of it, I did.
I told her all the time, real friends would be happy for
her. They’d want her to spend most of her time with me, because I was
making her happy. We fell in love at first sight, how often does that happen?
They wouldn’t want to get in between us. They were always trying to take her
away. I have sisters. I know how jealous women get.
My heart makes me dumb. I promised myself I’d use my head
more, and my heart less. I get blind to the signs that are jumping out right in
front of my face. It was all an act, the kind, sweet, gentle Rachael I saw.
Professional bullshit. Two months after I met her, she showed her true colors.
She wanted a baby. She moaned it in my ear one night after we drank a bottle of
Rum, while we fucked in the dark of the bedroom. So I gave it to her. My son, I
knew as soon as she took the test. My boy.
That was when she got cruel. Work was slow, not anything I
could help. But when I did work I made fifteen bucks an hour, worth waiting the
few months in between jobs. One week a month and I made five hundred in a
check. She didn’t care.
“We need to get a bigger place,” she’d whine and cry, “Your
money gets spent on just you! You need to make more than five hundred dollars
in a month – I can’t support us all. I’m pregnant.”
“Work will pick up,” I promised her. And I meant it.
Construction was dying, that’s what the whispers around town were, but I knew
better. And I told her. But she pushed and pushed. Hit every last button. Lazy,
she called me. Told me I had a drinking problem, told me that I had to stop
smoking weed, that I should spend all my free time in between jobs looking for
another job. “My time off is for me”. I tried to explain.
Everybody needs to relax. And up until she got pregnant we were drinking
together almost every night, it wasn’t fair that she expected me to just stop
for no reason. She told me she wanted an abortion, to murder my only son before
I could even hold him. Cruel. Mean. She pushed until she got just what she
wanted, until I would explode and call her names and spit in her face. Nonstop
complaining, that I’d scared off all her so-called friends and family. Why
couldn’t she see that they were no good for her, just trying to rip us apart
and tear her down? She’d push until I did anything just to make her meanness
stop, to shut up her cruel words. Then I was the bad guy, I felt like shit, and
she won. It was too late by the time I figured out who Rachael really was. She
was already pregnant with my son, and I’d be damned if she killed him. I
wouldn’t let her murder my seed. And I knew what it was like growing up in a
broken home – she sure as hell wasn’t going to leave me, either. I loved her in
spite of how cruel she was, and I thought she could change. For us. For our
baby. For our little Missy, who called me “Daddy”. She needed me. I kept her in
line. Without me Rachael would just let her run wild, all over her, without any
discipline. Before me, that woman never raised a hand to that kid. I spanked
her ass when she needed it because he mother was too lazy to even do that. She
always made me the bad guy.
“You can’t touch her like that,” she’d scream in my face,
“It’s abuse and it doesn’t work.”
Always screaming at me, always pushing me until I had to
shut her up. The kid listened when I was around. She never gave me trouble like
she did her mother. But that woman always thought she was right, even when it
was clear as day that she wasn’t. I showed her every day that my discipline
worked, that the kid stayed in line. And she still couldn’t admit when she was
wrong. She brought something out in me that I never thought I’d be. I never
wanted to raise my hand to the mother of my child. When I prayed to God at
night for a wife, I didn’t see in my head one that would push me to put her in
line like that. But Rachael always did.
She left her job but still yelled at me every day for not
working. I didn’t want her working – her job was filled with no good whores and
guys who she could run to whenever she felt like I wasn’t enough. I was going
to make her my wife, my son’s mother – home is where she belonged. Safer that
way. Easier for her to take care of our family. The whole world seemed to be in
her ear all the time, poisoning her mind against me. I couldn’t let it keep
happening – she was too young and dumb to know the right thing to do without me
beside her. She ran to her Daddy for money, and he gave her money, all right. I
always used to wonder, what kind of shit bag buys off his own kid like that? He
gave her $100,000. So she thought that meant that she didn’t have to work, but
I still did. And she thought it was always her way or no way at all.
I took her to pick out a new house to rent, something
bigger, for the baby. We found the perfect one. Seems like that was the
happiest time we had before things really went bad It was an old farmhouse,
with plenty of rooms and a big backyard. Exactly what I dreamed about when I
thought about my family. Rachael was getting big, six months pregnant maybe,
and we knew for sure that it was a boy. I picked out a name, Connor, after my
Grandpa. We didn’t fight the whole two weeks it took to move. The last fight we
got in to was bad. It started because she didn’t think I could help pay rent.
She always doubted me.
“Baby,” I told her, “If it bothers you that much, I’ll look
for another job as soon as we find a place to move to. Just let me help you
find a house first.”
“Okay,” she seemed to relax a little bit, but there was
still doubt in her eyes. Why does she still doubt me I said what she wanted to hear.
“And maybe you should stop drinking. It’s getting expensive.
And you’re always drunk.”
“I’m not always drunk. I get drunk when I want to get drunk;
it’s never an accident. I know my limits. Sometimes I just want to get drunk.”
“Well, you always want to get drunk then,” she said flatly.
“It’s my choice. Who are you to talk? A few months ago you
were getting drunk every fucking night. You’re an alcoholic and you admit it.”
“I’m not drinking now,” she kept arguing. She was getting
louder, “And I’m not going to drink after the baby. You can’t even stop for the
baby, or for me, or for Missy. She has to see you drunk every night. And you’re
wasting up all my money on your booze.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it; it was ridiculous. Shit
spewing from her mouth.
“Why the fuck are you laughing at me?” She was starting to
yell.
“Because you’re not going to stop drinking,” I knew her
better than that, “You’re a lazy fucking drunk. And I’m not wasting shit. We’re
having a baby, we’re getting married, it’s our money and you can’t have control
over it all. That’s not how a family works.”
She got silent for a minute. I looked at her; tears were
starting to build up in the corner of her eyes. Truth hurts, I thought
to myself. I wouldn’t have said anything about her being a drunk if she hadn’t
started on me first. She never knew how to just let shit go.
“I know I shouldn’t have been drinking that much,” she
muttered, “But it’s how I dealt with Ray walking out, okay? It still hasn’t
been that long. It still hurts. But I’m done drinking. And you,” she stopped,
caught her breath, choked back her tears, “You should too.”
I couldn’t believe what had just come out of her mouth. She
just admitted she still loved her ex, that piece of shit Ray, who just walked
out and dumped all the responsibility on to the next idiot that walked in to
them. Me. I felt rage boiling under my skin.
“Why the fuck does it hurt? You have me. And while that
fucking asshole has been off in another fucking state shooting himself retarded
full of dope, I’ve been here every day, taking care of his daughter, paying for
his daughter, putting her to bed and teaching her. So why does it hurt?”
“Well, it-. I-“ she stammered. Caught. Caught in her shit.
“What, you’re still in love with him?”
“No!” she faked being upset, “I hate him. It just –“
No answers. Just excuses. Dumb excuses. I stepped closer to
her, got right up in her face, “It just what? Why the fuck does it hurt,
Rachael?” I screamed at her. She fell back on to the couch behind her, silent.
Nothing to say. Her eyes were wide and afraid - the look of a guilty woman.
“What, have you been fucking him?” My fists were balled, I
was so mad. I could feel my eyeballs almost popping out of my head as I yelled.
She shrunk back and curled up a little. It felt almost good to see her so
guilty. And she was getting what she wanted, too. Sick bitches, addicted to
drama. Always trying to play a man for what they can get.
“No,” she screeched up at me, “I haven’t seen him! You can
call him, you can ask him! I’m always with you, Ethan! I’m always with you!”
“Bullshit! That scum would lie for you.” I knew better than
to believe her stories by then. “That’s why you wanted to kill my son. Is it
even my son? Is it, Rachael?”
“Yes!” she was crying, tears running down her face. Why the
hell was she crying? She didn’t feel bad; I knew it. Sorry she got caught,
maybe.
“It is why you wanted to kill my son? You fucking slut. You
stupid fucking slut. I’ve spent the last four months taking care of your kid
for that fucking piece of shit deadbeat scum dope fiend, and when I go to bust
my ass to pay for your fucking shit, you wave that dirty, nasty gaping pussy
right over to that piece of shit. You fucking nasty-ass pig. You,” I hocked
back and drew up every last bit of mucous I could muster to the back of my
throat. I didn’t even think about it, I just did it. I spit as hard as I could
right into her twisted, sobbing face, “You whore.”
She stopped sobbing, stopped moving, she might’ve even stopped
breathing for a minute. Her face went white and her eyes went wide with shock.
She looked up at me and her eyes seemed to take up half her face. The spit slid
down the bridge of her nose, under her eye to her cheek. Something changed in
her face. I don’t know what. She stood up, her face blank, and gently pushed me
aside. She didn’t have to push hard, I felt weak in my knees. Afraid. I didn’t
know what she was going to do. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking with her
face expressionless and wordless. She walked slowly, staggering almost, into
the bedroom. I followed her without a word. I watched as she fell on to the bed
as if she had gotten shocked by electricity and collapsed into heaving sobs. I
watched her for a few minutes and she cried and wailed and gasped for air, her
lips turning to a slight shade of purple.
Finally, she looked at me, her eyes puffy and red; her
cheeks wet.
“Get out,” she growled, “I’m leaving you.”
“What?” I should’ve known that was coming. What do I do?
She’s not leaving me. I’ll break her face in. She has my son. That’s my son.
That’s my girlfriend. We’re getting married. They’re mine. She’s not leaving.
She’s not ruining my family.
“Get out,” she repeated, clearer, louder, “This is my
apartment and I want you out.”
“I’m not leaving,” I raised my hand again, “You already
fucked me over once. It’s late. My sister’s door is locked and I have no where
to go.”
“Then call her,” she said.
“She won’t answer her phone this late, you dumb fucking
whore.”
She reached to the side of the bed and grabbed the
phone, “Don’t come near me. I’ll call
the cops. I’ll scream so loud the neighbors will call the cops. I want you to
leave. You spit in-” she broke down into tears again.
“You’re not kicking me out in the dark,” I said again, “I’ll
leave in the morning. I don’t want a dumb whore like you anyway.”
“Then leave now,” she screamed.
“Shut up!” I said, “You have a kid sleeping. Did you forget,
Mother of the Year?”
“I want you to leave.”
“Stop saying that. I’m not going anywhere. You have my son
and I’m not leaving him.”
“I thought it was Ray’s,” she hissed through clenched teeth,
“I wish it was. Leave.”
Stupid fucking bitch. Just when I calmed down. Just when I
stopped yelling. She had to push that button again, “So it is his, you dumb,
nasty fucking slut?” I roared, “It is his??” I leapt on the bed, right on top
of her. I pinned her down by her wrists and knocked the phone out of her hands.
She looked me right in the eyes. She tightened her face,
“No. But at least he had a job,” she spat the words at me, “At least he didn’t
call me names like you. At least he wouldn’t spit in my face like you.” Shut
up. My head was screaming.
“At least when he was here he helped with the bills,”
Shut up BITCH.
“And didn’t blow every cent he could get on booze.”
Shut the FUCK up BITCH.
“You’re worried about him because even that piece of shit
dope fiend is more of a man than you and wouldn’t put his hands on me like
this.”
SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FUCKING PIECE OF WHORE BITCH.
I lifted one hand off her wrist, swung back and struck her
in the face. I smacked the words right out her mouth. She stopped, in stunned
silence again.
Oh God, what did I do? I didn’t mean to cross the
line. I swore on my unborn son that I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t that guy. I
wasn’t the kind of man who would put his hands on his pregnant fiancé like
that. I never was. She pushed me to it. She pushed me. I looked at the phone
lying on the floor. Was she going to call the cops? She’d have my arrested. She
planned it, to set me off so that she could call the cops and put me in jail
and be rid of me. This was all her plan.
But she just lay still on the bed. Quiet, Soundless tears
rolled down her cheeks; big, fat drops at the end of long and constant streams.
I sat up off of her and looked at her, lying there, crying those quiet tears.
She made me feel bad. Guilty. What did I do?
“I’m sorry,” I said after what felt like hours of her
motionless tears.
She didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t look at me. After all
the heartless things she just unleashed on me, after what she made me do, and
she wouldn’t even look at me. My hand twitched, itching to hit her again. But I
couldn’t. Just because she hadn’t reached for the phone yet didn’t mean she
wasn’t trying to push me to do it again, harder, to leave a mark so she could.
Her cheek was just a little red; it would fade away soon. She wasn’t going to
get to me again. I wasn’t that guy. I didn’t hit women. Not me.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. I drew her into my arms in a
rough hug. I was sorry. I didn’t want to. I didn’t mean to. She pushed me too
far. She stiffened at my touch for a second, then fell limp. She buried her
head in my chest and began to sob loudly again.
“Shhh,” I urged, “Missy’s sleeping in the next room.” She
wouldn’t stop. She just started crying louder.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, “I didn’t mean to. You were so
mean. I just lost control. I have a hard time with my anger, I told you that.”
And I had told her before. I was honest, “And I feel bad about myself, okay? I
hate myself sometimes. I feel stupid and ugly and worthless. You should know
not to make me feel lower.”
Her crying softened a little bit.
“I act confident, but I’m not,” I continued, “And I love you
so much. You’re the girl of my dreams. I literally dreamt about you before I
met you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a girl. No, a woman. You’re a
woman. And that’s why it hurts so bad when you get so cruel. You can’t be so
heartless with me, Rachael. I love you. Nobody’s ever loved me like you do. And
nobody’s ever hurt me like you.”
I started to cry, too. The pain bubbled up from inside me
and spilled over like a forgotten pot on the stove. I held her and cried. As I
cried harder, her tears slowed and then stopped. She looked up at me, her face
sunken and sallow.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know.”
“I’m sorry too,” I sobbed, “I didn’t mean to get that far.
But baby, you can’t push me. You can’t. I love you too much.”
I sucked in my tears and wiped my face. I pulled away and
held her face roughly in my hands.
“That will never happen again,” I promised, “Never. Just
promise you’ll never push me like that again.”
“I won’t,” she whispered.
“Good. I’ve never hit a girl before in my life,” I lied. Not
a lie, just not the whole truth. I’d never hit a girl unprovoked before. Never
had, ever. Never would, “There’s just something about you that brings this out
in me. And it hurts, because I promised myself I’d never do that.”
She began to sob again, even more loudly than before. She
fell back on the bed, her chest heaving with each sob and moan.
“Shhh,” I said, “Missy is sleeping.”
She kept crying.
“Shhh,” I hissed.
I heard the whimpering of a toddler, then a few short cries.
Then wailing. Screaming.
“Look what you did!” I said sharply, “I told you to be
quiet! Are you gonna get her or what?”
Rachael sat up, still crying. She sucked in air, trying to
control her tears. She nodded.
“Stop crying. She’ll know something’s wrong.”
She nodded again. But didn’t stop. Missy kept screaming. She
was getting louder. More urgent.
“Are you gonna get her?” I asked irritably.
Rachael fell back again, curled up, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Fine,” I snapped, “I’ll get her.”
I crept out of the room to the crib where Missy was
standing, reaching out to me. I picked her up and held her in my arms, patting
her back, rocking softly. I could hear Rachael, still crying, in the other
room.
“Mommy?” Missy looked up at me, a question on her little
face.
I shut her door, “Mommy’s fine. She’s having a fit, that’s
all.”
In the black of the nursery, I stood and rocked another
man’s child in my arms while her mother fell to pieces on the bed. That was
Rachael, always making messes and then leaving me to clean them up.
***
Might post more at some point in the near future, you never know...
