Chapter 11: Frantic Desperation

The next morning introduced you to the feeling of being a stranger in your own home. Watching your wife get ready for work only dog-piled on your mounds of overbearing emotion.

You watched her slip on her dress and zip it up, followed by the red-bottom stilettos you had gotten her last Christmas.

'Does she always dress this sexy to work?' You thought to yourself. Suddenly, it dawned on you; was this the change in behaviour you were sure wasn't there to be observed? You thought as far back as you could. Your then long-standing habit of prepping for work without as much as making eye contact with her made it difficult for you to remember anything. And a feeling of guilt clouded your thoughts when you began to feel like this entire thought process was projection.

'Is there a special occasion at work today?' You asked, cutting your train of thought short.

While fixing her earrings, she turned to you, 'no, why do you ask?'

'Well, I don't know... just uhh... I just noticed you put a lot of effort to your outfit today, right down to the underwear you're wearing.' That last part was more of a whisper, and you felt relieved knowing that she didn't quite hear it, when she responded.

'I always dress like this, maybe you've just never payed attention.' She said, somewhat passively, turning back to the mirror.

You knew she was right. But internally, you refused to accept it. Mostly because you always remembered stuff like that, but also because it suggested that you had also began to detach yourself from the marriage. That, coupled with the overwhelming guilt you woke with was almost too much to handle.

You had to face facts, though, you could not remember the last time you actually payed attention to how she dressed or did her hair. It scared you to think about her beauty losing value to you over the years. And the thought that she meant to flaunt it all to another man began to enrage you, you had always been quite possessive, but you could have locked her in the room, in that moment.

'I'm off now, see you at dinner.' Her voice breaking the brief silence.

Before she got to the doorway, you got up and took her hand, making her face you. Pausing for a couple of seconds, you looked into her eyes, and kissed her passionately. You didn't mind the lipstick, all you knew was making your mark. She kissed you back, which surprised you a little.

You paused to look her in the eyes one more time. She didn't seem surprised at all by what was quite clearly an act of desperation on your part. She smirked, and said nothing. As she walked out, she reached into her purse, pulled out a compact mirror, then reached into her purse again for what you imagined was her lipstick.

Once she was out of the house, you went to your window, anticipating to see her walk to her ride. You usually saw a female figure in the driver's seat, but you had not bothered to check for a while. However, you saw a male figure this time, and you were damn sure it was Norman.

'He's picking her up, too, now?' You whispered.

It stung a little when, getting out of the car to open the door for her, the first thing he did was to compliment how beautiful she looked, and how she beamed in reaction to his compliment. You couldn't hear them, but their body language said it all.

There was no doubt about it; something was definitely going on with them, and it didn't take long before you became obsessed with finding out what the hell it was. You thought about driving to the drug store to purchase a neck brace, then about how fast you'd have to drive to be able to intercept them for a good old-fashioned t-bone to the driver's side. That probably would not kill her, but it would hurt her kids enough to make your point. Your mind then drifted off to the legal shitstorm that would follow all of that mess.

Your phone made a noise, pulling you out of your jealous, homicidal, reverie. You looked at the screen and gulped, it was a message from Aya, she wanted to talk to you when you reached the office.

You drew in a breath. 'Well at least she got home safe'.

'Okay.' Is all you were able to respond with.

You proceeded to prepare for work as well. While seriously considering not going in. If you played your cards right, you could fake amnesia or severe split personality disorder. The possibilities were endless.

***

Getting to work, you saw the small, dried up, pool of motor oil left on the pavement by last night's potential alibi. And your heart started doing its thing.

'Davie couldn't bother to bring a mop or something?' You thought, hoping a little forced humour would help calm you down.

You tried to, at least, get to your office without seeing Aya, but you weren't swift enough.

She was in the lobby talking to a coworker, and it almost felt like she had been waiting for you. Your eyes involuntarily looked for her left hand again. Twinkle twinkle little star. What a statement.

That brief glance was enough to make eye contact with her. It was also enough to see how nice she looked. But that didn't slow you down; you hurriedly made for your office. You had only been alone for a few minutes before your door swung open. Setting your heart into a frantic rhythm.

For a good 10 seconds, you stared at each other blankly, like you were waiting for the clock to strike 12, so you could see who can pull put their revolver faster.

'Hello.' She said, plainly.

'Hi.' You felt a weight in your chest, as you waited to establish the tone of this impending conversation.