Hi all, I have had a stab at writing my version of the infamous
February Sucks.
The countless versions try to deal with the terrible event in all manner of ways. I decided to deal with it in (hopefully) a different way: finding happiness.
For those of you who haven't read the original, the premise is that a loving couple's marriage is shaken when a man's (Jim) wife (Linda) chooses to spend a night with a famous, rich man (Marc) over him. My story takes place after Linda leaves the club with said rich person.
I have decided to put it in Romance, as that is where I intend the story to go. I hope you enjoy it and I look forward to reading your comments.
Chapter 1
The hotel room's walls seemed to shrink, crushing me as despair took over every particle of my body. There were too many emotions to deal with, and they flashed by too quickly to fully understand. Rage, humiliation, pain - oh the pain felt physical. I'd never known that a heart could literally feel like it was breaking. It was too much. I needed to escape, get to somewhere I could breathe.
I left the hotel and retrieved my car from the hotel garage. It felt as though everyone was watching me, judging my humiliation. I knew it was ridiculous, only a few so-called friends knew of my despair, but still... maybe they could read it on my face.
I drove blindly through the darkened streets. Headlights and traffic lights flashed and blinked at me but I was barely paying any attention. So, it was a mild surprise when I looked up and saw that I had driven home. It was frightening to think that I had no recollection of how I had gotten there.
I sat, staring sightlessly at the house.
The house
- why had I called it that? The answer came to me instantly. Because it no longer felt like
my house
. It was a link to the horror at the core of my being. It was then I realised that I couldn't stay there. Nope. Not tonight, maybe not ever.
I didn't bother switching off the ignition - I wasn't going to be long. I ran inside and grabbed two suitcases out of the attic, the largest I could find. I purposely avoided looking at the family photos that lined our walls. Each one was a glorious memory that was now painful to look at. In one swoop, Linda had tainted every single one of them. Family holidays, picnics, anniversaries...
"STOP!" I shouted at myself. I was spiralling. I couldn't break, not yet. If I started crying, I wouldn't be able to stop.
It took less than thirty minutes to pack my life into two suitcases. It was a fraction of what I owned, but it would be enough to live with for some time. Clothes for work, spare clothes, gym clothes - all the bare essentials.
I was a simple man of simple means. I didn't need anything flashy or expensive. My idea of living well was being happy and comfortable - two things that had been torn from my life in one evening.
Suitcases loaded, I jumped back in and closed my door. The next question arose: what now?
Family? No, they would ask questions that were too painful to answer, the same with friends. A quick internet search and I found a hotel on the outskirts of the city. It wasn't too far from work but far enough from the house that I wouldn't risk bumping into anyone I knew. Feeling a little better at having a small sense of purpose, I punched the postcode into my trusty satnav and I was away.
The drive, while necessary, was not doing much for my mental state. My mind seemed determined to make me relive those last moments in the club. Marc asking Linda to dance, her accepting, watching them dance, hearing that they'd left together. It was a personal torture being delivered by my own head!
I shook it, trying and failing to dislodge the memories. I spoke to myself. Maybe I was going crazy. "OK, the future. Forget what happened then, what happens now?"
Divorce would be the most obvious option. But with it, a whole new wave of pain descended over me. I loved Linda and she'd thrown it away. I growled in frustration. Why, oh why did everything lead back to my misery!?
Despite repeated shakes of my head and even several slaps, I couldn't stop myself spiralling. So, when I finally arrived at the hotel, I was not in the best of moods.
I dragged my two suitcases into the lobby. It was one of the nicer hotels in the city, near to the football stadium and several concert venues. It was a little out of my normal price range but I didn't particularly care.
The night clerk greeted me with a warm smile. She was an elderly lady, all business with her hair pulled back into a tight bun. "Good evening, sir. How may I help you?"
I noticed Marie on the name badge, so said, "Hi, Marie, I need a room." On a regular day, I could have probably come up with something a little more intelligent, but my mind wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders. I wondered how I looked - a man who had just lost everything probably wouldn't be looking too sharp.
If Marie sensed anything was wrong, she didn't show it. She gave me that warm smile again. "OK, let me see what I can do." Her nails made rapid clicking sounds on the keyboard and she peered through half-moon lenses at the screen. "Ah, this is your lucky day. We have one room left, on account of the concerts. Would you like me to book it for you?"
My lucky day, yeah right.
I forced myself to smile, which probably looked more like a grimace. "Yes please, can you book it for the next two weeks?"
"Certainly, sir." More rapid tapping and an obscene amount of money later, I had my hotel room. I made my way to the elevators and listened to the ping and low rumble as they took me to the top floor.
Typically, I was in the furthest room from reception. I tapped my keycard against the door and entered a small, but well-furnished room. It had the standard double bed, ensuite with bath and shower, TV, and a fairly decent view over the nearby park and a few of the larger stadiums. Judging by the lights and thumping music, there was some sort of concert in progress.
It was probably some famous band or singer but I didn't keep up with modern music, it all changed too fast for my taste. Besides, famous people were the last things that I wanted to think about.
I was too tired to unpack, so I slumped onto my bed. It was only then that I realised I was still wearing my suit. I almost ripped it off in anger and threw it into the corner of the room. I wanted to be rid of it and every memory from that night.
I climbed under the covers and watched the flashing lights spinning through the air. I tried to sleep, but my brain didn't let me. It's a curious thing that the harder you try to sleep, the less likely it'll happen. I tossed and turned for hours to no avail. In the end, I decided to turn to the one thing that was a constant throughout my entire life: exercise.
I unzipped one of my bags and threw on some running gear. I wish I had thought of it earlier, exercise always settled me. I waved to Marie on the way out of the hotel and turned towards the park. It felt good to burn off some energy. The rhythmic inhale and exhale of my lungs were punctuated by the strikes of my feet on the path and the steady beat of my fractured heart.
