always red.

Chapter 5 - learn how to roll your R's

Maria

I pictured myself strangling him. His eyes popping out of his head. His tongue thrusting out of the stupid orifice of his mouth, all because he forgot to turn the lights off before he left the house this morning.

"I'm sorry," He uttered, stupidly.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to wrap my fingers around his neck, teasing his hyoid bone with the threat of a swift crack. One right move and he would be on another planet. Possibly another realm. He'd be dead.

But again, unfortunately this did not happen.

He was fine.

I was fine.

And it was never enough.

Giselle and Germany had just come home from their respective soccer practices. They were adopted twins from Honduras. We got them in 2004.

Giselle was a lot like me. She was spicy. Reminded me of myself back in the day. Only difference was she had longer hair and a slightly thinner physique. She didn't let boys play around with her. She played around with them. And I let her. I wasn't so overly protective of her the way most parents are with their daughters. In my house I believed differently.

"Alright kids. Get your homework out." I ordered.

"But I don't want to," groaned Germany.

I could see my husband getting visibly upset. I hated him when he did that- keeping his fury to himself. Silent, waiting on me to ask him "What's wrong?".

If there's something bothering you, fucking say it. Coward.

"Then don't." I simply stated, walking into my office.

I had better things to do than baby two teenagers and a grown ass man.

I could sense Jake coming in here soon, ready to start an argument.

Not tonight.

"What is it now?" I spoke before he even stepped foot in the room.

"You know what, you always do that. You never let me have a say in anything,"

I closed my eyes. Counted to ten. It never works but it buys me some time.

By this time, we were face to face, him peering down at me from the doorway as I sat at my desk. I bet he loved this. Men really do love feeling like they run things.

I didn't look at him because I know for a fact that when I look at people, I can burn a hole through them from my eyes.

Instead, I sat still, looking straight ahead at myself in the mirror.

"Oh, so now you won't look at me?"

He sounded sad. Pathetic. Why in hell after thirty years would you continue to beg someone for something that you know you're not going to get.

I understand that men enjoy a good chase but I wasn't running from Jake. I told him that. It's nonsense. If I wanted to cheat, I would tell him. I would give him options and tell him. I've done it a few times before. He chose to stay. Financially, we benefitted from not divorcing.

If he wasn't okay with that, then why stay? We had a prenuptial agreement. Take the kids and go. Tell the courts how and why I'm such an unfit mother. Fucking do it, coward!

Marriage with Jake is like a sport. It's almost comical. Predictable.

I peered up at him slowly, a smirk forming on my lips.

"What do you want from me, Maria?"

"What do you think I want from you?" I reflected.

No response. I have shit to do. Not putting up with this all night.

"Kids!" I called from the top of my lungs.

He looked at me puzzled.

"You leave them out of this," He demanded, pointing a finger at me.

Jake always let me reclaim my power. He was always two steps behind. I knew how to push his buttons and he knew how to get me to push them. It was always his fault.

Giselle came in with a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. Germany followed behind not too long after, groggily.

"What," Giselle said with mouth full.

"Your father plans to leave us."

"What?" All three questioned, seconds after the other.

"I never said that!" Jake retorted rather forcefully if I do say so myself.

"You did," I argued.

"I-I-I," he stammered. "Kids, go back to your room."

Germany, being a lot like his father, sheepishly backed out of the room.

Giselle stayed put. Staring me deep in the eyes.

She continued to brush her teeth before heading to the bathroom to spit. Then she emerged from the doorway.

"Maria," She began. "You're not my mom. Jake isn't my dad. Our real parents are probably dead. You can't scare me. If you leave me, we'll probably just get re-adopted by some more rich white people who waited too long to have kids of their own, just like you. You're not my real mom. I'm Hispanic. You're white. And what sucks is I don't even know how to roll my R's, thanks to you. So, if you decide to leave us. Don't think about it. Do it."

After her soap box monologue, Jake put the children to bed and left out. Probably headed to the bar.

Finally, the cretins were preoccupied. I could focus.

I was aware of the investigation. I just couldn't shake it. Blaise gave me as much information as she could. She even let me hand pick who would be on the case. Some young Zealand honky she was fucking and sugar mommy'ing, and the new guy. He had a weird name. Ezra.

Blaise let me get a hold of the current investigation files.

Hesitantly, I opened them.

Here it is. Everything. Aggravated assault. Homicide. Robbery gone wrong. I couldn't believe Naomi was really dead. After all these years, it still felt like she was alive and well. Working at St. Rasmussen like the diligent little nurse she was. She didn't deserve to die.

But that's not what I really wanted to look into.

Cyan.

Massachusetts...now he lives in Massachusetts.

The bastard.

473 Renee Street, Apt 2A.

Thank God for google maps and google Earth.

Man, things are so much easier in y2k.