The Wife's Neighbor (A Novella)

Chapter 2

I turn 55 today. I thought for sure Jeff would have a gift. Try to 'make up' for shoving me last night. Not that it would've made a difference. He's an abusive asshole who doesn't deserve to feel happiness or comfort in his home. He can't just pretend last night never happened. We didn't speak a single word to one another this morning. I cooked for him. Wearing a simple black tank top and black sweatpants. Put some salt on the wound. I did it because I knew it would piss him off. Done are the days of me trying to look like a housewife for him. Those days are numbered. And yet, I'm afraid if I stopped cooking for him. If I stopped pampering him...he'd hurt me more. Send me into the hospital. Not like it's never happened. I feel as though I should wait for a moment to strike. I feel like life could still offer some sort of scapegoat. If it doesn't...well, I'll think of something. For now, I'm going to wait. I'm not going to lash out. I'm not going to yell. I'm not gonna call him a useless moron with a small cock. Nope. None of that. I'm going to bide my time. Play it smart. Unlike a man, who'd do something wild and stupid without thinking things through. Men are somehow the most violent, but also not great at planning out attacks and when to strike.

Marcy watched Jeff's car speed away, a nice sports car only the richest person could afford.

She cleaned a Jeff's dish, watching the bits of egg and bacon go down the drain. Watched the steam from the hot water rise from the sink.

A knock on the door startled her a tiny bit. Peace and quiet. It's all I want. I want to pretend Jeff doesn't exist, so I can at least put my depression at bay for a while. I want to pretend I live alone and go out with friends for drinks. It's all I need.

Opening the door, Marcy smiled at the man before her. A tall man, six feet, short blonde hair, and turquoise eyes.

"Hello ma'am, I'm here about the sink." His voice monotone. His huge biceps and shoulders are signs of someone who works hard and never slacks. I probably am blushing.

"Oh! Come in, totally forgot you were coming over." She stepped aside.

The twenty-seven-year-old stood in awe of the manor. Three stories, high ceilings. He wasn't used to this.

Marcy led the strapping young man to the kitchen and told him the issue and without hesitation, got on his knees and began to assess and fix the problem with a simple wrench from his assortment of tools from a red toolbox always carried.

Watching him whittle away at the pipe which sat inside a cupboard, Marcy smiled looking at him. "Would you like a drink?" She asked softly.

"Yes. Thank you, ma'am." Glancing to her, he spoke as he continued his work. She poured them both tall glasses of water.

He finished up his sink work with a soft smile, he knew she looked good...great in fact for someone who was probably in her fifties. She looked to be in early thirties, however.

Standing, he towered over her, but he loved the look in her eye. Someone intelligent. Someone who was bright.

"Call me Marcy." She said handing him the glass, watching his every movement. Every gesture. Eyeing his body like he was a Greek sculpture. I hope he takes my staring as flattering and not me creeping on him. I hope he knows that I simply don't see many guys of his stature cross my path.

"Marcy. I'm Taylor Shaw." He smiled softly with a nod.

His muscles seem so tense, his shoulders up. Like he's expecting something horrible to happen. Like someone is going to hurt him. I hope he feels okay with me. Is it something personal or is he just a bundle of nerves?

"You alright?" Please don't be weirded out. I genuinely want to know.

"Yes." He sipped the refreshing beverage. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious. Want to make sure you feel safe here. I assume you do?"

"Relatively so. I don't get much interaction. I was home alone a lot during the pandemic."

"Well, you shouldn't be alone, Taylor. You're a handsome, strong young man. Not many like you around anymore."

Marcy tipped Taylor way more than he was used to. He gladly took the money.

"Thank you. Really, I appreciate it, Marcy." He rubbed his neck, looking at the bills she gave him. Along with the cash, was a white card which held her name and cell number.

"You're very welcome. Call or text me anytime. Must be lonely living by yourself." They both smile softly at one another, he walked out the door. He was quick with leaving, but I won't take it personally. He's not used to being hit on. It's alright. I like him. I like him a lot.

***

"How was the guy who fixed the sink?" Jeffery inquired, sipping a glass of wine. Making sure not to dribble any on his nice suit.

"He was fine." Smiled Marcy, feeling uncomfortable in her sundress and heels. I can't get Taylor out of my head. I can see my husband's lips moving, but half of his words are muffled. He wants to talk. He thinks I've forgotten that he pushed me last night. He thinks I'm this useless thing he can push around. Taylor. What kind of man is he? How would he treat me? He certainly works harder than Jeff...maybe he could love better then Jeff too?

Pulling the large blanket over herself, Marcy faced away from Jeff and closed her eyes. Hoping to fall into a fictional dream land where her and Taylor lived together in the middle of nowhere.

Feeling two arms wrap around her bare breasts, she opened her eyes and took a deep breath. Feeling Jeff breathing behind her.

"Babe I'm sorry I hit you last night." Jeffery whispered, kissing her cheek, then trailing his lips to the side of her neck. "I love you. You know I do."

"I'm not in the mood." Marcy softy spoke with a soft yawn.

Jeffery sneered and stood up, Marcy sat up watching him. Seeing his small manhood dangle between his legs. "I hate you sometimes. You don't even love me."

"I-I do. I've been cooking and cleaning all day for you." Marcy said, hoping that somehow, she could calm him from his anger rising.

"Oh, and I don't work? I work SO much harder than you. You get to stay here while I deal with shitty people and shitty problems." Jeff retorted, he took one look at the bedside lamp which sat upon a nightstand. With two hands, he pushed the nightstand down to the floor with a loud bang. "I'm going out." Jeff slipped on some jeans and a button up shirt.

Once he slammed the bedroom door, Marcy lied down. She couldn't sleep on this night. I fear that he may come back drunk and hurt me. Men hurt women all the time, I should be used to this feeling of depression and panic. But I'm not.