Contractual Obligation. (Editing)
Due to my infuriated state, I drove like a mad man and almost got into trouble with the authorities. Fortunately I solely got a slap on the wrist, perhaps the cop that had me pull over was having a great day. Instead of going home, I drove past my house, and headed straight to the bar. The intention was to drink my problems and the rage brewing inside of me away, but I actually fought and annihilated the demons that tempted me to drink alcohol again.
I got home late, and peculiarly I wasn't famished but my wife had cooked so I felt compelled to eat.
"Is your hands not working or something?" She asked, after I ate and left the plate on the sink.
"You want me to work them on you?" I asked, headlessly.
"No stupid. I want you to wash your plate after eating." She gritted her teeth, folding her cute hands into fists and if I wasn't so mad at her I would've found it stimulating.
"I have a wife for a reason. She's able and willing."
"Bullshit!" She sneered.
"I'm assuming the plate is still dirty then?"
"No." She lowered her voice.
"So what is your fucking problem?" I asked, firmly.
"My problem is you having shit to say to me yet choosing not to say it." she crossed her amrs, her gorgeous face painted with anticipation. That's when it dawned on me that my wife was gorgeous to me, no matter what state I was in. Literally and figuratively.
"Fine." I took slow steps towards her. "I don't know if you've noticed but I don't have anybody. My dad is a dick with herpes, my best friend is a dick intoxicated idiot, and I cut my brother off. I guess I may have been a dick too to a certain extent. My point is that you're my only ally and I can't afford to have you as a weak link." I concluded sternly, and tears started streaming down her face, making me want to take a steel knife and shove it in my chest.
