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Subject: Title story: "Seasons- A Time to Cast Away Stones" Author: Hawkeye 65540139
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Date: Mon, 23 Jan 2006 17:56:38 +0000
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Seasons- A Time to Cast Away Stones
The summer went pretty fast, as they all seemed to. In September, the
company picked up a big contract that they had been angling for since the
previous January. We suddenly had more work than we could reasonably do.
They extended our hours, and the pressure at the office started to become
uncomfortable, and then unbearable. I was constantly in a foul mood, and Jen
and I started to fight.
Or I should say, we started to fight more often. We'd had a somewhat rocky
relationship right from the start. I had always been pretty easy going, but she
had a way of pressuring me -- by insisting that nothing was wrong -- which for
some reason infuriated me. This began to happen more and more often as the
problems at work frayed my nerves.
In December, the merry season of Christmas rolled around, bringing a stocking
full of aggravation for me. Jen and I had vastly different religious
backgrounds. For all her kinkiness and easy attitude towards sin, she still had
the remnants of a Catholic upbringing, and she took Christmas, both the
religious and secular aspects, quite seriously. I didn't, plus I was going mad
at work, and didn't care to be nagged about my lack of interest.
The last straw came one friday night, when she was putting together
an artificial tree in the living room. She had the top-piece in her hand, and
asked me to put it on the tree, so she wouldn't have to fetch the ladder. I
frowned at being interrupted out of my reverie, in which I was tearing apart
the customer liaison who seemed to shift every complaint about my department
right onto me.
I grumbled something about "why could anybody care about putting a plastic tree
in the living room". She said, in a sullen voice, that I _would_ care about it,
if I cared about her, but since I obviously didn't... well. That was what
finally shorted my fuse. I blasted out a lengthy tirade about "god-damned
feminine illogic", and topped it off with an exhortation to take her Christmas
tree and all her other "stupid fucking pagan idolatry", and shove it up her ass.
She stared open-mouthed at me, too aghast to say anything. Then she erupted with
hurt and fury, and she hit me across the side of the head with the top-piece of
the tree. The "needles" stung my skin, enraging me. I smacked her open-handed,
knocking her back onto the couch. Then I got on top of her, pinning her throat
with one hand, and raising the other to strike. She closed her eyes and tried to
turn her head away, her face contorted in a grimace of fear.
I stopped, my heart pounding furiously, and my breath hissing dangerously
between my clenched teeth. Suddenly, my eyes were hot and burning. I let go of
her throat, and slumped against the far armrest of the couch, sobbing and
squeezing my eyes shut to try and stop the tears. I heard her get up and run out
of the room. I didn't care if she called the cops on me, or went and got a gun
to blow my head off. I sat there, wallowing in misery and belated regret. The
front door slammed.
+++
Several hours later, I was drunk for the first time in months. Not really
stinking rotten drunk. I'd learned that lesson all too well in college. But just
wasted enough so that I didn't care that my life was a fucked up mess again, or
that everyone at the company was going to hear about what an asshole I was, or
that I thought they probably ought to.
I heard the front door open, quietly, and close the same way. I had some moody
music playing on the stereo, and all the lights were out in the apartment. There
was still enough illumination coming from the street lamps outside that you
could see your way around.
I heard her come down to the end of the foyer, which left her standing in the
entrance of the living room, right behind me. If I turned down the stereo, I
would be able to hear her breathing. I would have liked that. But it would mean
moving, and I had decided that I was never going to move again. At ...
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