After that

That was a year and a half ago.  After that, there were a few months when he quit drinking, then a few when he only drank on special occasions, then only with me, then back to drinking all of the time.  Our home was a warzone.  I was devastated.  I wanted things to work, and I wanted to make him suffer in the most horrible, painful, and humiliating way possible at the same time.  I felt as though my heart was shredded into tiny pieces.  I needed him to fix this, to fix me. Slowly our day to day life became more routine.  Things were still bad, but no  longer like an unpredictable raging wildfire. More like a slow mind-numbing drowning.  I pretended to be ok, but everything was so painful and depressing.  There were many fights, many broken promises.  I found bottles of whiskey hidden in the closet or the trunk of his car.  He would take off drunk after a fight, or anything he perceived as a fight, and he would disappear for hours.  It was hell.


The First Time

He liked to drink. He drank too much.  He became aggressive, argumentative, and mean.  He would stay up late and play his guitar on the porch while chain smoking.  I disliked all of this.  Any attempt to talk with him about it resulted in an argument.  We argued all of the time.  That night in late June, he stayed up drinking after I had went to bed. He smoked all of his cigarettes, and decided to bum some from the neighbors. A mother and her adult daughter, who for some reason were always up at all hours of the night.  That’s when it happened, the first time that I know about.  He was talking with the daughter.  A young plump mother who had a gangsta vibe, dark painted eyebrows, and large breasts that were always displayed in low cut tops.  She was always back and forth between living with her mother, who was raising her son, jail, and living who knows where.  He had her alone in the wee hours of the morning and he told her he was out to fuck.  The son of a bitch felt entitled.  He is not used to being turned down.  I don’t know if he planned on fucking her right there in the front yard,  in her mom’s house, or if he would have brought her into our home to fuck.

I slept through the whole thing, but that morning when I had that horrible feeling in my gut and he was too hungover to communicate, I confronted him.  He punched a hole in the hallway wall because I was such  a bitch to try to ask him any questions.  It wasn’t  until two days later that he finally came  clean about what happened. He said she turned him down and he came home. Unless he didn’t come clean about everything. Maybe she didn’t turn him down. Maybe I will never know.