What a mess.
Beth was always a slob who never took her domestic responsibilities seriously. But then again, she never took anything seriously: not cleaning our home, not as my wife, or our wedding vows. Selfish. High-maintenance. Drama Queen. Those are the best words I can think of to describe my “beloved”.
Oliver Twist, A Tale of Two Cities, Gulliver’s Travels, Outlander, 50 Shades of Grey, The Alchemist. Her books are recklessly spread across the floor as if she’s had a temper tantrum and tossed them across the room. That wouldn’t bother me if it were just her stuff. But my reading material is twisted together with her garbage: The Wealthy Barber, MONEY Master the Game by Tony Robbins, Losing my Virginity by Richard Branson to name a few. I’ve never realized until now how different we are. I’m made of the real stuff. I work hard to get things done. Beth is all about the fluff.
“Beth?” I say more impatiently. My wife dislikes me. But she normally at least shakes her head with annoyance in my direction when I say her name. Or for that matter, ask her any question. I stop. Not one muscle flinches from her body. Not one hair moves on her head.
If there’s humming from the lights, I don’t hear it. If there’s a fly bumping along inside of a light fixture, I don’t hear that either. My fists open and close. Trying to do what? Pump fuel to my heart? I don’t know. Why am I panicking? I’m sure she’s fine.
“Beth, stop playing games!” I shriek at her uncontrollably. Her body is spread out on the multi-coloured Persian rug we purchased from Turkey a couple of years ago when things were still good between us. There’s no response from her.
My heart thumps like lightning does igniting fear in me. I stumble over our books that impede my way as I scramble to Beth’s side.
“Beth!” I scream. My hands shake her limp body.
Wide-eyed, terrified eyes peer back at me. Beth’s skin is blanched like chalk. Her eyes remind me of a woman I pulled from a car at an accident a few months ago. It was the same night that Beth told me about her affair with Ross.
“Beth, hang on!” My voice shakes with terror as I fumble for my phone. It tumbles out of my hand and lands on The Total Money Makeover: Classic Edition: A Proven Plan for Financial Fitness. I grab my cell and punch at the keys mumbling, “Goddammit, it’s three numbers! How can dialing 911 be so difficult?”
“Momma!” Alvina screams as she enters through the wooden doors of the den.
No, no, no, no! Alvina, don’t see this! “Alvina, please stay back, honey!” I bellow to her.
Like mother, like daughter, she disregards what I’ve said. Now, she’s sobbing while holding Beth’s hand looking up at me with tears galloping down her round cheeks as her lower lip trembles whimpering, “mommy, mommy, mommy…”. I could barely stand to see Beth’s wide, terrified eyes staring back at me. To see Alvina, my only daughter, like this –
“Police, fire, ambulance?” a controlled voice says through my cell phone.
“Ambulance!” I shriek.