Another day. Another long day at the office. Another long day of yelling and arguing and tension you could cut with a knife. I was happy to just be headed home. I didn't even want to think about what was going on at home; with the wife and kids on a school night, there was not likely to be any concept of sanctuary or rest there, either.
I considered it. I considered not going home. I considered taking the escape that so many in my position have, and stopping at the bar instead. A few strong drinks could take the edge off the day. Provide a simple, easy escape from the pounding in my skull. Release me from the stress of my job. I could almost taste the whiskey now.
But if I did I could not go home. I wasn't stupid enough to drink enough whiskey to feel better and still drive. I'd either not make it home in time to see the kids, or I'd have to get a ride. I could see the disapproval in her eyes as she dragged the kids to the bar to pick up their drunk father, and it made the imaginary whiskey sour in my mouth. I would go home.
I came to regret it. The domestic chaos was worse than I had envisioned. The children were angry and sullen; their philosophical outlook on life didn't allow for homework, and S was distracted and distant. The screaming and disorder aggravated my mood, and no part of my home was safe. By evening, I was exhausted and strung out. All I had to look forward to was the next day, which promised to be a repeat of the same. The thought crushed me as I felt my grip on consciousness slip away.
I awoke the next day with a feeling of dread in the pit of my gut. Just like every other day of late. With a groan, I realized that my alarm wasn't sounding, which meant, most likely, that I'd forgotten to recharge my phone, which meant that I was both incommunicado and late for work. I swung my hips to leverage myself off the bed, and realized with a shock that my legs were tied to the frame. Snapping fully awake, I realized that it wasn't as dark as I had first thought; I was blindfolded. Further investigation revealed that I was tied to the bed, each limb to a corner. I could hear the normal sounds of morning chaos continuing unabated; S was bundling the children off to school. I called out, and realized that there was a pillow or something secured over my face, so the sound was muffled. I was completely trapped. I couldn't even get to my phone to call in sick or anything. The sounds faded as I heard the door slam, with the family heading off to school.
Time passed. I'm not sure how much. Eventually I heard the door open, and close, and motion downstairs. I tried to call out again, and heard no response. Eventually, I heard footsteps on the stairs, and then the bedroom door opened. There was silence for a time, and then S spoke.
"Are you even awake yet?"
I mumbled something sullen to the affirmative.
"I thought so. I suppose you're wondering what's going on?"
I again mumbled something impolite.
"I told you that you're working too hard. You don't seem to want to listen. So we decided that we needed to make you listen, and put it in a context where you wouldn't be able to argue about it. So I deactivated your alarm, took your phone, and emailed your boss that you were out sick today."
I thought for a moment. It's not that I didn't appreciate the sentiment, but I had meetings today I was supposed to go to and if I didn't then decisions would be made that I may disagree with that would cause more work down the line. Maybe if I could talk my way out of this, then I could call in to the meeting on the phone at least and maybe arrange for someone to –
THWACK! Something hard hit me, hard, on the backside. "You're thinking about work. Or escape. Or something. But not about what I'm saying. I think we need to clear your head. It's clearly not working correctly."
Shit. That really hurt. But it did clear my head a little bit. Enough, at least, to realize she had said, "we".
"So are you going to cooperate? Accept our authority in this matter, finally? Give up on thinking of work for the day?"
