Throttle Me (Men of Inked)
Page 23
I was supposed to be on my way to Atlanta for some stupid fucking merger meeting between my company’s marketing department and another new upcoming marketing company.
I was hauling fucking ass from one terminal to another, trying like hell to catch my connecting flight from Houston to Atlanta, when it hit me like a motherfucking brick across the face. I stopped right where the fuck I was, assholes crashing into me from behind, cussing at me.
I took my ass to the nearest fucking ticket counter and asked for the next flight to get me back home. Shit, I’d been gone for almost three months straight. I hadn’t seen Lil in over six months—that she knew of. I’d still kept an eye on her. I just couldn’t fucking explain what the hell my eyes were seeing. She was so far gone, I couldn’t see a single thing in my wife that resembled the woman I had fallen in love with over twenty years ago. The woman I’d waited all my life for was truly and irrevocably fucking gone.
Do you know what it’s like as a fucking man to have to look at your wife and watch her all over these cheesy fuckers, drunk and high out of her goddamn mind, so fucking lost she’s beyond ever being found?
Oh, I knew what the fuck she was doing. I knew about the drugs and ALL the men. But I was such a fucking coward! I just walked away, like I had all the other times. I told myself that at least she was happy; at least they made her smile. For more than a year after my boy died, I could only get her to look at me or speak to me when we were in the throes of passion.
I was a pussy, that’s what I was. I just wanted her to be happy, and she was only ever happy when I wasn’t home. Every time she looked me, all she really saw was what could have been had our son lived. With me or my presence came memories of what should have been. And if there is one thing Lil and I have, it is a fucking world full of what-should-have-beens.
And there isn’t a fucking thing in this world worse than what should have been.
When the plane finally touched down, I drove like a motherfucking bat outta hell to get home. Only, she wasn’t at home… Shit! She was never home. I couldn’t find her at any of her normal hangouts. I hit every bar and lounge up and down Common and Market Streets.
I called every goddamn five-star hotel within a hundred-mile radius and still couldn’t find her.
That’s when I got scared. I was sure that I was too late. I hadn’t been there when she’d needed me. I knew she’d finally done it. She’d taken her life and killed the love of mine… She’d killed my firecracker.
As far as I was concerned, I’d fucked up and all but handed her whatever drug or weapon she’d needed to get the job done. When she finally, really needed me, I’d been off being a pussy because I didn’t know how to take care of my own wife. I didn’t know how to bring her from the darkness and depth of misery she fed off.
Instead of manning the fuck up and grabbing Lil’s demons by their throats, killing them one by one, snuffing out every single one of those bitches fucking with her head, I’d stood aside, waiting for her to come back to me, waiting for her to need me enough to come back.
Fucking thank FUCK my cell rang! I knew it was her. Even though she didn’t say a word, I knew it was my firecracker. I knew I wasn’t too late. I knew it was her calling me for help, calling because she finally needed me.
I will thank God every night of my life for that call… ‘Cause I had a motherfucking number.
In only twenty minutes, that abundant victory immediately gutted me, leaving in its wake nothing but bleak desolation.
Shit, y’all were there. You know what the fuck I saw when I walked in the bathroom of her hotel suite.
Her beautiful head was lulled back. Fuck, I’ll never forget that shit. It’s imprinted in my brain, etched across my skull. It’s seared into the back of my eyelids.
She had a blood clot smeared from behind her ear, stringing like a fuckin’ spider web to her shoulder. Her skin was as pale as a full moon, not a fucking trace of my firecracker, not a trace of that beautiful tan skin of hers that I loved. Lying there in a pool of bloody water was the woman I fuckin’ swore I’d never leave. How many times had I fuckin’ promised her?
Too many fuckin’ times. And I swear, I swear, I was there.
It just wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. I’d never be enough.
After the docs got her physically well enough to be moved to the psychiatric unit, she was admitted to The Center. I knew then that my fate, my happiness, my fucking LIFE depended on being strong enough for her. Everything in our goddamned life depended on me stepping up and doing any and every damn thing I could to save my firecracker, be there for her, and make fucking sure she knew I was there and that I wasn’t going anywhere.
And I did.
I made fucking sure I was enough. I killed all those fuckin’ bitches in Lil’s head. I went through hell for my fuckin’ firecracker and brought her back to life.
And now, even if I have to stay here in Hell for the rest of my life in order to keep her out, that’s what the fuck I’ll do. As a man, sometimes you have to do what the fuck you have to do.
When you’ve been where I’ve been, seen the shit I’ve seen, and been shredded as many times as I have, there is no other option. Even if it means your life is hell. Even if it means from this point on, you are the one who carries all the weight and burden.
You fuckin’ do it because you love a woman, the only woman in this whole damn world. You do it because she’s your soul mate. And without her, YOU would rather be fucking dead.
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