2. Emile
CHAPTER 2
Emile
I ’m going to be alright. I push all the bad thoughts out of my mind and sip at my beer, staring into the fire pit outside of my cabin, deep in the mountains. It’s quiet and still tonight. There’s a slight chill in the air, crisp and clean.
Once again, I stare down at the message from my ex-wife. Another damn request for money. Money which she’s not getting. I’ve made my contribution to her life. For ten years I had to pay alimony to her and those days are done. Tonight, I’m celebrating my last payment as ordered by the court.
I take a sip of the beer, enjoying the hoppy flavors and the way it numbs some of the damn feelings.
I hate that I have the memories of that time in my life. Hate it all. But you live and learn and what I learned is that women suck. Plain and simple.
I fell in love with my ex when I was in high school. She was the beautiful, perfect, bubbly cheerleader that all the guys wanted. And I got her. I thought I was the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.
We got married right out of high school and I started driving a truck for the local freight company. For ten years I worked my ass off and came home every other weekend to spend time with my wife, not even realizing how unhappy she was. I was always just happy to spend time with her. She took care of the bills and everything else when I dumped all of my paychecks in our joint account. As long as I had a little money out on the road to pay for my food and fuel, I didn’t worry about any of it. After all, I had my wife and a home in our little town that seemed perfect.
Another sip and my lip curls, anger and hurt coiling up in me. There I was thinking I was living my dream. Maybe I was. But it wasn’t her dream.
Every weekend when I came home she started whining and complaining that she needed more time with me. More time together. She was lonely.
I snort under my breath and take a long swig. What a fucking crock! She wasn’t lonely. Her fucking boyfriend wanted my job. Wanted to make more money so that they could be together faster.
But I didn’t know that shit. All I knew was that my woman needed me. So I asked my work to take me off the road for awhile. I started working on the loading docks, killing myself to make more money and spend more fucking time with her.
Weirdly, it seemed like it wasn’t helping a damn thing. She was annoyed at me all the time. You need to keep your things picked up. Why can’t you be quieter when you get up for work? I’m not getting enough sleep.
The complaints just kept on coming. Especially when I told her I wanted to take over the bills and stuff. I t must be too much work for you, baby. Why don’t you just let me take care of it so you can get a little more rest?
She wasn’t happy though. She was hurt, she was pissed. She was anything but happy. You don’t trust me. I’ve done it for years and you must think I didn’t do a good job.
Blah, blah, blah. It just kept on and on until I was so damned confused that I really thought I was the bastard in our relationship. I was the reason she was unhappy all the time and if I just changed almost everything about myself she’d be happy.
I even brought up that I’d really like to start a family. My heart lurches when I think about that conversation. It was bad. I remember when we were in high school. We talked about having kids and both of us wanted a big family. I assumed that we just needed time to build up our nest egg and then we would start trying. I knew she was on birth control but I assumed at some point we’d decide it was the right time.
Instead she told me that she wasn’t interested in having a baby. That hurt. It was like the death of a dream. The family that I longed for my whole life and it just wasn’t going to happen.
But I still had my wife, the love of my life. For a few more years, we made it work. Even though I hated my job and she just seemed happier when I wasn’t around, I just couldn’t give her up. Couldn’t admit that something changed and it wasn’t me.
It all came to a head when I came back from work early and found her in bed with my co-worker. The man who took over my route. Turns out that wasn’t all he took over and it explained why we hadn’t been having sex for at least a year and before that it was barely once a month.
I crashed out of the house. After I punched his ass right in his fucking lying, cheating face. I shoot back the rest of the bottle and open another one, throwing back another big swallow and grunting out a belch.
After that, I went back on the road. On my old route since she had him move in with her. To our home. While I ended up staying in hotels when I was back in town. Meeting with the lawyer after I found out that our savings was gone. She’d been systematically withdrawing it a little at a time until I left when she barely left enough for me to get a burger.
My eyes close and the dagger that breached my heart all those years ago turns once again. The embarrassment of having to call my boss and tell him I couldn’t even fill up the damn truck. He helped me make the arrangements to open an account and he loaned me enough money to make it until payday and never asked for it back. He was a good guy. He didn’t even bother me about it when I quit the day my divorce was finalized.
I headed right for the wilderness, needing to heal somewhere far from them and everyone else. I needed peace and quiet. Even driving my truck and listening to the gears changing, the way the diesel roared into the night. It used to soothe me.
After that, it was just nails on a chalkboard. I cringed every time I hit the road. Hated every second of it. My home base in the beat-up old trailer that I moved into on the edge of town was just a place to stay when I was in town. That’s all it meant to me. I didn’t even own it. Just rented the piece of shit because I didn’t care where I put my hungover head every night.
So I took my old, beat up heart out here and found a little cabin that didn’t cost me a lot because it needed a lot of work. Work that soothed all the aches and pains in my battered heart until I was finally able to get more than a couple of hours sleep a night. Until I could dream about something else other than walking in on his ass in my face, his dick in the woman that meant the world to me.
I drop my head into my hands, the beer cold on my temple, a single tear dripping down my cheek. I can still hear her voice, still dream about the kids that we’ll never have, their high little voices and the sweet sound of their laughter.
But I’ll be damned if I hand another woman my heart to trounce on and stick a fucking shiv into.
All that’s ahead of me now is the wind whistling through the trees and the loneliness of the woods around me.
I lean back in my chair and sigh, pushing all the pain to the side, yet again. I’m done with all of that.
Done with everything but my woods and my home. Everything else can go to hell.