Hi folks, it's been a while for some of you. Those of you who are reading this on Literotica missed last week's story. Now that you know that there was a story, most of you already know where to go to find it. And I'm sure someone will mention it in the comments for those of you who don't. You can also send me an E-mail and I'll tell you if no one does. Anyway, the only reason I'm mentioning that story is because there was a bit in it that tied off the loose ends left over from Shame, Shame, Shame. It was also a very good story, but on to this week. This week's story is a shorter piece that came from and Idea suggested by a reader. She doesn't want her name mentioned but she knows who she is. I hope she likes what I've done with her idea. This week's story was edited by CallieFornia. SS06.
I left the motor running, although no one was around to hear it except me. Actually, I left it running for me. I didn't need to hear it to know what it sounded l knew the sound by heart. It was as familiar to me as my own heart beat. The deep throbbing sound of my Mustang's 5.0 liter modular V8 funneled through a MagnaFlow exhaust system. It was like music to my ears. I love that sound. I'd recorded it and used it as the ring tone on my iPhone. But today the sound served a different purpose.
Today the deep throbbing acted much the same way that the peanuts character Linus' blanket or a child's night light does. The sound of my motor served to keep the bad things away even though it was broad daylight and the sun wouldn't go down for hours.
As I stepped off of the black top surface of the driveway and onto the first step of the porch, I looked back to make sure that my Mustang was still there. I caught a glimpse of the pewter paint and turned back towards the house. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the key. I stuck it in the lock, the way I'd done on countless occasions before. It still fit.
I gave it a slight pull as I turned the key to the right and the door was open. The afternoon sun was still bright enough to provide all of the light I need to see. As I looked across the now almost empty expanse that I'd called home for so long, I got a lump in my throat.
I wondered for the ten thousandth time if I was doing the right thing. I had laid this parquet floor myself. I looked into the kitchen and remembered the way I'd skinned my knuckles when I hung those cabinets. There was still a tiny hole in the floor that I'd drilled to attach the water hose from the refrigerator to the water pipe in the basement below.
All of the closets were mostly empty. I was just passing through to pick up any lingering remnants of what I thought would be my life.
Even the house seemed sad. As I climbed the stairs, I saw the little things that only someone who'd lived here would notice. The wood of the stairs was actually a cheap but sturdy pine that had been stained to match the expensive flooring in the living room.
The kids had been allowed to do whatever they'd wanted with their rooms. My daughter's room was still immaculate. The boy as I now called him had left his room a mess. Even at twenty three years old he still acted more like a child than his seventeen year old sister. He'd simply taken everything that he wanted and moved it into his dorm room at college. He'd left the room a mess in his wake.
I guess it didn't matter. The house was sold, so its condition was no longer my problem. As I looked at the walls of the room I used to sleep in, I almost collapsed. I had painted those God damned walls at least ten times. That bitch was just never satisfied.
As I looked around the empty room it was almost as if no one had ever lived in this room. No one had ever slept here. Even I began to wonder at that point. Did anyone ever live here? Did anyone love here and raise a family here? Was the life I remember real? Or was the whole thing, the life I knew all just another lie, like her wedding vows?
Tiny signs around the room signal powerful memories that even now I question. The line scored into the paint of the back wall. The headboard on the bed was there. The paint was scraped away from the wall because every time I fucked her, the headboard knocked into the wall until it scratched all of the paint of behind it. Of course at the time I thought I was doing something else. She called it making love. I thought we were sharing ourselves and I thought it was special.
I'd thought I was signing my life away when I bought this house. Claudette wasn't working and had terrible credit so her name wasn't on the mortgage. Besides at the time she was pregnant so we had to get out of that apartment and move into a place that was big enough for us to have a family. I thought at the time that sixty thousand dollars was too much for the house but Claudette loved it. I'd gotten almost twice that when I sold the place last week. I got one hundred and ten thousand dollars for it. And I didn't have to give Claudette a fucking quarter. To the victors go the spoils they say. But somehow I don't feel very victorious. In fact I feel just the opposite. I feel like the biggest failure, the biggest loser and the biggest fool, all rolled into one.
If as they say, "today is the first day of the rest of your life," my reply would have to be why bother? I've lost almost everything. Everyone I speak to seems to think that I won...
I hear the creaking of the door downstairs as it opens. I quickly turn and realize that I've turned too quickly. The sharp pain in my still injured knee reminds me that I still have a long time to go before I'm in the shape that I once was. I walk more slowly towards the door and the stairs. As I get to the top of the stairs, I see her looking around.
"Claudette, you have no right to be here," I hiss. "I believe the restraining order still prevents you from coming anywhere near me as well."
She looks like hell, which in itself should make me happy, but doesn't. I spent a large part of my life loving this woman with everything I had. I made a baby with this woman and we'll have to see each other for her alone for the rest of our lives. But as she looks up towards me even her tears fail to move me. The pleading tone in her voice brings only bile into my intestinal tract. Can I really hate her that much?
"I heard that you'd sold our house," she said. "I probably would have bought it, but you left me virtually penniless, as you know."
"The only thing I know is that if you don't leave, I'll call the police," I said.
"Oh my Roberto," she whined. When Claudette was upset she pretended to be more than part Italian.
"In the first place I'm not YOUR anything," I said. "And in the second, my name isn't Roberto. It isn't Robert, either. My name is Bob; Just plain Bob. And I'm still waiting for you to get the hell out of here."
She paused and wiped her eyes although I didn't see any years.
"It must be wonderful to be perfect," she said. "How does it feel to be the only person on earth who has never made a mistake? The rest of us have to live with our failures and the things we wish we could take back. But you're above it all."
"Fuck you," I spat. "Even after all of these years you don't know a thing about me."
"That's just it," she said. "I thought I did. I thought that you loved me and we could somehow work this out. But you've changed. Even after you caught..." She halted in mid sentence as if she was afraid to summon the memory.
"What changed you?" she asked.
As I looked into the eyes of the woman I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with, I realized that I was still coming to terms with it myself. I'd tried explaining the changes in me, to her and everyone else several times. But perhaps after twenty plus years she just thought I was going through a temporary attitude change brought on by the accident that had nearly killed me. Maybe she hoped that I'd change back at some point and become the easy going guy that had loved her and allowed her to take advantage of him for so many years.
As she stood there in front of me, waiting for an answer, I thought back a few months prior to that moment. I'd been driving my jeep down a rain slicked road and I was driving way too fast for the road surface and the conditions. I was upset and just wanted to get away from all of the problems that were piling up on me. I'd just left the medical clinic that had serviced my family's medical needs for as long as I could remember. The news I'd gotten had driven me even further over the edge.
I say even further over the edge because I was already going through hell. My family had recently been ripped apart and this was just another brick in the wall of bullshit that I was expected to endure.
Suddenly, the jeep's back end fishtailed. I jerked the wheel, trying to halt the skid. The four wheel drive system only meant, in this case that there were four wheels sliding dangerously close to the edge of a steep ditch. With what sounded like an almost human-like screech the jeep went over the edge of the ditch and plummeted off the road.
It flipped over violently several times and came to rest on its roof. The airbag had gone off on the first flip and the next few times the steering wheel impacted my chest. My head was still spinning and I looked out of the window. I realized even with my head as fuzzy as it was that there was another drop and the jeep was leaning towards it. I hit the clasp on my seatbelt release and fell onto the roof of the cabin.
.... There is more of this story ...