Chapter 8

It'd been a while since I'd driven passed this particular KMart store. Others in the area, well, not really in the area, more like across town, have been receiving my business. I tried, a couple of times, to drive by, to reenter this store, but until today, the very idea would send a chill down my spine. I never did stop thinking of that man. Two weeks had gone by and all I could do was think of him. Think of the humiliation. Think of the pain. Think of the "what ifs" if I'd...

If I'd what? There I go again. Thinking about that overbearing excuse of a man and what it'd be like to continue allowing him to do... Do what? Make me feel like a slut? To make me shed my prudish mien? To force me to see myself as something sexual? Something other than a baby-making, frumpy old housewife?

Panic crept in as I neared the store. Flipping on the directional, I swerved my car into a severe U-turn. Cars around me honked. Wheels squealed. Drivers cursed -- I think they did anyway. It's hard to tell since my windows are raised. The turn completed, and my car firmly positioned in traffic, I headed for home. The safety of home. The safety of my sane, quiet, loving husband. NO! I had to do this! I had to see what will happen if I were to encounter this man again. My marriage is solid, loving and not in danger of disharmony. I can risk this one little endeavour without fear of severe retribution. A sharp jerk of the steering wheel forcing the car into a U-turn and again, I was headed back to the KMart. The KMart where it all began -- and ended in a matter of hours. For the most part, I couldn't even remember all the details, not even how the illicit meeting ended. I only remembered that he made mention that this was not to be our last encounter.

I tried to make it just that -- for two weeks. Now, however, a strange yearning drove me on. One that I feared, yet had to explore. I had to know. Was I a slut? Am I a slut. To be used by men for their enjoyment. I had to laugh, for I suddenly realized that this latter part was my marriage: Being used by hubby. The selfish bastard.

KMart was coming back into view. Driving more carefully, more attentively, I switched lanes. The centre. The right. The turn lane.

Fear gripped me.

A quick glance over my left shoulder, a mighty jerk on the steering wheel, and I was propelling the car recklessly back into the line of traffic. I breathed a sigh of relief as I drove passed the store. Well, at least I made it passed! That's a good start. Right?

Wrong.

Mentally I kicked myself. Not once. Not twice. But several times. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to laugh -- hysterically. I wanted...

I wanted to go through with this so badly it hurt. I was tired of thinking of the "what ifs". I was tired of imagining my husband dominating me. I was tired of the games my mind was playing on me.

At the next intersection, I turned my car around the corner. This put me at the far end of the parking lot, at the side entrance. No biggie. My car crept a long. Should I park up close? Or toward the street? Does it matter? No. It didn't matter. I found a space well surrounded by other cars and pulled in.

I didn't bother to sit there and let myself worry. I had a mission. Besides, I reminded myself for the umpteenth time -- he may not even be in there. Wouldn't that be awful? Or... ? I shook the thoughts from my head. Even if I saw him, he might not remember me.