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AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the original 'February Sucks' version I started writing before I got another thought, stopped and wrote 'February Sucked - March Did Not' ( https://www.literotica.com/s/february-sucked-march-did-not ).
After posting that one up, I was able to finish this one - which (I hope) should be my last FebSux entry. As usual... I did my best to mine GA's own prose, but I went third person this time. Jim and Linda are here as key characters, but there are others now.
NOTES
1: This is not a BTB story. If that's your thing, I have to admit that you might not like this. 2; This is version 2. I made some minor edits i.e. added a couple of paragraphs to clarify the aftermath based on some reader feedback. 3: "@#%" is a 3 letter word for deity - I have a hangup about using the word in my writing.
Once again; credit to GA for a good story. Enjoy.
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James Carlisle turned on the light, and shut the door behind him. Suddenly, he was weary beyond telling. He dropped his winter coat on the floor and slouched toward the bedroom. There was a Godiva chocolate on each pillow. Laid out in the middle of the bed was a bra and panty set that he hadn't seen before. They were dark blue, darker than her dress, edged with black lace. In his mind's eye, he could see her modeling them, with that combination of love and sensuality in her eyes that was all her own, that had been all his until tonight. He took the lacy little garments tenderly into his hands, as if holding them might bring her back to him. It didn't work. He wept.
His wife, his lover, his best friend, had been taken from him by another man. Marc had casually, easily, plucked her from right beside him, as if he had every right to do so. He didn't care what she meant to Jim; all he saw in her was a pretty toy for the night. And she had just let him! Jim didn't matter enough to her to inspire even the slightest resistance. It was as if she, too, thought Marc had a right to her, stronger than whatever right Jim had earned by almost ten years as a faithful, loving husband. Yes, it was supposed to be just one night. And the next morning, he supposed. So what? And what would Marc, and this night, leave in her heart and mind and senses? What could Jim ever do that would compare to, let alone compete with, the city's hero, the handsome stud, the Marc LaValliere?
Somehow, Jim dozed off. When he came to, it was almost 1:00, and he was slumped over on the bed with an ache in his back and a tear-sodden bra and panty in his hands. He looked around the room. Thinking about what they had planned for this room, he knew he couldn't sleep there. Home, in their bed? No, that was even worse. Another hotel? That was stupid, he had already bought a hotel room. Maybe one of the kids' rooms. That might work. He repacked Linda's suitcase and his own. He ate both chocolates - no point wasting them - and threw the sodden bra and panty into the wastebasket. They were empty and worthless without Linda, just like their "special night."
He checked them out of the hotel. Linda and Marc could figure out how she got home. She probably wouldn't show up by checkout time, anyway. The professionally chipper young woman behind the desk looked worried as she asked if the accommodations had not been to their liking. Jim stared at her for a moment, trying to make sense of her question, then realized that couples who rent a mini-suite like that usually don't check out until the last possible moment.
"No, the room was fine; things have just... changed."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. Her professionally cheery demeanor returned, once she knew that her hotel was not at fault. She must have seen this sort of thing before; it didn't seem to worry her much.
Their little starter home didn't have a spare bedroom, or even a sofa big enough to lie down on. Tommy's room it was, then.
He sat on Tommy's bed and planned what he needed to do. He had no idea when his cheating wife would come home; she was obviously far too busy with Marc to text or call. He figured she wouldn't show up before noon, which would give him plenty of time to pack what he would need for a week or so and be gone before she arrived. On Monday, he would find a lawyer and get the divorce started.
Again, to his surprise, he fell asleep, mercifully, without dreams.
But not for long.
He woke up to the sound of pounding, and he sat up, confused, not knowing where he was for a moment before realizing he was in his son's room. Then the memories came back and it was all he could do to stop himself from screaming. Then the pounding sounded again, this time accompanied by a loud voice, and he realized it was coming from the front door.
He looked at Tommy's cartoon character wall clock and saw that it was a little past 2:30. Could it be Linda? No, the voice was far too masculine. The thought occurred to him that it could be Asshole, coming to get his new woman's things, to get her to move in with him as a permanent live-in sex toy. Maybe she was standing beside him while he banged on their door.
That was okay, Jim thought; he was done with her anyway.
The banging restarted. Why wouldn't the bitch just use her keys?
So he went downstairs to open the door.
He knew it wasn't Marc LaValliere on the other side before he did. The voice was too officious, not to mention the torchlight shining through the door pane.
"Good morning, officer," Jim said. "Is there a problem?"
The male officer, well over six feet, obviously the one doing the knocking and shouting, spoke. "Good morning, sir. Are you Mr. James Carlisle, husband of Linda Carlisle?"
"Not for long," he snarled. "We're getting a divorce."
The two police officers looked at each other, visibly tensing.
What was going on? Jim wondered.
The officer who had been speaking to him stepped back, to give himself some space. Perhaps to draw a weapon if need be. His nametag said 'L. Amos.'
The second officer, a smaller Asian female, was less subtle, pulling out a taser. Her name tag said 'V. Nguyen.'
Jim kept his hands clear and visible.
"Just to be clear, sir," Nguyen asked, "you are James Carlisle?"
"Yes."
"And Linda Carlisle is your wife?"
It hurt, but he answered. "Yes. But only on paper. And that won't be for much longer. We're done."
"We're sorry to hear that, Mr. Carlisle," the big officer, Amos, said carefully. "But you're still listed as her next-of-kin."
Jim felt his heart sink at the implication of those words. He had spent the drive back to his home wishing both his wife and her lover the most painful of deaths. But faced with the reality of it, he realized he didn't quite hate his cheating whore wife as much as he thought.
"What happened?" he asked, thinking of how to break the news to his children.
"She was in an accident, sir," Amos said. "She's hurt bad."
Good. Surprising how the hate came back now that he knew she was still alive.
"Where is she?"
"She's at St. Martins Hospital," Amos informed him. "We came by earlier but your car wasn't there and there was no one home."
The implied question was obvious; where were you?
"We were checked in at the Elysium hotel," Jim said. "I checked us out at 1:15. Got back here around 1:45. Fell asleep. Haven't seen Linda since before 11."
They looked confused. As well they should, he thought. His whole world had been turned upside down in less than twenty minutes. It was only right that they got to feel some of it.
"Is there anything else?" he asked.
