Three Little Words ch. 02
Another week passed with no word from Carmen. Finally, when I returned home from work the following Friday evening I saw her BMW in the driveway. I started heaving and sobbing, lost control of the steering wheel and almost jumped the curb. My hands were shaking like crazy and I had a tough time navigating my Kia into the driveway next to her Beemer.
When I opened the front door I was smacked in the face by the smell of marijuana smoke. I stepped into an empty living room and cleared my throat.
“C-Carmen?”
“Up here.”
I jogged up the stairs toward the sound of my beloved wife’s voice. As I neared the top of the stairwell I saw that the bedroom door was open — and the image of Carmen lying naked in bed with her lover nearly knocked me over. I had to grab the banister to keep from falling down a flight of stairs.
Fighting the urge to vomit, I braced myself and continued forward, repeating the mantra that had defined our marriage from the beginning:
Be supportive. Be supportive. Be supportive.
I paused in the bedroom doorway. Carmen was curled up to Jamal, her leg draped over his thigh and her head tucked under the crook of his arm as he lay back on my bed like a king. Both were smirking.
For two weeks I’d dreamt of the moment when Carmen would finally come home, but the three little words she greeted me with weren’t exactly what I had in mind:
“You remember Jamal?”
I licked my lips. “Um … yeah, uh, hey, man, how you doing?”
Jamal didn’t reply; he just shook his head.
My wife snapped her fingers. “We could use a couple sodas in here, Ed.”
“Uh … okay.”
As soon as I left the bedroom I started bawling. I made it to the foot of the stairs before falling to my knees, trembling from head to toe and sucking in breaths as if I’d just finished running a marathon. I was certain I was about to pass out when the mantra came to me:
Be supportive. Be supportive. Be supportive …
The refrain, which had been hammered into my head since childhood, gave me the strength to rise, wipe the tears from my eyes and continue my life’s mission of making my wife happy. Right now, she and her boyfriend wanted sodas. When I opened the fridge, the first thing I noticed was that she hadn’t touched the cheesecake I’d spent so much time preparing. There was only a little soda left in the two-liter bottle of Diet Coke, so I grabbed a pair of glasses from the cupboard, added some ice and poured each container not quite to the halfway point.
When I returned to the bedroom doorway I hesitated, feeling like an intruder in my own home. Carmen and Jamal were kicked back on the bed watching TV. It didn’t escape me that he held the remote — something that never happened when Carmen and I watched television together.
I almost knocked on the door but shook off the urge and ventured into the room.
Carmen frowned at the not-quite-half-full glasses as I set them on her nightstand. “What the hell’s that?”
“Um, sorry, there was only a little bit left.”
My wife snorted. “Well, then, I guess you’re gonna have to drive your ass to the store and get more, ain’t you?”
I sighed. “Aw, come on, honey. I just got off work. I’m exhausted.”
The last word was barely out of my mouth when Jamal flung back the sheets, leapt out of bed and punched me in the eye so hard I saw fireworks. Everything went black and I slumped to the floor.
“Don’t you ever talk back to my woman when she tells you something, you hear me, white boy?”
I guess I didn’t answer fast enough because he kicked me in the ribs.
“You hear me? Motherfucker?”
Another kick. Through my haze of pain I heard a feminine giggle.
“Unngh, yes, yes, I hear you.”
“Now, apologize.”
“H-honey, I’m— oooofff!” Another kick.
“Don’t you be calling my woman, ‘honey.’ Apologize proper.”
“I-I … Carmen, I’m very—unnngh.”
Jamal corrected me: “Miss Carmen.”
“Um, Miss Carmen, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Jamal nodded. “That’s better. And don’t get that nasty-ass Diet Coke, either. Get Mountain Dew.”
I didn’t reply so he kicked me again. “What do you say when I’m talking to you, bitch?”
“Y-yes—unnnngh.”
“What’s that, pussy boy?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
My wife sniggered. “He has to call you sir. I love it, babe.”
“Yeah?” Jamal fell back onto the bed and pulled my wife close. “You like that shit, MISS Carmen? You like my idea of having us a little bitch around to do what we say? I told you he wouldn’t stand up for himself. I know these pussy-boy motherfuckers. We're gonna have it made."
“Mmmm.” Carmen nuzzled her nose into her lover’s chest. “Whatever you want, baby. Whatever you want.”
After their tender moment passed, Jamal glared down at me from his perch on my bed.
“What the hell you still laying there for, white boy? If you ain’t off that floor by the count of 3 I’m gonna stomp your ass.”
I scrambled to my feet, my entire body aching from the kicks and my eye throbbing from the punch.
As I started to back out of the room, Carmen sneered. “Get Diet Coke and Mountain Dew. And pick up chips and sour cream dip — and if you don’t hurry the fuck up, I’ll have Jamal black your other eye.”
“Y-yes, Miss Carmen.”
The last thing I saw before turning to leave was their victory kiss.
As badly as I was convulsing, I was afraid I’d wreck the car. I cried the entire way to the store, trying to focus on the road and shut off the thoughts:
Why is she doing this to me? Why is she being so cruel?
Should I call the police and report Jamal for assaulting me? Oh, no, jeez, hell no. Carmen would never speak to me again.
Why did I tell her I didn’t feel like going back out to get her soda? That wasn’t being very supportive, was it? It’s my fault Jamal kicked my ass. I brought it on myself for being so selfish.
No, fuck that — this isn’t my fault. Put the blame where it belongs. How could she do this to me after everything I’ve sacrificed for her? She starts having an affair and I put up with it to keep the marriage together. She says she needs her space; I give her space. I’ve done without sex. Without affection. I’m a fucking ATM and maid as far as she’s concerned. She tells me she’s pregnant with her fucking boyfriend’s baby and then stays gone for two weeks — and then when she finally comes home, the spoiled little bitch has the fucking nerve to bring him to our bed like that? It’s not bad enough she can see him whenever she wants; she has to rub my fucking face in it? How far is she going to keep pushing me? When am I going to wise up and get the fuck out of this marriage?
Wait a minute. Stop thinking like that. Be supportive of your wife, Eddie. Don’t be an asshole like your father was. He left Mom while she was pregnant with you to run off with his fucking secretary. You want to be like him? You want to leave your wife? Are you kidding me? Who the hell do you think you are? You should always put your wife’s needs above your own, Eddie. Be supportive. Don’t be like your ***. Be supportive. Be supportive. Be supportive …
But … but… what did Jamal mean when he told Carmen about his idea of “having us a little bitch around to do what we say?” It sounds like he’s planning something permanent. Fuck that. I don’t want that asshole around all the time telling me what to do.
Stop. Stop right now and focus. Carmen does want him around. That’s what matters. Don’t be an asshole. Be supportive. Be supportive. Be supportive …
I’d calmed down a bit by the time I got to the store, although when I set the groceries on the counter, the clerk frowned and said, “hey, man, you all right?”
I sniffled. “Y-yeah, I’m just … I’m just dealing with some … some stuff at home right now.”
"That eye looks pretty messed up; you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just ... a bunch of stuff."
The clerk bagged my purchases. “Well, whatever it is, good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Yeah, right, good luck, my ass. There’s no luck involved. I’m simply too fucking weak to stand up for myself.
Stop that nonsense, Eddie. Be supportive. Be supportive. Be supportive ...
When I returned home, the house still reeked of weed. I made a beeline to the kitchen and poured two full glasses of soda — Mountain Dew for him, Diet Coke for her — and filled a bowl with chips, and a smaller container with dip. I put it all on a tray, and as I ascended the stairs I almost felt proud of myself for taking the initiative to prepare their snack without prompting. Then, I felt like the most pathetic loser who ever walked the earth.
My wife and her lover were still relaxing on the bed; Jamal was passing my wife a blunt. She dangled it from her lips and accepted her glass of soda. I set the chips on the bed next to her then shuffled to the other side of the bed and handed Jamal his drink, feeling like a waiter.
Carmen toked the blunt and with her lungs still full, said, “Listen Ed…” She took another toke and blew smoke at me. “I hate to break it to you, but you're going back out again. I want McDonald’s. Quarter Pounder with Cheese and fries.”
My shoulders slumped. “Okay, Car … er, Miss Carmen.”
I turned to Jamal. “Um, do you want me to pick you up anything … uh, sir?”
“Yeah, bitch, Big Mac and fries.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Carmen passed the blunt to her boyfriend and sneered at me. “Oh, and tomorrow you’re gonna have to go to the U-Haul place and rent a truck.”
“But … uh, okay, Miss Carmen. But … uh, what for?”
My wife snuggled closer to her lover and delivered a crushing blow in the form of three little words:
“Jamal’s moving in.”
COMING NEXT: Poor cuckold Eddie gets used to the new normal, as he struggles to be supportive.
When I opened the front door I was smacked in the face by the smell of marijuana smoke. I stepped into an empty living room and cleared my throat.
“C-Carmen?”
“Up here.”
I jogged up the stairs toward the sound of my beloved wife’s voice. As I neared the top of the stairwell I saw that the bedroom door was open — and the image of Carmen lying naked in bed with her lover nearly knocked me over. I had to grab the banister to keep from falling down a flight of stairs.
Fighting the urge to vomit, I braced myself and continued forward, repeating the mantra that had defined our marriage from the beginning:
Be supportive. Be supportive. Be supportive.
I paused in the bedroom doorway. Carmen was curled up to Jamal, her leg draped over his thigh and her head tucked under the crook of his arm as he lay back on my bed like a king. Both were smirking.
For two weeks I’d dreamt of the moment when Carmen would finally come home, but the three little words she greeted me with weren’t exactly what I had in mind:
“You remember Jamal?”
I licked my lips. “Um … yeah, uh, hey, man, how you doing?”
Jamal didn’t reply; he just shook his head.
My wife snapped her fingers. “We could use a couple sodas in here, Ed.”
“Uh … okay.”
As soon as I left the bedroom I started bawling. I made it to the foot of the stairs before falling to my knees, trembling from head to toe and sucking in breaths as if I’d just finished running a marathon. I was certain I was about to pass out when the mantra came to me:
Be supportive. Be supportive. Be supportive …
The refrain, which had been hammered into my head since childhood, gave me the strength to rise, wipe the tears from my eyes and continue my life’s mission of making my wife happy. Right now, she and her boyfriend wanted sodas. When I opened the fridge, the first thing I noticed was that she hadn’t touched the cheesecake I’d spent so much time preparing. There was only a little soda left in the two-liter bottle of Diet Coke, so I grabbed a pair of glasses from the cupboard, added some ice and poured each container not quite to the halfway point.
When I returned to the bedroom doorway I hesitated, feeling like an intruder in my own home. Carmen and Jamal were kicked back on the bed watching TV. It didn’t escape me that he held the remote — something that never happened when Carmen and I watched television together.
I almost knocked on the door but shook off the urge and ventured into the room.
Carmen frowned at the not-quite-half-full glasses as I set them on her nightstand. “What the hell’s that?”
“Um, sorry, there was only a little bit left.”
My wife snorted. “Well, then, I guess you’re gonna have to drive your ass to the store and get more, ain’t you?”
I sighed. “Aw, come on, honey. I just got off work. I’m exhausted.”
The last word was barely out of my mouth when Jamal flung back the sheets, leapt out of bed and punched me in the eye so hard I saw fireworks. Everything went black and I slumped to the floor.
“Don’t you ever talk back to my woman when she tells you something, you hear me, white boy?”
I guess I didn’t answer fast enough because he kicked me in the ribs.
“You hear me? Motherfucker?”
Another kick. Through my haze of pain I heard a feminine giggle.
“Unngh, yes, yes, I hear you.”
“Now, apologize.”
“H-honey, I’m— oooofff!” Another kick.
“Don’t you be calling my woman, ‘honey.’ Apologize proper.”
“I-I … Carmen, I’m very—unnngh.”
Jamal corrected me: “Miss Carmen.”
“Um, Miss Carmen, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Jamal nodded. “That’s better. And don’t get that nasty-ass Diet Coke, either. Get Mountain Dew.”
I didn’t reply so he kicked me again. “What do you say when I’m talking to you, bitch?”
“Y-yes—unnnngh.”
“What’s that, pussy boy?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
My wife sniggered. “He has to call you sir. I love it, babe.”
“Yeah?” Jamal fell back onto the bed and pulled my wife close. “You like that shit, MISS Carmen? You like my idea of having us a little bitch around to do what we say? I told you he wouldn’t stand up for himself. I know these pussy-boy motherfuckers. We're gonna have it made."
“Mmmm.” Carmen nuzzled her nose into her lover’s chest. “Whatever you want, baby. Whatever you want.”
After their tender moment passed, Jamal glared down at me from his perch on my bed.
“What the hell you still laying there for, white boy? If you ain’t off that floor by the count of 3 I’m gonna stomp your ass.”
I scrambled to my feet, my entire body aching from the kicks and my eye throbbing from the punch.
As I started to back out of the room, Carmen sneered. “Get Diet Coke and Mountain Dew. And pick up chips and sour cream dip — and if you don’t hurry the fuck up, I’ll have Jamal black your other eye.”
“Y-yes, Miss Carmen.”
The last thing I saw before turning to leave was their victory kiss.
////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\
As badly as I was convulsing, I was afraid I’d wreck the car. I cried the entire way to the store, trying to focus on the road and shut off the thoughts:
Why is she doing this to me? Why is she being so cruel?
Should I call the police and report Jamal for assaulting me? Oh, no, jeez, hell no. Carmen would never speak to me again.
Why did I tell her I didn’t feel like going back out to get her soda? That wasn’t being very supportive, was it? It’s my fault Jamal kicked my ass. I brought it on myself for being so selfish.
No, fuck that — this isn’t my fault. Put the blame where it belongs. How could she do this to me after everything I’ve sacrificed for her? She starts having an affair and I put up with it to keep the marriage together. She says she needs her space; I give her space. I’ve done without sex. Without affection. I’m a fucking ATM and maid as far as she’s concerned. She tells me she’s pregnant with her fucking boyfriend’s baby and then stays gone for two weeks — and then when she finally comes home, the spoiled little bitch has the fucking nerve to bring him to our bed like that? It’s not bad enough she can see him whenever she wants; she has to rub my fucking face in it? How far is she going to keep pushing me? When am I going to wise up and get the fuck out of this marriage?
Wait a minute. Stop thinking like that. Be supportive of your wife, Eddie. Don’t be an asshole like your father was. He left Mom while she was pregnant with you to run off with his fucking secretary. You want to be like him? You want to leave your wife? Are you kidding me? Who the hell do you think you are? You should always put your wife’s needs above your own, Eddie. Be supportive. Don’t be like your ***. Be supportive. Be supportive. Be supportive …
But … but… what did Jamal mean when he told Carmen about his idea of “having us a little bitch around to do what we say?” It sounds like he’s planning something permanent. Fuck that. I don’t want that asshole around all the time telling me what to do.
Stop. Stop right now and focus. Carmen does want him around. That’s what matters. Don’t be an asshole. Be supportive. Be supportive. Be supportive …
I’d calmed down a bit by the time I got to the store, although when I set the groceries on the counter, the clerk frowned and said, “hey, man, you all right?”
I sniffled. “Y-yeah, I’m just … I’m just dealing with some … some stuff at home right now.”
"That eye looks pretty messed up; you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just ... a bunch of stuff."
The clerk bagged my purchases. “Well, whatever it is, good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Yeah, right, good luck, my ass. There’s no luck involved. I’m simply too fucking weak to stand up for myself.
Stop that nonsense, Eddie. Be supportive. Be supportive. Be supportive ...
////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\
When I returned home, the house still reeked of weed. I made a beeline to the kitchen and poured two full glasses of soda — Mountain Dew for him, Diet Coke for her — and filled a bowl with chips, and a smaller container with dip. I put it all on a tray, and as I ascended the stairs I almost felt proud of myself for taking the initiative to prepare their snack without prompting. Then, I felt like the most pathetic loser who ever walked the earth.
My wife and her lover were still relaxing on the bed; Jamal was passing my wife a blunt. She dangled it from her lips and accepted her glass of soda. I set the chips on the bed next to her then shuffled to the other side of the bed and handed Jamal his drink, feeling like a waiter.
Carmen toked the blunt and with her lungs still full, said, “Listen Ed…” She took another toke and blew smoke at me. “I hate to break it to you, but you're going back out again. I want McDonald’s. Quarter Pounder with Cheese and fries.”
My shoulders slumped. “Okay, Car … er, Miss Carmen.”
I turned to Jamal. “Um, do you want me to pick you up anything … uh, sir?”
“Yeah, bitch, Big Mac and fries.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Carmen passed the blunt to her boyfriend and sneered at me. “Oh, and tomorrow you’re gonna have to go to the U-Haul place and rent a truck.”
“But … uh, okay, Miss Carmen. But … uh, what for?”
My wife snuggled closer to her lover and delivered a crushing blow in the form of three little words:
“Jamal’s moving in.”
////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\////\\\\
COMING NEXT: Poor cuckold Eddie gets used to the new normal, as he struggles to be supportive.
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