I’ll never forget that day. Why did I read that damn letter? My life. Our life. Everything was destroyed when I ripped open that red envolope. Until that day, I’d never opened her post before, but a handwritten letter is suspicious in this day and age, especially after the postman had already visited. She’d been drifting away for years. The lack of eye contact, the touch and the smiles. My wife even slept on the couch every night for as long as I could remember. I thought that letter would give me answers. Shit, it did…
I couldn’t even look at the cosy photos of them. Why did he send them? Was she ready to leave me? Was this the pretty wording a plead? A pavement of guilt to sway her mind? Was I ever in her thoughts during her passion inspired …show more content…
I took her car. The sports car I bought her only a few months before as an anniversary present. How could she do this to me? Since we met at fifteen, she promised I was her only love. How could she do this?
Before I knew it, I was on the motorway, my foot pressing hard on the accelerator. I needed to go somewhere quiet, remote. The perfect place popped into the forefront of my mind. It was where I took her camping, our first holiday.
For a few hours, I stomped around the forest, swigging a bottle of whiskey I stole from our liquor collection. Jack Daniels’ No. 27 Gold, double-barrelled, double mellowed good shit. The type of drink that fucking whore would have ruined with a diet Pepsi or some shit.
So like I said, I’d been walking around for a couple hours, my whole body wanting to break down after her fucking betrayal. I found a clearing, perfect for a pitch. Slamming my backpack down, I pulled a knife from its chestnut sheath and with force lobbed it through the air. I still remember a dull thud of bark chipping, rippling through the deadly night. I still remember the words written that tempted my wife away from her …show more content…
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that therapeutic as I remember afterwards throwing my knife into the wild grass to pull at my hair and yell incoherently at the sky.
I returned to my backpack to grab another bottle of Jack Daniels. The Sinatra Select. A whiskey in honour of Frank Sinatra. It was then I was reminded of that two-timer again. Our first dance was to “The Way You Look Tonight”. Since that night, I haven’t touched a drop of that particular JD.
Once I’d had about a quarter of the bottle and shamefully belted out Sinatra hits, I was compelled to yank my bag upside down. Its contents spewed over the woodland floor and I snatched up my lighter and some old pictures of us, taken almost two decades before. I flicked through the wad of other photos wet from the ground that captured us grow old. I gasped for air through thick tears as I held some of our first camping trip and our wedding. Fuck, we looked so happy. She looked so happy. I drink so much whiskey I puke.
Only after I’d burnt all the photos, the love letters from our teenage courting, even the will leaving her everything that was mine, was I able to stop grinding my teeth and subside the spontaneous growls to finally pass
I couldn’t even look at the cosy photos of them. Why did he send them? Was she ready to leave me? Was this the pretty wording a plead? A pavement of guilt to sway her mind? Was I ever in her thoughts during her passion inspired …show more content…
I took her car. The sports car I bought her only a few months before as an anniversary present. How could she do this to me? Since we met at fifteen, she promised I was her only love. How could she do this?
Before I knew it, I was on the motorway, my foot pressing hard on the accelerator. I needed to go somewhere quiet, remote. The perfect place popped into the forefront of my mind. It was where I took her camping, our first holiday.
For a few hours, I stomped around the forest, swigging a bottle of whiskey I stole from our liquor collection. Jack Daniels’ No. 27 Gold, double-barrelled, double mellowed good shit. The type of drink that fucking whore would have ruined with a diet Pepsi or some shit.
So like I said, I’d been walking around for a couple hours, my whole body wanting to break down after her fucking betrayal. I found a clearing, perfect for a pitch. Slamming my backpack down, I pulled a knife from its chestnut sheath and with force lobbed it through the air. I still remember a dull thud of bark chipping, rippling through the deadly night. I still remember the words written that tempted my wife away from her …show more content…
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that therapeutic as I remember afterwards throwing my knife into the wild grass to pull at my hair and yell incoherently at the sky.
I returned to my backpack to grab another bottle of Jack Daniels. The Sinatra Select. A whiskey in honour of Frank Sinatra. It was then I was reminded of that two-timer again. Our first dance was to “The Way You Look Tonight”. Since that night, I haven’t touched a drop of that particular JD.
Once I’d had about a quarter of the bottle and shamefully belted out Sinatra hits, I was compelled to yank my bag upside down. Its contents spewed over the woodland floor and I snatched up my lighter and some old pictures of us, taken almost two decades before. I flicked through the wad of other photos wet from the ground that captured us grow old. I gasped for air through thick tears as I held some of our first camping trip and our wedding. Fuck, we looked so happy. She looked so happy. I drink so much whiskey I puke.
Only after I’d burnt all the photos, the love letters from our teenage courting, even the will leaving her everything that was mine, was I able to stop grinding my teeth and subside the spontaneous growls to finally pass