Dinner had gone cold, that stupid whore said something about drinking myself stupid, but i didnt care. Didnt listen. She had fucked me around for the last time.
I sat in my chair, my place of solitude and power, a good bottle of bourbon smashed on the floor. The fumes blindingly strong, nectar to my rage, soaking Her mothers tatty rug in pools of pandamonic amber.
That bitch had bit me. My same bitten and ragged hands still totted the Colt. 45 my father had given me, like a viper, coiled and pissed off.
I watched her and ground my teeth. She was wasting my evening while she coward in that filthy corner, making me listen to her sob story about how she tries but is never noticed, her whimpers fell on death ears.
''Clean this mess up. Clean yourself up. then get into bed'' all I could do was drunkenly smirk as she got to her chores without so much as thankyou. The dusty lamplight caught the fresh purple welts on her cheek, livid and angry marks of a lesson well learnt.
I fired three shots that night, two had landed neatly in the wall, just short of that bitch. the last tore apart a photo frame. Our marriage was broken anyway.
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