Marriage Made Me Do It

by Ashley Fontainne

  “You … what? Oh, shit, wait a second. Let me get you some ice. Your eye looks awful. That’s going to be a hell of a shiner. Sure you don’t need stitches on your lip?”

  “I’m fine, Liz. Promise.”

  Rushing to the kitchen, I heard Liz fumble around, ice clinking, fridge door slamming. In seconds she was back with a dish towel full of ice. After handing it to me, she opened a bottle and poured two full glasses.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” I muttered.

  “I knew working for her was a bad idea. How long did it last before the fighting started?”

  “Oh, about three seconds. Never even made it to my desk.”

  Furrowing her brows in confusion, Liz asked: “What the hell happened? I mean, I know you two aren’t close, but this? A freaking fist fight? The last time you two went at each other was what—when we were in ninth grade? Hope she looks worse than you do.”

  “She does. Ol’ L.B.’s going to need surgery on her nose again. I broke it. Oh, and a trip to the salon. I yanked out about five hundred dollars’ worth of extensions.”

  “Good for you. The burning question is why?”

  Downing a huge gulp of wine, I sighed. “I haven’t told you a lot of things that happened recently, and until I do, our fight won’t make much sense.”

  “Spill. I’m here, and ready to listen. I have a sneaking suspicion this has something to do with Carl. You’re about to tell me he screwed Rebecca, aren’t you?”

  I laughed. The images of my uptight sister banging Carl, his itchy belly making her complain the entire time, were comical. “I wouldn’t beat her up for that. I’d insist she go get tested for STDs.”

  “What? I don’t understand?”

  “I’ll try my best to explain, but it’ll be difficult since I’m still grappling with the whole nightmare. I assume, based on your comment, you won’t be shocked to learn Carl cheated on me.”

  Liz closed her eyes, dread spreading across her beautiful face. “No, I wouldn’t. I’ve seen the way he looks at other women. Plus, in the past, you’ve mentioned his addiction to porn. Not really surprising he took the next step.”

  “No, guess not. I was just a blind fool for years,” I sighed, taking another drink. “Let’s head out back. I need nicotine to continue this conversation.”

  “Okay. I’ll bring the wine.”

  Once situated out by the pool, feet hanging over the edge in the cool water, I let the words pour out of me. I told my best friend everything, except about the journal of murder stashed away and what I did at the cemetery. Tears welled up in her eyes when I told her about the visit from Hottie Habanero, then her emotions switched over to hysterical laughter when I got to the part about Carl’s night of punishment. Liz gasped then laughed right along with me, actually suggesting I write the entire experience on paper and maybe publish it as a short story. Other women who’d been married to cheating spouses would devour the tale. A few times, Liz simply gaped at me with wide eyes, stunned by the violence. At one point, she almost looked frightened.

  The laughter ended when I got to the part about Coco, and my fears she’d been carrying Carl’s baby, and how I freaked at book club.

  After I finished with what went down at Baxter, Baxter, & Jensen, Liz was tipsy, and she’d been so shocked, she almost fell into the pool.

  Twice.

  “I just—wow, I don’t even know what to say. This shit doesn’t even happen in Lifetime movies! I mean, it just can’t be real! No wonder you haven’t been your smiling self lately!”

  “I’m right there with you, girl. Right there with you. It was hard enough dealing with what happened to Rachel, but all this, too? I’m losing my marbles.”

  Putting a warm arm around my shoulder, Liz responded: “That’s why you have me around, to keep you from going insane. We’ll get through this. Promise. First item on the agenda is what to tell Carol. When she gets home, she’s going to ask how your day went, after she freaks when seeing your face. Are you going to tell her the truth?”

  “How can I? She’s just a child! Carol can’t handle these things.”

  “Roxy, she’s 18. Leaving for college soon. You raised her right. Taught her to be strong, independent. Give her some credit. Her reaction might surprise you.”

  “I’m a grown woman and I can barely handle all this shit. How do I tell my daughter she’s about to be an older sister? That her father is a sick freak, one who got his rocks off from porn and younger women? Dump all that onto her young shoulders, then add in what her aunt did? No. No way.”

  “Okay, I get that. You want to shield her from the painful knowledge her father is a pile of dog shit. Got it. Let her find out later about the impending sibling, maybe from Carl’s lips and not yours. But, how are you going to explain your face? The fact you aren’t working with Rebecca? What are you going to do if Rebecca gets to her first and drops the news?”

  Anger rumbled inside my chest. “She wouldn’t dare!”

  “Wouldn’t she? After what she did already, I don’t put it past her. She’s a vindictive twat.”

  “That she is, Liz. No doubt. But, her beef was with me, and she loves Carol. Rebecca wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.”

  Liz’s eyebrow raised in disbelief. “Uh, wrong. She started this entire mess by sending, oh, what did you call her again?”

  “Hottie Habanero.”

  “Yep, that’s it! Rebecca knew exactly what would happen after sending Hottie Habanero over here. By hurting you, Rebecca hurt Carol by proxy. I don’t think you should keep the truth from her. It’s going to be painful, but hearing it from your mouth, instead of someone else’s, will be easier. I think. Shit, I don’t know. I could be wrong. Advice is always easier when dispensing it, not taking it. If our roles were swapped, I’m not sure I’d be able to tell Richard.”

  “I’m not going to do anything tonight. I’m too exhausted. After a good night’s sleep, and a chance for the swelling to go down, I’ll figure out what to do in the morning. Thanks for listening to me bare my soul, Liz. I do feel better. Sort of.”

  It took a few seconds for both of us to stand. Liz was trashed, and I was quite buzzed. “Let me help you to bed, sweetie. I don’t want you falling down the stairs.”

  “Oh! Idea! I could always tell Carol I fell down them after drinking too much. You know, I came home from a long day at work, knocked a few too many back, busted my ass?”

  While leaning against each other for support, Liz laughed. “Believable? No doubt. The right thing to do? No. One lie always leads to more. Now, stop thinking and get some rest. Tomorrow things will be clearer, and you’ll make the right choice. I know you will.”

  Wobbling up the stairs, mind way past the point of sanity, I didn’t respond. I let Liz tuck me in, hanging on to the edges of the comforter as waves of dizziness overtook me. Liz’s warm lips pressed against my forehead, followed by a low murmur of love before she left my bedroom.

  I tried to stay awake, waiting for the sound of Carol’s VW, but blackness swooped in, carrying my mind away to dark, disturbing dreams.

  ***

  Bus. I’m riding the bus at night—in the dangerous big city! Shit! I hate being downtown. No, wait, no longer on the bus. Dark. It’s really dark, not one star or beam of moonlight in the sky. The air is cold, and goosebumps pepper my entire body as I walk, alone, through an unfamiliar alleyway.

  Something cold and hard is in my hand. Raising my arm for a better look, I wince.

  A knife. A blood-soaked kitchen knife.

  Stopping short, I gasp. My hand is covered in crimson. Heart pounding, I spin around, trying to figure out my location. The sounds of the city greet my ears, and the faintest glimmer of light from a streetlamp in the distance sparks to life. Looking down, I notice the black leggings and sweater sport the same, sticky red mess.

  Oh. My. God. What have I done? Where am I? Whose blood is this?

  Running. I’m running as dirty bricks and the damp ground zoom by while I escape the alleyway. Images of
crouching in a closet, waiting, holding my breath while watching and listening to my prey argue. The blood. All the fucking blood after I burst from my hiding spot, slashing and slicing through soft flesh.

  My street. I’m on my street, clinging to the shadows while my friends and neighbors sleep. Tapping on a bedroom window. Now, I’m inside an unfamiliar bedroom, forcing myself not to laugh while shoving sleeping pills down the throat of my next victim, holding her still until the convulsions stopped. Dead. She’s dead. One quick, deep slice into the arm, guiding a blood-soaked finger on the headboard, spelling out I’m a home-wrecking whore above the bed.

  Carl’s blood. Ginger’s blood. Coco’s blood.

  Their dead eyes staring up into the ceiling, the floor and bed covered in pools of red.

  Laughter. I hear laughter bouncing all around me. Sick, twisted laughter, full of madness and terror as sirens blare in the distance.

  My laughter.

  Sirens coming for me.

  I’d just sliced and diced my ex and two of his whores.

  Oh, shit.

  Run, Roxy. Run! Get home, clean up, destroy the evidence. No, not that way! The cops are over there. Hurry! Don’t let them see you. Stay away from the streetlamp!

  Dammit! I’m too late. They’re closing in. Don’t say a word when they catch you.

  Lawyer up.

  ***

  Jerking awake, my body soaked in sweat and heart racing, a scream on the tip of my tongue, I scrambled to the bathroom. After throwing up, I went to the sink, tossing handfuls of cold water all over my sore face. Yikes, I did have a shiner. An ugly, bluish-black one, along with a split lip turning red. Infection. I should have listened to Liz and gotten stitches.

  Shit.

  “Calm down, girl. It was just a dream. See? No blood. No bloody clothes in the hamper. Home. I’m at home, and I never left. A horrifying nightmare caused by too much wine, the death of Benny, and too many angry words written. Not a good combination before bed.”

  “Mom? You okay?”

  Startled by Carol’s voice from the hallway, I jumped. “Yeah, I just had a nightmare, that’s all. Be down in a second to fix your breakfast.”

  “It’s okay, I already did. I know you’ve got to get ready for work too. I’m going in early today, so I should get off work around three. How about I fix spaghetti for dinner, have it ready when you get home? I want to hear all about your new job with Aunt Becca.”

  “Sure, baby. See you later,” I answered.

  “Love you! Have a good day.”

  Yep, I was close to melt down, because I swear I just heard my petulant child say she loved me and planned on fixing dinner. Oh! I’m Glinda! Yippee!

  Wait—was it possible? Is my daughter doing drugs? Could her peppy demeanor be from a chemical alteration to her bloodstream? Nah, no way. Not my Carol. She wouldn’t even take over-the-counter cramp medication, much less an aspirin. Carol Claire Davenport steered clear of pharmaceuticals. On rare occasions, like the death of her favorite aunt, she’d have a few glasses of wine, but that was it.

  The conclusion for Carol’s sweet demeanor: She was trying to show some kindness to her mother who was going through a difficult time. God, I love that girl.

  Piling half a tube of toothpaste onto the brush, I scrubbed the nasty bile taste from my mouth then padded over to the window. Sure enough, Carol emerged from the front door, her long, beautiful black hair pulled back into a perfect bun, dressed in cute scrubs for work. She jumped into her car, cranked the speakers up, and zoomed out of the driveway.

  The bright morning sun made me wince, so I closed the drape and went back to the bathroom. After freshening up, I headed down to the kitchen to fix some much-needed coffee.

  While waiting for the first cup, something out of place on the counter caught my attention. The journal! Holy shit, I thought I put it away before Liz arrived? Ugh! Flipping it open, I added a new rule:

  Roxy’s New Rule Number Ten: Keep journal in a safe place, and make sure to return it to the same spot, even when drunk!

  Stomach churning at the thought of anyone reading my murderous thoughts, I forced the bile back down. If someone read them, the men in white coats would come and haul me off to the looney bin for sure! The theme song “They’re Coming to Take Me Away,” from Dr. Demento thrummed inside my head. Hoo-hoo, hee-hee, ha-ha!

  “Okay, where should I hide you that I won’t forget and Carol would never look? Ah-ha! A perfect spot!”

  Opening the door to the laundry room, a place my daughter was highly allergic to and no one ever entered other than me, I hid the journal behind the iron and spray starch, way in the back. Hopefully, I’d remember where I put it later, because once the hangover eased up and some coffee and nicotine flooded my system, I planned on finishing my devious plans to ruin Lunatic Bitch’s life.

  No death for my sister. The rage I wanted to unleash on her had been transferred over to Benny. Uh-uh. Death was too easy; over too quick. Nope, I planned on making her feel the same pain I did, and giving her visuals to haunt her the rest of her life, just like me. After all, she said she wanted to be like me, right? I was simply being a caring, older sister, making sure to help the younger sibling achieve her life’s goals.

  Hee hee.

  Dr. Stephen Wilson, according to L.B., had an unhealthy infatuation with his sisterinlaw. I planned on exploiting that, then videotaping our little tryst. Prepare the video then throw my sister a huge party, invite all her friends, our neighbors, even coworkers, for her upcoming birthday.

  An over-the-top party featuring a special screening of Roxy Fucked My Husband. In Dolby surround sound and high definition, of course.

  Ah, yes. Revenge is sweet, especially in the digital age.

  CHAPTER 9

  Unraveling At The Seams

  After cleaning the interior of the car again, I went back inside and called my brotherinlaw to set up a meeting to plan a surprise party for Rebecca at my house the next week. When Stephen answered, I was worried, wondering if Rebecca had told the hubster what happened at work. My concerns disappeared when Stephen mentioned he loved the idea of a surprise party for his wife, given the fact she’d experienced the terror of being mugged the day before.

  Liar, liar, pants on fucking fire! Demerit! Nice lie, Rebecca!

  Stephen never alluded to my short career at Baxter, Baxter, & Jensen, so I assumed his bitch wife never shared her devious plans with him. Figures. Rebecca was an entirely different creature around Stephen. Sweet, charming, doting to the point of servitude. Ol’ L.B. hid her real, nasty side, saving it up and unleashing it on everyone else when Stephen wasn’t close by.

  Oh, I am so going to enjoy doing this, for a variety of reasons. Watching Rebecca’s reactions was the best part. Idea! Make sure to take a video of Rebecca watching the sex tape between spouse and sister and then email it to her for later viewing. Help her relive the fun, in case she drinks too much and forgets the birthday party from Hell.

  Score!

  Screwing Stephen was another enjoyable part of my twisted idea. Out of all the husbands in Cherrywood Estates, Dr. Stephen Wilson was the hunk. Tall, lanky, with thick, blond hair, solid shoulders, and nice legs from daily runs around the neighborhood. Stephen possessed a firm, rounded ass, and bonus—a hairless belly in great shape.

  Mmm, this was going to benefit me in so many ways!

  I hadn’t experienced the pleasure of a new dick in almost twenty years (unless you count a rubber one with batteries—faster, less messy, and no required assurances after you “got there”). True to my old nature, I’d remained faithful to ol’ Rufus since the first time the quivering mess entered my vagina. But, when I wanted those toe-curling, grab the edge of the sheet moments, I reached for my well-hidden and trusty toy.

  Oh, I’d gotten close several times to succumbing to temptation, the most recent time when our pool was installed. Good Lord, but the man had been a treat to watch sweat under the sun in the backyard! When Sasha casually dropped by, wear
ing an outfit that looked like a leftover from her hooker days, standing on a corner shaking her ample ass at potential Johns, she immediately hired my pool man to service her. Err, well, her pool, so she said. I’d bet my half of Carl’s retirement, Sasha’s “undercarriage,” as she liked to refer to her lady parts, had been dirtied up numerous times by the hunky man—along with countless clients before becoming Mrs. Jermaine Rice.

  Though I was excited about making Rebecca’s life miserable, I was a tad nervous about spreading my legs for new meat. I’d have to make sure to buy some condoms, because the way my life was going, it would be just my luck I’d fuck Stephen, then miraculously wind up pregnant. The invasion of a new cock might wake up my dead ovaries.

  Now that would be something! Pregnant by my sister’s husband—the perfect Lifetime movie plotline!

  My erotic visions of riding Stephen Wilson while he screamed, “Yeah, Roxy! Give it to me! I’ve wanted you forever. Rebecca is so boring compared to you! Yes, I want to feel you every day for the rest of my life! Just say the word, and I’ll leave her!” disappeared when the doorbell rang, followed by several loud knocks.

  Rising from the dining room table, I paused when the loud trill of an ambulance wailed in the distance. I hated the sound. It reminded me of the day Dad had a heart attack in the backyard while grilling steaks and we called 911.

  Thump! Thump! Thump! “Roxy? Hurry, let me in!”

  Hearing the fear in Liz’s voice, I ran to the front door, wincing as a family portrait near the entryway shuddered then crashed to the floor. The glass in the frame shattered. Damn but Liz was strong. Opening the door, I asked: “What’s wrong?”

  Shoving me back, Liz pushed her way inside, slamming the door behind her. She looked frazzled, her appearance a mess, which never happened. Before she gave up her aspirations of having a real life and married old money, Liz had her heart set on becoming the next Elizabeth Arden.

  The woman was so obsessed with hair and makeup she made Roger wait to take her to the hospital after her water broke just so she could fix her hair and face. Liz still adhered to the rules of suburbia.