Chapter 3: Saturday Night

The next day, Lynn spent the day in bed. Dale growled at her for being “lazy,” but left her mostly alone. After dinner, Lynn saw he was back on his PC, editing the video from the previous night. He changed the clip to cut between his handheld camera and the stationary camera. Last was adding titles and copyright notices and so forth.

Even more revolting, he had his dick out and was jerking away, muttering under his breath.

“Yeah, bitch, take it, take it all...”

He finished with the editing and uploaded the clip, then turned around to face her with his erection bobbling.

“Spread your legs!”

“But I’m sore!”

“I don’t care! Do it, or I’ll slap you silly!”

He forced his way in and scraped against her tender tissues twelve or fifteen times, then ejaculated and pulled out. Then he got up and shut down the computer, turned off the lights, and fell into bed without a word. Two minutes after that, he was snoring.

Lynn carefully slipped out of the bed, stepped into the bathroom, shut the door, and sat on the toilet lid. Forty-five minutes after that, all cried out, she returned to bed.

Almost three weeks later, Dale was fussing with a stack of papers from work. Angrily, he wrote a nasty email to his boss full of bitter complaints about the incompetence of his subordinates and his insultingly low salary. He pushed the cursor over the send button and placed his index finger on the mouse, ready to click.

Then he stopped himself with his last ounce of self-restraint, mashing the backspace key to delete line after line of hateful text. He left only the minimum description of the problem and then sent the message.

Still furious, he looked at his ashtray and saw only three stubbed-out remains. It was time for another smoke. He reached for the pack and found that it was empty. Growling, he checked a nearby shelf.

He found a carton, but it was empty! Enraged, he shouted for Lynn.

“Where the FUCK are my cigarettes? Don’t tell me we are completely out!”

He was standing at his desk, his hands clenched, while his wife approached. Cringing, she told him exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

“I’m sorry, Dale, I forgot to buy more cartons when I was out shopping for groceries.”

And then he swung at her. Instinctively, she flinched, and his fist whooshed just past her nose. Frustrated, he grabbed her and flung her backwards onto the bed. Kneeling over her, he slapped her face left and right as she tried to keep apologizing.

Abruptly, Dale got up on his feet and said, “I’m going to buy more. Don’t touch the PC; I’ll be back in less than an hour.”

He buttoned up his pants and fastened his belt, then grabbed the keys to his Mustang. Over her sniffles, Lynn heard the rumble of his Ford’s V8 as he pulled into the street, tires screeching.

It was the last time she saw her husband walk.